If I ever won the lottery, I would buy back my old cottage. It had been in my family since before I was born, when my grandpa bought half of Hamer Lake’s shoreline and gave it out to his children. For five decades, every summer, our lake in Muskoka created countless family memories.
It was a simple and traditional cottage, with a large central room, a big fireplace and a sunroom where we often ate our meals. A forest fire many years ago cleared a lot of the brush off our rocky shoreline. The water was crystal clear and very deep, with no weeds. There were many juniper bushes, and I still recall the earthy scent of sun-dried moss on the rocks. In the early mornings, the lake was still as glass: calm and serene, with no boats on the water. It was peaceful.
There was never a dull moment at our cottage. It was always a huge family reunion. We’d be out on the lake every day on water skis or tubes, attempting to push each other into the water.
Our cottage was near-synonymous with the emergency room. One year, as a result of me attempting to dance with a family friend’s dog, I was bitten on the lip. Thankfully, the dog’s owner was a doctor and was able to give me a stitch right then and there in the kitchen with no anesthesia. I was left with a permanent scar on my lip.
Then, when I was 16 years old, the cottage became too expensive to maintain, and we sold the place. It was eventually replaced with some mega-mansion. As I get older, I really, really miss the place.