Last summer, Alexandra Raphael shared with readers how, as a grandmother, she relishes time spent with grandkids in our area. This summer, she celebrated a special milestone with family while enjoying time at the cottage.
When he returned to our cottage in Muskoka this year, my six-year-old grandson raced up the stairs to reclaim the bedroom he shared with his sister last summer.
Then he ran down to the beach to make sure the water trampoline was floating just off the dock, where he remembered. Having satisfied himself that both the cottage and the beach had not changed in his absence, Miles asked me if we could go to Kawartha Dairy to get an ice cream cone. This would complete his trifecta of best cottage memories.
I am also sentimental.
All year, I looked forward to our summer pilgrimage to cottage country, three hours north of Toronto. In August, when our car crested the hill behind the main lodge of the resort, I felt a wave of relaxation wash over me.
Our car slowed as it travelled the gravel road down the hill, bordered on both sides by grass and wild thyme, past a century-old oak tree toward the lake. The road veered to the right and I caught sight of our cottage, Brown Owl, a two-storey wooden structure with a screened-in porch and a large deck, fronting the lake.
This year was special for me because I celebrated my 70th birthday at the lake, a few weeks in advance. Darrel and I invited our four kids, their partners and nine grandchildren, ranging in age from 14 months to eight years. There are a lot of us because Darrel and I each have two kids from our first marriages. We needed a logistics specialist to figure out the sleeping arrangements and meals for such a big group but, in the absence of an expert, made do with two grandparents.
Our family staggered their visits over a two-week period. The first and largest group arrived in three cars, laden with three pack ’n’ plays, two bicycles, two booster seats, beach toys, water wings, piles of towels and linens, as well as suitcases and groceries. I knew the cottage had reached full capacity when three-year-old Bowie walked into the kitchen, where Darrel was unpacking groceries, and said, “I’m sweeping in the bathwoom, Dawwel.”
Mine was not the only birthday we celebrated at the cottage. I shared a birthday double bill with Owen, Darrel’s grandson, who turned three at the end of August. We celebrated in the same way, with balloons, streamers, birthday cake and ice cream.
My celebration ended with a dance party on the deck, led by five-year-old Lyla. Owen’s ended with an intensive session of group Lego on the floor in front of the fireplace. The democratization of our birthdays made me feel like turning 70 was no more serious than turning three. It was the perfect celebration. I didn’t want to think too hard about the significance of what it meant to be entering my eighth decade on Earth.
Ours was one of several families celebrating milestones at the lake. I met a man from Buffalo at the weekly meet-and-greet organized by the resort, who told me he had spent four summers in Muskoka as a kid in the 1970s.
He and his siblings from California, North Carolina and New York had reunited at the lake to celebrate their dad’s 80th birthday. The next day, Miles and I shared the water trampoline with two 18-year-old cousins from this group. They lolled on the trampoline with us for a few minutes, looking incredibly tanned and buff, and then dove into the water to complete a marathon swimming session. Watching them, I felt more like 170 than 70.
During our two-week stay, several personal milestones were achieved. I finally played pickleball, after vowing to learn the game for several years. Darrel satisfied his long-standing ambition to go fishing with his grandson, Henry. They caught 29 small rock bass off the end of the dock and returned them all to the water.
Dina, Darrel’s eight-year-old granddaughter, made a new friend. My daughter-in-law, Amy, achieved a high pike jump on the trampoline while Ryder, her 14-month-old baby, took four steps, unsupported by a grown-up. Esty, taking her inspiration from Elton John’s Tiny Dancer, learned to pirouette at the age of 20 months.
After our kids stuffed their children, suitcases, gear and a considerable amount of sand into their cars and took off for home, Darrel and I were left alone to enjoy the peace.
My sentimental grandson, Miles, had taken the rocks he had painted in the arts and crafts barn to remind him of his stay at the cottage. The other grandkids had lined their rocks along the side of the deck bounded by the cottage.
On the open side of the deck, long grasses, wild blackberries, Queen Anne’s lace and buttercups cascaded down a small incline to the blue of the lake. I inhaled the fresh cottage air, scented slightly by wild thyme, and listened to the buzz of the crickets and katydids.
Reluctantly, I turned my mind to the following morning, when we would follow our kids onto the crowded highway leading back home. Yet again, the cottage had worked its restorative effect. My imminent 70th birthday did not seem as daunting. Darrel and I had risen to the challenge and hosted eight kids and nine grandkids at the cottage.
Our children had reacquainted themselves with their siblings and the little cousins in our family had got to know one another. I had made enough memories to last me for another year.
Alexandra Raphael lives in Toronto and vacations in Muskoka as often as possible. She is a student in the creative writing program, School of Continuing Studies, at the University of Toronto. Her writing has appeared in the Globe & Mail, Next Avenue and on Medium.
