It's All Danny's Fault

It’s all Danny’s fault.  We didn’t grow up camping.  Our summer vacations were always spent in the same place.  It was an old grain storage building that someone moved to Middle Cormorant Lake in far western Minnesota and converted into a cottage.  Our grandparents bought it way back and since long before I was born it had been our family’s summer refuge.  It had no running water – just an outhouse up on the hill and a pump by the side door.  It wasn’t much to look at but it was close enough to the lake that you could practically skip stones from the front porch.  There was a little boathouse down by the water filled with treasures in various states of disrepair:  old outboard motors, fishing tackle large enough to land a marlin, inner tubes, fins and a mask that my uncle brought back from his navy tour.   A kid could get lost in there and I often did.

Our days were mostly spent on the water or in it.  Swimming, fishing, hunting for turtles in the swamp from a rowboat with a net.  On hot days our dad often joined us.  He’d sit on the end of the dock dangling his feet in the water.  Then when he was ready he’d ask one of us to count out one, two, three and he’d dive in.

As my siblings got older they all had reasons not to go back to the cottage:  soccer tournaments, jobs, girlfriends and eventually children.  Even I tried to get out of going one year.  I was 16.  None of my siblings were going and I was sure it was going to be lame.  I lost the argument but I’m glad I did because it turned out to be my father’s last trip to the cottage.

About thirty years ago Danny kicked off a new summertime tradition.  What started off as a keg party to celebrate his wife’s birthday (DJ was the first of his generation to attend – in the womb!) has been going on now for a generation at Pike Lake.  This year I wore myself out throwing DJ’s daughter, Christiana, off my shoulders just like I used to do with her father:  one, two, three!

I didn’t go to Pike the first year but there’s a group picture of it somewhere.  (ASK DANNY FOR DETAILS _ MAYBE SCAN AND FORWARD IT TO ME) So many memories.  Like the year Amanda crashed her bike into a tree going down “suicide Hill” and broke her arm.  Or the time when Freddie and Mary brought their baby boy Brent for the first time.  He must not have enjoyed his camping experience very much because he cried so loudly his first night the ranger threatened to kick his family out of the campground.  So much history.  Legend has it that one family member was actually conceived at Pike.

My most memorable experience was in 1988.  A buddy of mine came up to camp but he got so hammered the first night that the rangers kicked him out. The problem was nobody wanted to drive him back to Milwaukee.  So instead we dropped him off in the woods with his sleeping bag.  We took to calling him Rambo.  The next morning the rangers picked him up walking along the side of the road and told him to leave the park . . . again.  Instead we hid him behind the seat in Dave Grieber’s Fiero.  It seemed like a foolproof idea, right?  We made it past the ranger in the booth by the beach parking lot.  All we had to do was park the car then get out, keep an eye out for the rangers and try to look inconspicuous.  The plan was working beautifully until Dave hit another car while backing into a parking space.

Dave is no longer with us (DETAILS) and I haven’t seen Rambo in years ( hopefully he’s not still wandering the woods at Pike!) but they were there.

About fifteen years ago I told Danny that the experiences we were sharing with his kids were too important to be left to memory and that he should keep a travel log so the kids could share their thoughts in a journal.  I thought it would be a good exercise for a bunch of squirrely kids on summer vacation but it would also be a snapshot of a wonderful time in their lives.  He did it. The “Captain’s Log” has traveled with him all around the state and beyond.

Thanks to Amanda McKenzie aka Mandumplin, aka Manda Panda, those stories have been transcribed and added to this blog.  But it’s not enough just to read the old entries when we’re creating so many new memories.  What’s your favorite Pike Lake story?  What about the canoe trip?  I shared my story. Share yours.  Jump in.  One, two, three.