The Motherland

Day 5

As promised, our day began with french toast. We slept like babies last night with the whirring of the fan in the window, and now we're ready for a typical day-at-the-cottage. It begins with coffee on the front porch, and french toast. Mom makes it with three different kinds of bread (two are cinnamon swirled) topped with fresh sliced strawberries. Deelish, as she would say.

My folks are really good at being at the cottage. Before anyone else is up, Mom does either a long walk, or she swims, like, the length of 2 football fields out in the lake. Then she either makes breakfast for everyone or goes to a bunch of yard sales. Then she hits the beach where she swims some more, takes the sit on top kayak out for long paddles, and walks the beach to look for “treasures”. Dad makes at least 3 trips down to the beach to carry the kayak, the mast and sail for the boat and all other beach gear, then walks 4 miles in the morning and then spends the rest of the day taking the 20 year old 14' Sunfish sailboat way out in the lake and back with whoever wants a ride.

We are some of these people today. Mom, the Pirate and I all get our own rides. On my ride, we sailed so far out into the lake that no one on the shore could see the brightly colored sail. Dad and I watched long chains of blackish ducks fly just inches over the surface of the water. We waved at fishermen and guys out paddling their canoes. We talked about life. I really enjoy these rides with my Dad.

Back on shore, my aunt Marty was there to greet us. She and my uncle Steve live on the most beautiful farm in the world, in Widowville, just a few hours away. They have lived there all of their many married years. Uncle Steve survived a stroke about 6 years ago, and has been one pissed off sailor ever since. Don't get in his way. If you do happen to get in his way, settle in for the longest streak of dirty jokes and sayings that you've ever heard.

Around cocktail hour, the Pirate and I go up to greet uncle Steve and get dinner started. We are cooking for the family tonight. We concoct a dry rub out of what we find in the cupboard: salt, sugar, cumin, cayenne, garlic salt, paprika and black pepper. This will go on the steak. I chop Roma tomatoes and garlic for my “bruschetta”, mix a fruit salad and do a pot of green rice (basmati rice plus everything green I can find, usually cilantro, lime juice, olive oil and green chile with raw garlic and salt). We were going to do some guacamole, but the avocados are hard as rocks. There is fresh corn, so we decide to make elote, which we have eaten a lot but have never made ourselves. We rub the corn with butter and the rest of the spice rub blend, seal it back up in it's husk, and smoke it over hickory chips. After about 30 minutes, we pull it off the grill and it's perfect. I slice the kernels off into a bowl, add mayo, sour cream, shredded cheddar, lime juice, salt and the very last granules of the spice rub and, voila, it is the best elote we've ever had. The hickory smoke is they key. The steak comes off the grill and gets thinly sliced for tacos. The family gathers around the table for this delicious, colorful meal, joined by our dear friend and neighbor, Vicky.

After dinner, the tradition is the choose one of the 6 flavors (yes, six) of Toft's ice cream that Mom keeps in the freezer, and scoop it out into a clear plastic cup so that it's portable. Apparently, it's OK to have 6 flavors of ice cream if it's eaten in cup sized increments no more that twice a day. Then, everyone sits on the front porch to eat ice cream until the person doing dishes is done, then everyone walks down to the lake front for the sunset. Because our particular neighborhood sits in the southern most nook of Lake Erie, we get to watch the sun go down with all the fanfare of someone on the west coast. It's a family tradition to gather for the setting sun. When my Nan was still alive, she, Mom and aunt Marty and I would all sit on a bench together to watch; a matri-lineal clan.

Though the menfolk certainly contribute greatly to life at the cottage, it's very much a matriarchy. My great grandfather built it, but then died only a year later, leaving my great grandmother to head it up. It's been headed up by the ladies ever since; Nan and her sister-in law, and now my Mom and her sister and their cousin, Liz.

It has been a wonderfully full day-at-the-cottage. If we were here all summer, there would be a few more traditional activities scattered here and there, but mostly, it would go just like this.