It’s that time of year, once again. We are up north
buttoning up our cottage at summer’s end. Many other lake neighbors have
already tarped their boats, rolled in their docks and returned to the Detroit
suburbs in preparation for the new school year.
I am a bit melancholy, as my son is here, but tomorrow
he will continue alone on a six hour journey to his university dorm for year
two of college.
Sometimes I wish I had thicker blood and enjoyed winter
sports such as snowmobiling and Nordic skiing. Being a California Native, if I
can’t ski in a t-shirt and tan at the same time, I’m out. Maybe this winter as
an empty nester I could come up here and write by our wood burning fireplace. I
wouldn’t HAVE to go outside.
When I’ve had a spell of writer’s block in the past, I’ve
come to the realization that when I am up north my head is clear and writing is
effortless. Ideas come looking for me. They often poke me in the face when I am
not paying attention.
I took a stroll around the lake to clip a wild flower bouquet.
I am forever amazed at how Mother Nature knows how to schedule perfect complimentary
colors. Late summer flowers are mostly purple, yellow and white. My bouquet
consisted of thistle, chicory, golden rod and Queen Anne’s Lace. I grabbed a
big green fern and shoved it in behind the blooms as a backdrop.
With bouquet in hand, I walked around the gravel road
and decided to peek in on our neighbors and see if they were still up. Like
most cottages, theirs looked put to bed for the season. As I turned away from
the cottage to walk back to mine, I couldn’t help but notice a tree to the
right of their drive. Staring me straight in the face was a gigantic scar on a
white pine tree.
My somber mood did an immediate 180. I laughed out loud.
Luckily I had my iphone to snap a quick picture. The tree scar was painted
pink. Nailed above it was a pouf of black mesh netting. Our lake neighbors must
have a family member or friend who’s a folk artist, because their “welcome to
our cottage” tree clearly sported a 3 foot vagina.
She was begging to let visitors in, but needed a voice.
A sign reading “come on in” or “our piece of heaven” could work. “No
trespassing” or “private property” would be amusing, but that wouldn’t reflect
the sentiments of our lake community.
Should lightning strike alongside the gravel drive to
our cottage, I will be prepared to adorn the tree’s scar. I have always loved
red heads, and my sign will read, “come hither. relax,” because at our lake,
that’s pretty much how we go down.
