It was always just The Cottage to me, the way Lake Ontario was The Lake. Sometimes I have to remember people down in Ithaca don’t have the same context.
My aunt and uncle – my mother’s older sister & her husband – are selling their cottage on Lake Ontario. (3)
It got flooded badly in 2018 – standing water for months 🙁 (1) and it got very moldy, and they are not young (my aunt must be, let’s see, 50+2020[year]-1+7… 76, and I think my uncle is within a year of that) and not in phenomenal shape. I understand why they are selling it.
On the other hand, I am mourning.
This is the last family childhood memory place still in the family – Grandma’s House, my great-grandfather’s house (other side of the family) are both gone. All that remains is my parents’ place.
So I wrote them up a thing on Facebook, and I thought I would share it here, too.
This was part of my childhood. I think it’s okay if I’m crying a little.
I’ve been thinking about this for days. There are so many memories for me associated with the cottage – it’s more like a feeling, a set of emotions, than a memory.
I remember when there was still a little cottage between [house of last-name], and [cousin and cousin] and I played make-believe in its doorway/on its porch. I remember, vaguely, the renovation, the new wall, how it looked before the garage.