The Cottage

A lucky day

Welcome to False Choices, a substack dedicated to the lighter side of our current lives. I publish a short story every Wednesday, a film or book review on Friday and when I have time a recipe on Monday. When I’m not writing I farm hard cider apples in Northern Michigan. Thanks for reading,

My family once owned a small cottage on the Canadian side of Lake St. Clair. The following is my best recollection from memory.

---

It was pitch black when I closed the back door behind me, the air was cold and cutting, but still, and the stars were out. There was still some ice along the curbs as I pedaled to the Coplin bridge over I-94. The freeway was empty. I got to the drop just as the truck rolled up. It was a different driver, a young guy with no interest to talk; he tossed the wired bundles of papers into both corners of the doorway and sped away.

I sat down on one of the bundles to roll the papers and band them. I had 160 papers to roll and band in less that twenty minutes. It saved a lot of time in delivery. When I was almost done, the other boy came. He was always late and didn’t care. Every Sunday at the station the manager yelled at him, but he didn’t care. “As long as I’ve got some cash for stuff and lunch at school I don’t give a shit.” That’s what he said every Sunday morning at the diner after he paid his paper bill. He made up his mind to not care and never changed. He was a couple years older.

“You want a smoke?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He handed me a Cigarillo, cheery flavored. He took one too, struck a match and lit them both. We smoked the Cigarillos and filled up our route bags. I had the front bag filled, and then the saddle bags too. I held the bike steady with my body while I put the bags. The bike tried to roll away but I kept an elbow on the seat and a shin against one pedal and kept it mostly still until the bags were on. I threw one leg over the bike.

“See you tomorrow.”

“See ya then.”

I delivered the papers from the front bag, tossing them onto porches. When the front bag was empty I stopped and filled it up with papers from the saddle bags. I finished the route back by the Coplin bridge, on the other side. I could hear the traffic on the busy freeway now.

As I rode up the driveway the air was still cold, but it was light out now. Inside I put a small pot on the stove and poured in some milk. The house was quiet. It was Wednesday so Pops had the day off. I added some chocolate powder to the milk and cut two thick slices of bread and spread on some margarine.

When the milk started to steam, I poured it into a cup and dipped the bread in it. It was warm and sweet. I was always hungry after the route. I turned and saw Pops in his sweatshirt and boxers.

“What are you up to, other than making a racket?”

“Eating breakfast.”

Pops turned away. A few minutes later Mom and Pops came into the kitchen. Mom made coffee and Pops cut onions.

“What’s happening at school today,” Pops asked.

“Johnny!” Mom said.

“What? Johnny? I can’t ask?”

“He can’t go to the cottage today, he’s got school,” Mom said.

I saw Pops look at me, with a little smile. I smiled, too. Going to the cottage to help Pops. That was a good idea, promising.

“Why’s your hat on? Take your hat off at the table,” Mom was cross now.

“It was cold out this morning,” I said.

“Well, it’s not cold now.”

I left the kitchen and went upstairs to wash up and get ready for school.

“Is your brother up?” Mom yelled up the stairs a while later.

“I don’t know,” I yelled back. I could smell the liver and onions now. I finished combing my hair and got dressed.

I got my books together, and tied my tie, then I went down the stairs sideways two steps at a time.

“Did you wash the ink off your hands?” Mom asked.

“Yes, ma.”

Pops was at the stove putting the finishing touches on breakfast. He nodded at me, with the same little smile as before. “There’s still a chance,” I thought.

On the basement landing I found pair of my work jeans and threw them into the route bag along with an old sweatshirt, just in case.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

The first hour was always homeroom with Sister Mary Gehringer. Class just started when the door opened. It was Sister Ruth, the principal.

“You,” she said, nodding at me, “come with me and bring your wrap.” I went to my locker, put my books away and got my route bag and coat. I walked down to the office on the first floor.

Pops was in the office talking to Mrs. Waitkus the secretary.

“Here he is,” Sister Ruth said. She was really cross about it. She went into her office and shut the door.

“C’mon, let’s get to the cottage,” Pops said. I followed him out to the parking lot. When the school doors closed behind us Pops asked “Is she always like that?”

“Yep.”

The day was getting better. The sun was out nice and bright now and the air was moving, it was warm and soft.

“You don’t mind a day off, do you?”

“Heck no.”

Pops laughed, and I threw my route bag on the back seat of the Chrysler, and got in. There was a box on the back seat too, with a thermos and some other stuff.

“Ahh, we’ll take Jefferson and see if we can avoid rush hour,” Pops said. We settled in and when we got to Jefferson Pops took a right and we had pretty clear sailing with the sun bright and behind us. Then as we got closer to Old Mariner’s Cathedral and the tunnel we crawled along.

“Why are so many people coming this way from the tunnel?” I asked.

“Those are Canadians who work in the plants.”

Finally we got an opening and Pops made a left into the tunnel entrance. He paid the guard and we cruised through the tunnel. There was hardly anyone going our way. The other way crawled along. We stopped at the booth on the other side.

“Citizenship?”

“US.”

“US.”

“Destination?”

“Stoney Point,” Pops said.

The guard looked through the windows and walked back to his booth. “You’re free to go.”

We had a long ride now. We went along on Ouellette to Tecumseh. Pops made a left turn on Tecumseh and the sun was bright and in our face now. He took Tecumseh along the lake. I fell asleep. When I woke up Pops was just making the turn onto the gravel Comber Sideroad. The lake was straight ahead. The fields on either side of the road were brown and turned over. There was snow on one side of the ditch. As we got closer to the lake there were little whitecaps out on the deep blue water. They lifted your spirits. We were both happy to see them. I thought about all the kids back at school who couldn’t see them.

“It’s a shame the other kids can’t see them,” I said.

“What other kids?” Pop asked.

“The kids at school.”

Pops made the turn onto the cottage road. It was bumpy and he moved the car back and forth across it to find some flat road. We finally got to the end of the road and the cottage, the car stopped in front of the gate. Pops handed me the key. I worked the key into the lock and after twists and turns the lock opened. I put the lock out of the way and lifted the long white gate on one end and walked it out of the driveway. Pops drove through and stopped just short of the cottage. I caught up to him with a slow trot and we walked out in front of the cottage.

“Jeez, look at that,” Pops said.

The beach was almost gone. The blond sand was only six or eight feet wide. The little whitecaps rolled up onto the beach, and then rolled back.

“Damn, water’s gotten higher,” his face was worried.

The rock jetty was barely visible under the water, you could see it was there by the water swirling around it. There were pieces of ice floating in the water. They’d be gone by the afternoon, probably.

“Well, let’s get after it,” Pops said.

We walked back to the car. Pops stopped at the door of the cottage and opened it up. I caught up to him in the cottage with my route bag and the box with the thermos.

“You can take your tie off now,” Pops chuckled. I got undressed from my school clothes and put on the jeans and the red sweatshirt. I found some work boots and tried putting them on, but they didn’t fit anymore. I’d worn them the previous fall but couldn’t put them on now.

“Try these,” Pops said. He handed me a pair of his old work boots. They were a little big, but not too bad. I found an extra pair of socks and that helped to fill up the boots.

Pops walked through the cottage and collected a few mouse traps with dried up mice. The cottage smelled like winter, and it was colder inside than out.

“Open up some windows on both sides,” Pops said. I unlocked and opened three windows in front and two in back. The breeze smelled fresh off the lake and the cottage started to warm up.

We walked out to the shed in back of the lot. Pops unlocked it and we took out two large canvas tarps and some rakes and a pitchfork. We unfolded the tarps and dragged them towards the cottage. We started to collect all the branches that had fallen during the winter and toss them onto the tarps. We dragged the tarps from place to place. I ended up on one side of the cottage and Pops on the other. The tarps were piled full and high now.

“We should drag these down to the road now,” Pop said. I took two ends of the tarp behind my back and walked slowly toward the road. The tarp was noisy behind me, and heavy. I stopped once and took a breath. Pops had his tarp on the driveway stone and was clipping along. I pulled my tarp over to the drive and was behind Pops as he pulled his through the gate. When we got near the burn pit, we each took one corner of Pops’ tarp and rolled it over the top of the branches. All the branches ended up on the pit. We dragged the empty tarp out of the way and then did the same with my tarp. The pile of branches was pretty big now, as tall as me.

Pops used the pitchfork to gather up the branches a little better. “Walk over the the shed and get the old oil,” Pops said. I put both hands on the white fence rail and jumped over. Pops shook his head and yelled, “And don’t break my fence.”

I came back with the oil.

“Stand over here and let it fly.” I moved over to where the wind was at my back and in one underhand motion had the oil in the air. It splashed down on the branches and dripped like warm honey. Pops took the bucket and put it upside down on the top of the branches. What was left in the bucket dripped down. We gathered up some dried leaves into a corner under the branches, out of the wind, and Pops lit them on fire. I grabbed the bucket off the pile and walked it out of the way. The leaves got going a little and the oil caught and soon the fire was going. Pops lit a cigarette and relaxed against the fence.

“Let’s get started on the leaves,” Pops said. I took up one side of a tarp and walked it back to the cottage.

We raked the leaves and filled up three or four tarps worth and dragged them to the fire, unrolling the tarp near the fire, and put pitchforks full of leaves on the fire. The leaves were a little wet and they made a thick light grey smoke. The wind broke it up. I saw a little smoke haze over the brown farm field across the road. When the leaves were all on the fire Pops said “Let’s drag the tarps over to the apple trees, and get some lunch.”

The cottage was warmer now, and smelled better. I unpacked the box with the thermos onto the kitchen counter. There was a container of chili, slices of ham and buttered bread. There was a small bag of molasses cookies. Pops took the chili and poured it into a small pot and put it on one of the stove burners. “I've got to turn on the electric,” Pops said. Near the door of the cottage there was a room with tools and the water tank and heater. Pops opened a small panel and found the fuse for the stove and turned it in. The pot started to vibrate a little as the stove got red hot.

Pops stirred the chili and I put together ham sandwiches on paper plates I found in the cupboard. “Remember,” Pops said, “if you need to pee you’ll have to do it outside, the water’s not on.”

Pops divided the chili between two bowls and we sat at the kitchen table and ate. The chili steamed like mad in the cool spring air.

“Boy, does this taste good, hey,” Pop said.

“Yeah, I’m starving,” I said, between mouthfuls of ham sandwich, the edge dipped into the hot chili.

“Ha, ha, you’re starving huh. I have to buy you new clothes and shoes every six months.”

“I’m not starving, starving,” I laughed.

“No you’re not.”

We ate lunch in the quiet cottage. Out on the beach some seagulls cried and poked at a dead fish on the beach.

I tilted the edge of my bowl and got the last spoonful of chili. Then I wiped the bowl with the last bit of the ham sandwich.

“Don’t eat the bowl,” Pops said, watching me. “Was that enough for you?”

“Yeah, that was fine.”

“Got any room left for cookies?” Pops got up and found the bag of cookies on the counter. “I forgot to bring milk, you can have some coffee this time, ok,” Pop asked.

“Ok.”

Pops took two cups out of the cupboard and looked inside of each. Then he poured coffee from the thermos into each cup. He handed me a cup and sat back down. He lit a cigarette and sipped the lukewarm coffee. I dipped the cookies into the coffee.

“Your Mom and Sister Ruth didn’t like your skipping school today,” Pops said.

“No, they sure didn’t.”

“Yeah, the ladies like to follow the rules. The rules, the rules,” Pops said.

We rested for little while at the table in the kitchen and watched the seagulls on the beach, and the little whitecaps and ice floats on the lake.

“Ok, let’s get everything together in the box. We’ll have to take all the dishes home to be washed,” Pops said.

I put all the dishes into the box, the bowls, the spoons and cups and the paper plates, were all in the box. Pops finished the last of the coffee and put the thermos into the box.

I carried the box out to the car while Pops went to the shed and got the pole saw. We met under the apple trees and he started to remove dead branches, and branches he didn’t want.

“Every year you’ve got to open the trees up, let in some sun and air,” Pops said.

The branches fell to the ground. I picked them up and made a pile on the canvas tarp. Sometimes the branch got stuck and I pulled them down. Pretty soon I had a full tarp.

“Can you pull that over the fire by yourself?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Be careful.”

I took two ends of the tarp and pulled it out to the road near the fire. Then I took the back ends and walked them over the fire. All the branches were in the fire. I was glad it worked out. I took the pitchfork and worked the branches until they started to burn. I stood next to the fire and leaned on the pitchfork. The fire was warm. The sun was still bright, but it had gone past the cottage. The trees threw long shadows over the road now. I picked up the tarp to walk it back to the apple trees.

“Admiring your work?” Pops laughed.

“Yep.”

I filled up the tarp again and dragged it back to the road. The fire was really going now. The dead branches were dry and easy to burn. I didn’t want to walk the tarp over the fire again. I took the pitchfork and threw the branches on the fire. I picked up the last branches by hand and put them on the fire. When I turned around Pops was leaning on the fence.

“Smart move,” Pops said.

I saw that Pops had dragged the last of the apple branches to the road on the other tarp. I dragged it closer to the fire and threw the branches on with the pitchfork. The fire was roaring.

“That fire’s starting to feel better and better,” Pops said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. The sun was further away down the lake now.

“Let’s do the pear trees, and we’ll call it a day,” Pops said.

We filled up two tarps from the pear trees and I put them on the fire. We tended the fire for a while. A truck came down the road from Brewer’s Retail.

“That’s John’s beer delivery, can you imagine. They deliver beer to him like he’s owns a restaurant or something,” Pops said.

“He told Mr. Spala that he gets 14 cases,” I said.

We laughed at the whole idea of drinking “14 cases” of beer every week.

“I’m glad he didn’t walk over. He must have the whole gang over today,” Pops said.

“They all have giant noses.”

“Yeah, right. Hey, fold up the tarps for me and put away the tools, leave the pitchfork out though. I’m going to do one more walk through the cottage and make sure everything is closed up and turned off. Don’t forget your school clothes,” Pop said.

I got the tools and tarps together and walked them over to the shed. I folded the tarps and put them up on a shelf, and stood the tools up. The shed always smelled the same way, but in the cool air it wasn’t so bad. Something moved along the wall. “Field mouse,” I thought. I walked over to the the cottage, found my school clothes and put them into my route bag. Pops was setting up some mouse traps again. I walked out to the car and put my bag on the back seat. Pops locked up the cottage and we walked together out to the fire. The air was cooler now and the embers were glowing red. Pops worked the last few unburned bits of branch into the embers. The wind had died down to almost nothing.

“I guess that should be alright,” Pops said. He worked the fire a bit more until it was just grey, hot ash.

I walked the pitchfork back to the shed and locked it up. Pops backed the car out of the driveway. I waited until he was in the road and then I moved the gate back into place, put the lock on and set it, and joined Pops in the car.

“Alright, we have everything?” Pops asked.

“Everything we came with.”

We started back to the city. I fiddled with the radio and found a French station for laughs. They talked French like at Sunday mass in the town nearby.

“Try 780,” Pops said. I changed the dial. They were going to have the Wings’ game against the Blackhawks soon.

The sun was almost set now. We drove straight into the cold, red sky. I settled into the seat. The car was warming up.

“That was a good day, hey?” Pops said. “We got a lot done.”

“Yeah, sure. That was alright,” I said. “I wonder what Mom has for supper.”

Outside in the dusk I could still make out the plowed farm fields and the narrow line of trees between the fields. There was another car going in the same direction on another road a long ways off across the fields. I followed their lights until they turned off and I lost sight. Tomorrow was another school day, I thought, with twice as much homework. But I still had the ride home with Pops ahead.

---

More about my Dad: