Today marks the first anniversary of CottageDaily.com. I would like to thank everyone who’s stopped by, read the articles and left their comments. A special thank you to those who clicked on the Google Ads. I think I’ve made $16 advertising revenue to-date.

It was also a year ago today that I published my first article in the Globe & Mail - on what? Cottaging of course. Today’s blog is the first part of the article; the second half will appear tomorrow.

For anyone who owns a cottage and for those who dream of someday owning their own cottage - this blogs for you.

Cottage Season - Squatters Welcome

Standing on the edge of the warm shallow water, we waited for my mom, Jackie Kennedy look-a-like in a polka-dot bikini, to rake away the long green spindly weeds and dead sunfish found pooling in our sandy bay. Brought in by the waves from the boats, my mom dutifully pushed them back out into the lake, so my brothers, sister and I could go swimming. We were renting a cottage–small and worn down by time and other renters- on Rice Lake, Ontario, -a lake known for its muskies, pickerel and dense weed beds.

Over the course of my childhood we “experienced” many cottages throughout the Kawarthas. All were similar in nature: compact plain kitchens with beige linoleum flooring, two bedrooms with sagging mattresses – (perfect for jumping on), and rusty brown sleeper sofas. The feature we loved most was always the lake with its warm brown sandy carpet - an inviting playground for any child.

We ceased being renters when I turned 12. My parents bought a bright sunset orange cottage on Sunset Bay (the colour of our cottage was no coincidence). We were back on Rice Lake, the place where it all began. It was love at first sight. I loved our little “doll” house: the dated furniture- cast-offs from the previous owners’ living rooms, the big copper dials on the circa 1950’s kitchen stove. But most of all I loved the lake, whose enticing magic drew my siblings and me to it like children to finger paint. The lake: a giant aquatic canvas filled with endless possibilities.

Unfortunately our cottage days were cut short after my parents’ separated in my late teens. At the tender age of 22 I became a cottage squatter forced to rely on the kindness of other cottagers. Always on the look-out for invites, I found myself in some rather unusual and at times downright awkward situations. Cleaning out eaves- troughs, standing in frigid waters installing docks, and enduring intoxicated family members who called me by the ex- girlfriend’s name: these seemed small prices to pay for waterfront privileges. Waking up and finding nothing to eat but beer was another squatting dilemma.

Tomorrow the conclusion,

Cheers,

Julie

This entry was posted on Friday, May 30th, 2008 at 10:10 am and is filed under Current News. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.