As we made the trek from Minneapolis to Balsam Lake this weekend I noticed that I could in fact, suppress the pouting face that worked incessantly to rear it’s ungrateful self for the first 45 minutes of the drive. I stared at the road ahead debating whether or not to speak my mind. My husband was in his own world and I was somewhat reticent about interrupting his precious transition time from the world of work to the world of cabin living. And so I waited. I know the signs. His hands become more relaxed around the steering wheel and his shoulders lower themselves further and further from his ears. He no longer tinkers with the Suburban’s thermostat and he works to engage me in conversation about the specifics of the weekend ahead.
The silence is thankfully broken as we merge onto Hwy 8.
“I have the BLHA meeting in the morning.”
“Yup. I had that written on the calendar.”
“Okay, good. I’ll be home by the time you’re up and having coffee on the porch. Garden?”
“Uhm, yes that would be great. We’ve got a bit of tilling and weeding to do.”
“Good.” Sigh. “Danny, I feel badly, really badly. I feel guilty for what I’m thinking.”
“You know? You know what I’m thinking?”
“I’m thinking the same thing. We only get a day at the cabin. This is going to be too short of a weekend at the cabin but we have to get back. It’s less than ideal to have to cut a July weekend short.”
“I know, right? The audacity of our children to return home from camp!”
Empty nesters no more, life at LOG OFF will soon return to the home of hustle and bustle we’ve come to know and love. Upon the return of our little cherubs the cabin will come to life this weekend in a different way. Although I am admittedly sad that the more peaceful, definitely quieter, and a heck-of-a-lot cleaner chapter is closing, it is the contagious energy of our full cabin that has written our life’s story on Balsam Lake. It’s our children’s 'seize the moment' (coveted high metabolism) way of looking at life that makes me pull my nose out of a book late at night -when I should be sleeping- and instead making a s’more- in my pajamas. Then it’s these same seemingly tireless children that awaken us at 5:00 am because they just looked out onto Balsam, “it’s glass. Barefooting time. Let’s go!”
My children are home and tomorrow we are heading to the cabin. And so, as perhaps you are doing today and tomorrow, I too am counting not just the gallons of milk and number of steaks we will need but also, counting on my family. They have suddenly transitioned our quiet, couple-world back into the zoo we have come to know. Hopefully Dan and I will have this rare gift of cabin living as a couple again next summer; it’s a good thing. One day it will be a cabin and a “table for two.” For now it’s so much more… Back to full strength-the five of us skiing on Little Balsam.
See you on the lake… Deb