Recently, I spent my first winter weekend at our cabin on Lac des Mille Lac, and like any adventure, it was filled with pluses and minuses.
The thermometer registered 14 below zero as we headed north from Grand Marais into Canada, but that didn’t worry me. I had packed enough warm clothes to circle the Arctic.
The final 20 miles leading to our property was the first challenge. We had been warned that this road needed a good plowing, and it did. Undaunted, Dick shifted into four-wheel drive and forged on.
Ruts from old unplowed snowfalls, filled with six to eight inches of new snow, were the problem. I worried that we would slide off the main track and into the deep snow, but Dick didn’t really seem upset. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn he enjoyed swaying and floating through the snow.
Suddenly I sat up straight. Two animals ran on the snow bank alongside the road. “Look!” I exclaimed, and we caught a glimpse of ear tufts as two beautiful young lynx scrambled through the snow before disappearing into the forest.
We reached the cabin without any real difficulty. The warmth and coziness, once Dick started a fire and unpacked our gear, were wonderful. I relished the heat, adored the glowing embers in the hearth, and set large pots of snow to melt on top of the fireplace. One positive part of our adventure was my hubby’s willingness to heat up the cabin while Mr. Magoo and I waited in the warm pick-up truck. I give him kudos.
Then there was the outhouse. One word describes it. Cold. Vowing to limit my beer intake after the first visit, I acclimated. It wasn’t that bad, and once Dick found Styrofoam with which to pad the seat, it almost felt like home. Believe me, Styrofoam is wonderful insulation.
We hadn’t settled into our cabin for more than a few minutes when our Canadian neighbors began stopping over. One man drove his plow pick-up and helped clear part of the driveway. Another dropped in to say hello before tooling down the lake on his tracked vehicle to his fish house. Another pick-up truck sped by our shoreline as did a snowmobile. The lake hummed with activity.
We had no sooner said goodbye to our human neighbors when the resident pair of Canadian Jays found us. Delighted, we set out peanuts, and they obligingly carried them away, quite efficiently, I might add.
Although we’d only been here a few hours, I felt at home. The fire glowed and the cabin exuded warmth and even Mr. Magoo was happy in his snug bed. I heated the evening meal, a left-over casserole, in a cast iron skillet on the wood stove, and we sat at the window and ate, watching the sun set and darkness settle on the huge expanse of white ice that is the winter lake.
When it was quite dark, we walked through the snow-covered cedars and pines to gaze up at a universe of bright stars that glittered like ice chips in a huge black sky while lights from fishing shacks twinkled out on the lake.
Returning to the warm cabin I spent the rest of the night in front of the fireplace, watching the intense ruby, scarlet and crimson colors of the glowing logs, the perfect end to a day.
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