There’s a little Heaven at The Cabin ~ July 23, 1998

David Heiller 

Cindy and I and our kids when to a cabin last weekend to see her mother and sister and brother and his family.

We've been going to The Cabin so long that it really is a proper noun, like Heaven. A lot of good things have happened there.

Sometimes I write about them in a specific way, like taking the small-fry fishing.

But the broader picture of The Cabin can't be sketched out in a cute anecdote. It's about many things.

Noah, mid leap, at The Cabin

It's a place to relax, to take a nap without feeling guilty, to play a rigorous game of bocce ball in the morning and a tough game of cards at night.

It’s a place to eat fantastic salads made by Cindy, and fantastic shish-kabobs grilled by her brother, Randy.

It’s a neutral place where family battles and personality clashes are put aside, for the most part.

It’s a place to fish and to teach kids how to fish. That always awakens the kid inside me. I’ve taught my two kids how to fish there, and although they don’t fish much now, the seed has been planted and it probably will re-emerge and grow some day.

I’ve helped a nephew and niece learn to fish there too. No matter how hard it is to talk to kids, to “relate” to them in modern lingo, if you can take them fishing, you will connect.

You won’t get any fishing done yourself. Don’t even try. You’ll take off tiny sunfish and bait tiny hooks held by tiny hands, and you’ll hear the craziest questions, like “Why isn’t that dead fish swimming?” And it will be wonderful.

A second niece of mine, age three, had me show her how to cast her little rod on Sunday. She didn’t do well. She’s a little too young, and I didn’t push her. These things must be done delicately.

But she will learn how to fish, because there’s always next year at The Cabin.

Collin

Next to fishing is swimming. Some people are lucky and live on a lake or river. The rest of us have to be content with visiting places like The Cabin. This one sits on top of a steep hill. It takes a long walk down 46 concrete steps to get to the lake. But it’s worth the walk to go swimming.

Is there anything finer than jumping into a cool lake on a hot day? It feels especially good after a hot bike ride, or a nap that has left you groggy.

You don’t have to swim laps in the lake. You don’t have to have a purpose on the water. Remember, no guilt is allowed at The Cabin. Just sit in the water like a jellyfish. Take an occasional swim to the diving dock, to show the rest of the folks that you haven’t turned into a human jellyfish. Throw your arms over an inner tube and float around with your wife and get some serious small talk done.

And watch the kids play. That’s another joy of The Cabin. If you ever feel jaundiced about children, if you ever want to say “Kids today don’t know how to have fun anymore,” take them to The Lake at The Cabin. Yes, we really should capitalize The Lake too.

They can play all day. It always brings back a lot of good memories, watching children play in water. I think of the countless hours. I did the same on the Mississippi River when I was growing up. Literally every day in the summer. Wow, it was fun.

Grandma and the Grands at the cabin, 1996.

Now it’s almost as fun to watch them. Funny how things change. I think that is true for my mother-in-law, Lorely. She couldn’t go swimming, but she sure spent a lot of time sitting in a comfortable chair on shore and watching her grandkids play. Sometimes she pretended to be reading a book, but I know better.

Our family is lucky to spend a weekend a year at The Cabin. It belongs to my sister-in-law’s parents. They have a big family. They really get their money’s worth from it. The Cabin is booked almost every week of the year. I’m sure our family’s experiences there could be modified and repeated by many other families. I know we really appreciate it and value it.

I could go on and on about The Cabin. But you get the picture. Hopefully you have access to one of your own.

My sister-in-law’s brother, Mike, put it well on Sunday. He had been swimming on that perfect afternoon, watching the little ones, soaking up the warm sun.

He walked up the concrete steps to where I sat, playing the banjo. (Did I mention that The Cabin is the perfect place to play the banjo?)

I don’t remember his exact words. Reporters don’t take notes at The Cabin. But he said that if Satan rolls back the big iron doors and lets us out from Hell a million years from now, and gives us one day, one time, one moment, this is where we’ll come.

I couldn’t agree more.