The 'ole cottage

This long weekend, for the first time in almost 3 years, we made the drive to my parent's little cottage. It has been a part of our lives and our weekends since I was 14 years old. 

I have never really been a fan. Even though I grew up with an older brother who would rather be there then anywhere. 
He tried to pass along the love.

Man did he try.

He bought a boat. He taught me to water ski. He let me bring my friends along. 
But still I resisted.
A true city girl at heart I guess.
Token hot brother in his younger day's shot - (you're welcome)

I won't mention the socks and shoes. But whatever.

They lived for this stuff.

And the dream that one day, they would have a place of their own.

Places came before the cottage they own now.

In fact, story has it, the cottage pictured below is "where the magic happened".

I was born 9 months later.

My parents on the other hand, have always been HUGE cottage lovers and goers.

They love to be outdoors. Especially by a lake.

If there are fish involved - even better.

Not sure how many years passed before they sold this and decided to buy again. But I do remember weekend after weekend at one lake or another.

Until one fateful day - over 25 years ago.

This picture was snapped on the dock the very first time they visited what would become their now cottage.

The dock is larger now. And not this awful red color.

But otherwise, much has stayed the same.

There is a certain sense of nostalgia that lingers.

If you own a cottage, you will now that everything that gets discarded from your full-time home, somehow ends up there.

I know every framed picture by heart.
There is a cuckoo clock that hangs (and ticks ridiculously loud) in the living area that would not "fit in" anywhere but there.

And strangely, it all provides a certain comfort. As does the very scent of the cottage which I cannot put into words. But it is there. 
Always.

I didn't realize until now, older and wiser, how much a part of their lives, of our lives, this little cottage is.
All the memories it holds.

My folks are getting up in age. And as such, it's getting tougher and tougher for them to manage their second home.

They complain about all the work. Constantly.

But I know they secretly love every minute.
And I secretly loved every minute of being there.