Down Memory Lane ...

This morning I thought about the cottage. My cottage.

OUR cottage ...

We decided as a family to sell the cottage a few years ago and I don't think any of us have regretted that decision for a second ... but we have allowed ourselves to miss it and remember the memories and the good times.

Here are a few ...

One day while bailing out one of the fishing boats tied to the dock, my brother, who was no more than five at the time, happened upon a GIANT snapping turtle.

My grandfather decided that the turtle must die lest it EAT all of the fish and children who swam in the lake on a daily basis. So we spent hours trying to lure it out from under the dock ... using raw hot dogs. I'm not sure who decided raw hot dogs would be the thing that the turtle would leave the safety of its lair for, but that's what we used. At least, the ones I didn't eat.

Yeah, that's right. Raw hot dogs.

The plan worked and all the kids got to stand around and watch while my grandpa hacked the turtle to death with an axe.

Then there was a time when all the children staying at various cottages decided to raid our parents cupboards and pantries for cookies, treats and juice ... and then we sold the goods back to the parents so we could take the money to the corner store to buy candy. And the parents were happy to participate in our scam. Awesome.

There was always some craziness happening with bats. My dad running around in his "nighttime attire" with broom in hand ... which he used to fling the bat onto my head. He eventually conquered the bat and all was well.

Except that I have a terrible fear of bats. And warm fuzzy leathery hats.

We would spend hours telling ghost stories to the point where we were too terrified to move. And inevitably the power would go out. And we would scream ourselves hoarse and then laugh until our sides hurt.

There were "almost drownings" and near death experiences. In particular, a trailer - filled with kids - sliding off the dirt road and rolling down a hill. But no one was ever really hurt too badly.

There were giant campfires where we would sing and play instruments and the kids would make up skits that we would preform ... over and over again.

And there was always my grandpa ... Always coming up with tricks and ways to scare us or cause us to faint. Like the time he put on a strange wig and took his teeth out and jumped out at my brother who was so scared he fell down without even screaming.

There were ghosts in the bathrooms. And the cottages. Obviously.

There was hide and go seek in the forest. And water-skiing. So many people learned to ski with my grandpa or my dad behind the wheel of the boat.

There were trips to the dump to see the bears. (It was much more exciting than it sounds ... trust me).

There were trips to Bancroft for Dairy Queen. Trips to Madoc for laundry. And trips to the hospital.

We caught frogs and snakes and minnows and occasionally ... turtles.

There were fishing trips that seemed like more trouble than they were worth. We rarely caught anything - unless you count my cousin hooking his fishing lure on my uncle. But those are the trips that we still talk about.

There were long lazy days sitting on the beach. And long rainy days watching "The Sound of Music" over and over again. And Monopoly tournaments that never ended.

In more recent days those of us who lived our childhood at the cottage watched our own children splash and play in the lake and ride around like hooligans on various motorized vehicles. And enjoy the magic of the cottage.

Selling the cottage was the right thing to do. But I will never forget that I - that we - had a great deal of fun at the cottage.

We made really good memories.