Going to the Lake

“Mummy, why is a man sliding down that shute, can we go on that game as well?”. After a brief pause the reply came “No, dear, that’s if the plane crashes and we all have to get out”. After a non existent pause, the voice which was increasing with pitch and volume added “But why would the plane crash?”.

I had chosen a seat in front of ‘Mummy, I’ve saved all my questions for the two and a half hour flight so please tell me everything about the world’ boy. This kid was demanding. Not only did he insist on questioning every sentence and picture in the safety manual, he also asked for a lecture on flying on a history on flying, something his mother was happy to do, with painstaking patience and attention to detail. After question number one hundred and seventy two (if you cant beat them, count them) I began the game of guessing the next question. I got nineteen out of twenty wrong, but left on a high, correctly guessing he would say “Mummy, why do we have to sit down?” when the announcement was made about the impending landing.

Just as I was learning that we can’t breathe underwater if we crashed, the flight was over, I left, knowledge enriched, and ready for the next leg of the trip, a lake in Manitoba, a place I had heard so much about, but like most things, had no idea what to expect. After all, who lives on lake? Apart from Swans of course.

After a two drive past some of the oldest rocks in the world, some burst tyres, three hitchhikers, thirteen huge trucks and a couple of lakes, we arrived at the Lake of the Woods . It’s then that I started to realise they make lakes a little bit different over here, after all, we do have a similar lake back home, it’s just called the English Channel. In and around the trees, the cabin sat proudly amongst the others, the water glittering through the gaps. In an instant you just knew this was going to be more relaxing than having a rubdown with a Swedish masseur whilst playing ‘the Greatest Relaxing Hits Ever volume five’ whilst smoking some of Jamaica’s finest.

The tradition of cabin ownership is a interesting and integral part it seems of family life. Most people seem to have access to at least one cabin somewhere, for the most part next to water. The cabins traditionally are passed down through the family, not only creating an excellent place to escape, but more importantly, bringing families together and creating a unique sense of community. After all, if you never sell you cabin, and your neighbours never sell their cabin, it’s always a good idea to at least try to get on. A hundred years is a long time to hold a grudge.

Living in a nostalgic and close community provides some refreshing, yet sometimes challenging differences from the so called norm of back home. Leaving doors unlocked although perfectly natural and expected here seems instinctively unnerving.
Like taking the stabilizers off your bike, you know you shouldn’t fall off now, but there is that feeling that doubt, “But what if I do fall sideways?” After a day of slight paranoia, you realise it just that. There really is nothing to worry about other than shutting the door quickly to make sure the mosquito’s don’t fly in.

Mobile phones have created a lazy culture in most parts of the world, here provided a refreshing alternative. When the people you know live in adjacent cabins, the first option is to always just go and knock and see if someone is home. And if they don’t respond to your knock? Just walk in anyway; the door won’t be locked for sure. That’s of course based on the assumption that their truck and boat are still there, after all, popping out for a little boat ride is more instinctive than planned.

A community of cabins needs little policing or control, if you do something wrong, the gossip will spread across the lake quicker than a jet ski. Quite simply, everyone knows everyone else, all connected at some point in their lives. “Ahh, yeah, you dated my sister” or “Your dad knows my dad” or “your granddad helped build my granddads cabin”. Keeping secrets is hard. It’s like knowing that the guy at number twenty seven has just cheated on his wife last Thursday. Oh, that was meant to be a secret. Don’t tell anyone.

“This person is from England, Kathleen has said give this person whatever he wants”. The boy working behind the counter looked up, slightly confused. Here was someone he didn’t know asking for free food for someone at the Burger trailer. Without doubting and with complete trust, he replied “Do I have to give free food to everyone from England?” As much as it was unlikely to see a bus full load of English people stopping off at this remote burger bar, I could see the free food rumour spreading around the lake like firefly, causing a number of Hugh Grant impressionists trying their luck on the Burger boy. To save any confusion, and certain closure of the burger trailer, the clarification was made. It was just me that got this kind gesture this time.

The simple life. People come here to relax, have parties and to get away from the city. The purpose of the lake is two fold, boating, fishing, swimming and throwing people off the side in the best possible fashion in the summer, and skating, fire lighting and truck rising on the frozen lake in the summer. Everything, not surprisingly, revolves around the lake. It’s the immense sense of pride combined with the years of growing up around the lake that enforces a level of protection so sadly lacking in society today. It wasn’t only their grandparent’s lake, but it’s their lake, and, most importantly, it’s their grandchildren’s lake. It’s self policed, well respected and unites the small community surrounding it.

“You’ve never seen a chipmunk before?” came the face with a look of astonishment. This wouldn’t have been so bad, yet it was the third person who had just looked at me as if I just found out that we had landed on the moon. This acted as confirmation that despite speaking the same language, having similar cultures and close historic ties, there were some things there were completely different. Chipmunks weren’t that common back home, well they were, I used to love the Alvin the chipmunk cartoons. The same look of complete astonishment furthered itself to eagles, beavers and a number of other animals, which, as I had never even heard of before, confirmed my suspicions. I was rather naïve in the animal department.

Sometimes it’s difficult to appreciate what’s on your doorstep, especially if it’s a dead mouse, but here, despite being here all their lives, there is a feeling of pride and appreciation of what they have. Whether the ability to choose between driving or boating it to see if your friend across the lake is in, leave your stuff unlocked knowing that it will never be threatened, observing the sunset over the lake whilst sitting at your table, it’s easy to see why.