Sleeping Out - April 5 2024

 

Sleeping Out

April 5 2024

The small house

was perched on solid rock

on the the edge of a quiet lake.

Where it was cool, under the trees

if a little damp.

But didn’t matter how small,

because it was mostly veranda

and we pretty much lived out there.

It wrapped around 3 sides,

and was wide enough

for a big dining room table

king-sized bed.

At night

giant moths

pummelled the screens,

and hordes of insects buzzed

seeking warm blood

as we slept, safe and snug

on the other side.

But that was July.

By early fall, It turned cold,

and all winter

the summer house was left,

shuttered against the elements

and groaning under the snow;

empty

except for hardy spiders

spinning their webs,

mice

who nibbled at the wiring

and left a holy mess;

droppings everywhere,

dead bodies

in all the traps.

Enough springs

and you learn not to be squeamish.

I’m the 3rd generation

to occupy the place,

handed down

parent to child

and kept in the family.

Over time

one corner has subsided,

a section of roof sags,

windows stick and doors jam.

You get used to the dankness

and musty smell.

But the screens are all intact

if a little battered,

and the airy veranda still stands,

looking out on the lake

through a scrim of evergreen.

Perfect

on hot summer nights. 

The thud of wood-on-wood,

as the screen door

on its squeaky spring

slams firmly shut.

Insects

buzzing on the other side

lulling us to sleep.

I love the big verandas on old Victorians.

And also the traditional summer cottage: ramshackle, made of wood, and kept in the family; instead of those citified monstrosities you see today on the fancy lakes where the new money summers.

Because it’s all about comfort, not status. And also respecting the land, not clearing or blasting it.

This isn’t autobiography. More my idealized version of the perfect summer house. (Or, as they’re known in various parts of Canada: shack, cabin, chalet, cottage, and camp. I grew up with cottage, but where I live now it’s camp. I compromise by using neither. So it’s either “country house/place”, or the name of the lake.)