LAKE CABIN

BY: KRIS DINNISON

rowing up in the Tri-Cities, my family had a small boat. We’d use it to waterski on summer evenings after my parents got off work. And there were countless camping trips where we’d fish for landlocked kokanee in lakes around the region. The boat was portable, flexible. I didn’t understand why anyone would want to be tied to one place.

For my husband, who grew up in Spokane, having a place at the lake was something he’d dreamed of for a lifetime. We’d been caretakers for a couple of lake cabins. But neither was the right place for our busy lives or our budget.

A few years later, we went for a drive, “just to look” at a few places that were for sale. And on that drive, with the snow still deep and the lake still frozen, we found a cabin that ticked all the boxes for us.

The cabin itself is modest and seasonal. Nothing fancy. Just enough room for us and the occasional guest. But my husband has used his magic to give it the cozy, vintage, cabin vibe that makes it feel special, and different from home.

It’s not everyone’s dream. We don’t have internet or TV, and get wonderfully spotty cell service. The lake is small, and quiet with about 25 cabins total--only a handful of them year-round residents. On our lake, there’s no tubing or skiing, no jet skis or party barges. Electric motors only. Lots of people fish or kayak, watching the trout jump and the flotillas of Canada Geese usher their young around the lake.

At one end the beavers set up house. On lucky evenings we see one swimming down the lake towards their lodge. Or we watch an otter swirl and spin past our dock, pausing, head raised, as curious about us as we are about her.

An osprey family nests at one end of the lake, and on the opposite end, bald eagles must have a home because we rarely go a day without seeing both raptor species. Some days the eagles wander into osprey territory, and we’ll get to watch as they battle in the sky.

There are deer, of course, but also martens, and wood ducks, a pair of pileated woodpeckers, kingfishers, and chipmunks galore. We’d probably see more animals if our lab didn’t come to the lake with us. But since swimming is his happiest of places, we can’t leave him behind.

Of course, we love the lake in the summer, when the temperature is perfect for swimming or a lazy day of reading in the shade. Summer is the season we take sunset boat rides with the neighbors, or float in innertubes with friends. But our favorite times are at the edges of the seasons, early spring and late fall.

In those times, most of the cabins are locked tight, waiting for the sunshine. We open the cabin as soon as the lake thaws, instead. And we try to stretch our time there until just before the first big freeze. We light fires in the woodstove, and take damp walks, looking for the wildflowers peeking from the forest floor in the spring, or watching the tamaracks turn golden in the fall.

Now I understand the lure of the lake cabin. I am learning to anticipate the coming and going of the birds, the way the frogs’ songs change, the rise and fall of the water. We mark time differently there. We talk about the year the yellowjackets were bad, the first July we found huckleberries, the time my husband saw the albino chipmunk.

Going back to a place year after year, watching the landscape evolve and the seasons change has been an education for me, and happily, I have a lot more to learn.

In those times, most of the cabins are locked tight, waiting for the sunshine. We open the cabin as soon as the lake thaws, instead. And we try to stretch our time there until just before the first big freeze.

We light fires in the woodstove, and take damp walks, looking for the wildflowers peeking from the forest floor in the spring, or watching the tamaracks turn golden in the fall.

We light fires in the woodstove, and take damp walks, looking for the wildflowers peeking from the forest floor in the spring, or watching the tamaracks turn golden in the fall.

Now I understand the lure of the lake cabin. I am learning to anticipate the coming and going of the birds, the way the frogs’ songs change, the rise and fall of the water. We mark time differently there. We talk about the year the yellowjackets were bad, the first July we found huckleberries, the time my husband saw the albino chipmunk.

Going back to a place year after year, watching the landscape evolve and the seasons change has been an education for me, and happily, I have a lot more to learn.