The Little Red Cottage

The Little Red Cottage

My name is Tim Slater. I am twenty-eight years old, married, and a father of two rambunctious boys, six and eight. I am an attorney working with a Syracuse, New York law firm. As the beginning of summer approaches, our family eagerly anticipates our two-week yearly adventure, preferably somewhere we have never been before. The excitement of the upcoming trip always brings back the memories of the summer trips I took as a young boy with my parents. My parents rented a two-story red cottage on Lake Erie in Dunville, Ontario, Canada. Our cottage was steps away from the beach, where I spent most of my time.

I want to share the story of spending two weeks in Dunville as a boy and my recent trip with my wife and two sons twenty years later.

On the last day of school, I would anxiously sit in class, watching the big hand on the classroom clock. "Only two more minutes. Come on!" I would say, as the big hand moved forward once and then twice. At last, school was over for the summer. Leaping from my seat, I'd holler, "We made it!" while racing out the door with my two friends toward our parked bikes. The relief of no more homework or Mrs. Olson's boring English classes was palpable, and the freedom of the summer vacation was ours to savor and enjoy.

At home, my parents were busy packing boxes we would take for our trip. My mother would tell me every year to double-check to be sure I had placed everything in the box I wanted to bring to Dunville and carry it to the porch so my dad could start loading the car. While happily racing up the stairs to my room, I remember thinking how much I loved Dunville. As I packed my box, I thought of last summer lying on the soft sand and feeling the sun's warmth, swimming in the cold…brrr blue water, fishing from an old rickety boat, and looking for seashells in the shiny sand to bring back home.

We would take off around 7:00 AM for our great adventure in Canada. The trip was only three hours long, but it seemed to take all day. Then, while looking out the front windshield, I remembered spotting the little red cottage standing proudly among the other nearby cottages. Pointing it out to my parents, I would excitedly tell them we arrived. Dad would stop at the Bate's cottage, two cottages down from ours, to pick up the key and pay for the first week's rent.

The next morning, Mother would tell me to get ready, that the three of us would be going into town to buy food and water for our first week. The town was nearby, so we walked, waving hello to our neighbors as we passed by. My parents would take a small wagon to carry all the food. I loved going to town because there were so many small stores to explore. My favorite place was The Beachy Ice Cream Castle.

The food store had a bench on the sidewalk in front of the store. I would run to it, sit down and yell back to my parents that I would wait for them while they shopped. Watching people go in and out of the various stores with recently purchased items was fun. Across the street was Sam's Barber Shop. The shop had a large window where I watched him give a customer a haircut or shave. The shaving cream looked like whipped cream squirted all over the man’s face. I would think that I definitely wanted Sam to give me a shave when I was older.

My parents would come out of the food store, pulling the wagon filled with food and water. Before returning to the cottage, we always stopped at the ice cream castle. This was a popular place in Dunville. We ordered our favorite ice cream cone, mine being chocolate with M&M’s sprinkled all over. We quickly ate our cones before they started to melt while walking down the street looking in the windows of the various shops.

The little red cottage was not just a place but a feeling of belonging and comfort. I would have only changed one thing: the outhouse, which was a short walk from the cottage and had a half-moon on the door. I could never figure out what a half-moon had to do with an outhouse. Looking around at other outhouses, I noticed they all had half-moons carved out on the door. Having a bathroom inside the cottage would have been so much better, I used to think, and we didn’t have to carve a half-moon on the door either. But I put up with the outhouse since so many other things were just right for a seven-year-old.

The sunsets were the most perfect event of the day. The sky showed brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows smeared all over the horizon. It was so awe-inspiring that I sat on the beach mesmerized by the sky's brightness, thinking what a great artist God was to come up with such a show every night.

Grandpa would come to the cottage during the second week. He and Dad would go fishing daily, spending the entire afternoon on the water. I remember sitting on the beach late afternoon, looking for a small black dot on the horizon. When I saw it, I would run and tell Mom they were returning from fishing. They took a while to reach the shore since they were in an old boat that didn't move quickly. Sometimes, they returned with a few fish, and other days came back with nothing. Once, I went with them and figured out where there was a school of fish. When lowering the line, I turned the reel eight times and always caught many fish. I told Dad and Grandpa about this big find. They tried it, and the three of us would catch fish after fish, filling the bottom of the boat. It made me think about the Sunday School class, where I learned about the disciples' inability to find fish. Jesus told them to go back out and try again. They returned with their nets overflowing with fish enough to feed hundreds of people. We returned with many fish but only sufficient to feed maybe ten people at best.

A small trail went from our cottage to the Hampton's cottage. We would sometimes go there for a cookout. Grilled hot dogs, hamburgers, corn on the cob, and potato salad were the best, and ice cream cones for dessert were eagerly anticipated.

It was always a sad time when I started packing to return home. But I always thought we would return to our red cottage next summer, which we did, until one year when we could not spend two weeks in Dunville. Dad had lost his job, and there wasn't the money to spend on a vacation. In fact, we had never returned to Dunville after that.

Now, twenty years later, I have been considering taking my wife and sons to Dunville to show them where I spent my summer vacation as a boy. After discussing this with them, everyone agreed to make Dunville our summer vacation. Here is the difference between visiting our little red cottage as an eight-year-old and revisiting it twenty years later.

A map showing the route to Dunville was open on our dining room table. I wrote a letter to Mr. Bates to see if he was still there and if the red cottage was available for rent. However, he never replied. After searching many places, I found a small cottage available for rent just outside of Dunville, which I took.

Early in the morning, we drove to Dunville. I was so anxious to go back there; however, to my surprise, it was not like the place I remembered. The cafe and hardware store were still there but were runned down. The barber shop was closed, with a for-sale sign in the window where I used to watch Sam. The small food store was open, but the ice cream shop was closed and boarded up.

It saddened me to see how different it looked. I walked into the hardware store and asked the manager what had happened. He said that many people had moved out because of higher prices on everything. The area where the cottages were located was purchased by a developing company intending to tear down the cottages and turn the area into an updated, thriving community. The cottages were torn down, but that was all that happened so far. I was told by the manager that the road was still there and that I could still drive through the area.

So, I took my family to the area where the red cottage was. With a heavy heart, I looked around, and all I saw were down trees and some remnants of the cottages that used to stand there. My wife and boys went down to the beach while I sat on a tree trunk near where the red cottage used to stand.

The area was so quiet as I looked around. Memories started flooding back. Looking out at the horizon, I was almost expecting to see a small black dot showing Dad and Grandpa on their way back from their fishing trip. Closing my eyes, I could hear Mom yelling, "Lunch will be ready in five minutes." I opened my eyes and looked down the dusty road, visualizing the iceman coming to our cottage.

I glanced over where the Hampton's cottage once stood and thought of the great lunches that took place. I could hear the kids running around laughing while playing tag.

Tears started coming down my cheeks. What once was is no longer here. Remembering all the fun I had during those summers as a boy made me realize how much I miss it today. With a slight chuckle, I thought to myself that I even missed the half-moon outhouse.