Remembering Grandpa's cabin

As I was going for my morning run in today's sickening heat, something about the terrain I crossed triggered a memory of what it was like when we used to vacation at my grandpa's cabin. And just like that I was awash in nostalgia.

My Grandpa Ceman was part owner of a cabin in Drummond, WI, in the northernmost part of the state. From the time I was very young, my family took its annual summer vacation in Drummond. I'm sure that when I was 4 or 5 or so, I loved the place. However, all I can really remember is hating it.

I didn't hate the experience, of course, being with my family (though maybe sometimes I did). No, the actual place, it disgusted me. The cabin was red. The lone shower in the lone bathroom (minus the outhouse, of course) was red, too. It was covered in rust and was creepier than any Bates Motel shower. Only iron-tinged water ran through the pipes there, so the bathroom had that distinct aroma.

The place, at large, smelled of mildew. Dampness embedded deeply each bunk bed and all the furniture. The rampant moldiness sent my childhood asthma into overdrive many a summer.

I have a hard time pinpointing what got to me most. My grandpa and his friends (and his friends' families, etc.) used the place from time to time, of course. To this day, I still have neuroses about using things that aren't mine.  "Is that a cabin spoon?" is a running joke that my family still has when we vacation together. I'm a home body at heart and soon begin to long for my own space no matter where I am.

Back in the good old days, Mom and Dad would pack one of our perpetually breaking-down vehicles to the gills, and we'd make the six-hour trek to Drummond, always stopping at the Dairy Queen Brazier in Tomahawk to eat. We used car-top carriers to haul all our stuff. We lost my favorite Wonder Woman sleeping bag on one trip when it rolled off the top of the car. One of our cars was a giant Buick station wagon. It had a rear-facing seat. We called it the way back and fought over who got to sit there.

My parents invited various family friends to stay with us. Some of those people, whom we know only tangentially now, I wonder, why on earth did they invite them? Mostly, though, we spent time there with our dearest family friends, the Hammers, as well as friends of my brothers and me.

My best friend, Crystal, and I spent many a summer day there. Here we are, at left. I don't think Crystal was as prissy as I was, but in a show of solidarity, she, like me, decided to forgo showering for most the days we spent there, instead taking our inner tubes and a bar of soap out to Lake Drummond, just down the path from the cabin. Sorry, environment!

My brothers and I feasted on junk food and swilled cans of Jolly Good soda in flavors like grape, fruit punch and pina colada, blissfully unaware of the evils of high-fructose corn syrup and artificial colors. We didn't have a lot of money growing up. At home, my mom usually bought glass bottles of Springtime Soda, the kind that we'd drink and bring the empties back to the grocery store. Drinking our own cans of soda was a big treat.

Stargazing was second to none at the cabin. With virtually no light pollution, we could sit in our lawn chairs around the fire and take in the night sky in all its glory, intermittently playing silly games like telephone.

My parents brought us on all kinds of great adventures when we were there. We'd visit places of natural beauty like Amnicon Falls or Copper Falls. As something special, we might drive to Bayfield and take the ferry across to Madeline Island. Sometimes we'd go to Hayward and eat fudge or trek to Duluth to look at the giant ships. And, of course, I spent a lot of time bellyaching about the many hikes we took.

I'm sorry to say, I spent a lot of time complaining away my time in Drummond. As I headed into my teen years, this only grew worse. I took my boys to Sunset Beach in Kimberly yesterday and was dumbstruck to realize that it was 21 years ago - more than half my lifetime - that I fell in love for the first time at 15 years old at that very beach. Yes, I was that teenage girl who was perpetually falling in and out of love.

The guy was Raimon, an exchange student visiting from Barcelona. Raimon was staying with our friends, the Hammers. My family went to Drummond that summer, without the Hammers, and I was heartbroken and angry to spend precious time away from Raimon. This is a picture of my family with Carlos, our exchange student and now a lifelong friend, on the last day of our trip. Look how happy I am! How happy we all are, really.

A few years before my grandpa died in 2001, he sold his share of the cabin. The buyer renovated the place. It was quite the transformation, but I must say, it's that old ramshackle red cabin that holds a special place in my heart. My family stayed there a few times since then, but we've long since found other vacation locales. It's been a good 14 or 15 years since I've been there.

On days like today, I still feel pangs, missing the halcyon times we spent in Drummond, many days that I squandered.

Truth be told, I haven't changed a lot since then. I still love my creature comforts, and if you plunked me back down in that old cabin, I might well long for my home after a few days. My parents, however, have instilled a love of nature in me. Hiking is one of my favorite pastimes now, and I feel most at peace walking through the woods. My parents, in fact, who didn't have much, gave us so many rich experiences.

Each summer, we take a summer vacation with my side of the family. We're forgoing it this year in favor of a trip Mark and the boys and I will take with my parents to Orlando in November. I'm feeling wistful about skipping summer vacation.

I've always been lukewarm about camping, but for my boys, I'm going to make a point of having us get out there more. I want to give the boys the same gift my parents gave me.

I'm thankful for the many weeks we spent in Drummond. Those memories will stay with me always, crystalline, perfect in their imperfection.