Cottage Memories: Chronicles of A City Boy’s Life In The Country
BEING WINTERIZED
The wife and I gave new meaning to a “winterized” cottage. Usually the term refers to an abode that doesn’t have to sit around closed and unused for the snowy months. But we’ve done even better than that. Wish I could have said the same about our cottage road.
As a private laneway, it isn’t plowed by the municipality. So before the snow removal our road committee arranges nowadays, we’d park a kilometre from the cottage at the end of the maintained asphalt. Then I’d hook our two squirmingly excited Siberian Huskies to a supply toboggan and yell “Mush”. Which prompted the wife to ask if that’s what I wanted for dinner.
Our huskies would take off on our frozen bay, while we followed on snow shoes or cross country skis. The dogs would home-in on the cottage and wait patiently for our arrival. Except when they spotted deer. Then they’d take off in howling hot pursuit across the lake, the madly lurching sled shedding supplies faster than Husky fur. The wife commented that my screaming “Whoa” wasn’t working again. Woe is me.
One winter, I decided to organize a snowmobile tour with novice neighbours. Sending a D.A.R.T. Team overseas would have been faster. Unused sleds had to be serviced. Sled trailers dug out, cleaned off and greased. Snowmobile gear reassembled from scattered locations. Reservations made. Itinerary arranged. Doubters reassured. I even made reservations to board my canines. By the time trailer loading finished, several participants were almost too worn out to go. The wife said I should stay in better shape.
But my promises of a masseuse at our five star resort spurred everyone on. So we got busy cramming the tow vehicles with enough personal paraphernalia for a world cruise. Or to fill all the seating room, so no one would have to actually drive anywhere.
Our ragtag convoy departed one morning. Everyone seemed eager now that new adventures were imminent, the first being on our cottage road where an overloaded trailer tire blew. The guys started unloading sleds to install a spare; the gals walked back to the cottage to make coffee. The wife quipped that the spare tire around my waist might come in handy after all. I called our local auto shop to reserve a spare spare. Or two.
Mobile again, we arrived at the boarding kennel, our ragtag parade cramming into the parking lot. While everyone re-inspected equipment, I checked the dogs in for pick up three days later. Outside, the parking area looked like a wrecker’s yard. Sleds, trailers and tow vehicles were helter-skelter every which way with passersby gaping. Jacks were out and tires coming off, since two more had gone flat during my brief absence. Make that three more spares.
Then I began to realize we might not have enough good tires left to complete our trip at the current rate of destruction. Judging from the despondent faces around me, my companions might not have enough left either. The wife shaking her head was the clincher.
So I reluctantly returned to the kennel, announcing with as much gusto as possible: “I’m baa-ack!” And thus, ended both our briefest boarding stay and shortest snowmobile trip — in fact, we returned to the cottage in time for lunch!
In search of other winter activity, we hosted a Chilli Fest on the ice in front of our cottage. So named for the food, not the temperature. Although the wife wore her Arctic-rated snowsuit just in case.
Never under-achievers, we set up locations for snowmobile polo with giant hoops and broken hockey sticks to bash around volley balls. Also, snow golf with homemade wooden clubs to tap tennis balls into tin cans drilled into the ice. The wife nixed my snow basketball court idea citing the impossibility of dribbling on the white stuff. Thankfully, her chilli made up for that disappointment.
With kids building snowmen in the middle of polo and golf games, and every dog on the lake playing fetch with a flying assortment of balls, chaos reigned. But everyone had fun, especially when the canines had to be chased down and rounded up by snowmobile. You’d think those deer would have found peace and quiet somewhere else by then…and that I’d have found a better command than “Whoa!”
Perhaps we took winterizing a tad far when the wife did a back flip off her snowmobile into a swamp of yucky gunk wearing my brand new snowmobile jacket. Or got stuck in slush and was marooned on her sled awaiting rescue. But those are stories that won’t get told publicly without the wife’s blessing, so don’t hold your breath…
Craig Nicholson is a long-time Kawarthas cottager who also provides tips and tour info for snowmobilers at intrepidsnowmobiler.com and for PWC riders at intrepidcottager.com.
