Relaxing at the cottage

TWO THINGS are missing from the photograph above – me and a good book. I plan to remedy that this summer on our annual trek to the family cottage in Nova Scotia.

Getting there and back is part of the fun. Stops in historic Quebec City are a must. We dine at favourite restaurants on the way where servers remember us from years before. We try to add new adventures. Last year we visited Charlottetown, P.E.I., for the first time and saw fireworks under a full moon on Canada Day.

We’ve forged lifelong memories enjoying the cottage — playing board games like Sorry and Taboo, inventing challenging new croquet courses and expanding a giant collection of sand dollars and beach glass (red glass is the rarest). I also love to spend time taking photographs, like the cottage at dawn (above).

I thought a lot about family experiences as we put together our Health & Wellness issue of Grand. It’s that time of year when people head to a special place for rest and relaxation. Read about special retreats on page 116.

I asked Grand readers earlier this year to send stories and photos of their cottage life and special memories. While reviewing Chuck Erion’s submission, I noticed a lovely canoe in one photograph (page 129). I asked him about it and learned it had a fascinating history.

“I built that cedar strip canoe, the 17-foot Prospector, in my garage at home for my 50th birthday present to myself,” Chuck told me. “Took it up to the cottage on the roof of the van we had then, launched it at the lake and have never looked back.”

Lauren Bauman sent beautiful photos with her cottage story (page 126). She writes about the evolution of her family cottage on Maple Lake, north of Minden, from a one-room cabin to its current form. I smiled when she mentioned the cottage diary that spans decades. We also have a cottage log filled with notes and reflections from visitors over the years.

Wildlife plays prominently in cottage stories. Uninvited critters and unexpected appearances are a common theme.

I had an interesting experience on an early morning run last summer. In the woods a deer darted in front of me, two fawns in tow. Midway across, one of the youngsters changed direction. The mother squared off in the dirt road, facing me down, nostrils flaring. I stopped and waited, hearing only her breathing in the still air. I understood her need to gather her brood. We just waited. The fawn finally emerged and they all bolted off.

It seems there’s always something new to experience at the family cottage. My close encounter last summer involved a family of a whole different sort. It has given me a new nickname. You can call me Runs With Deers.