You've heard of century farms. Well, here is our century lake cabin.

In a couple of years it will turn 100. It sits on Iron Range property my husband's immigrant Finnish grandparents settled in 1919. True to form, these Finns wasted no time building the obligatory lakeside sauna below their rustic dwelling that, decades later, was transformed into a year-round home.

My husband's father, with a nod to Finnish surnames and Henry David Thoreau, made a driveway welcome sign about 40 years ago that read "Waldonen Pond." It continues to greet visitors. (And a sign on the cabin mandated this: "Kick the door open. I know your arms are loaded with beer.")

We're now on our fifth generation of extended-family enjoyment on an island-flecked lake near Eveleth. Though the cabin serves as a winter getaway, its shiniest moments are in summer. Grandchildren swim and tube. There are Fourth of July fireworks and firepit s'mores. Lake loons sing their night music in the piney air.

The Up North cabin life (whatever your definition of cabin may be) is so particularly Minnesotan that it may as well be cobbled onto the state flag somehow. Though the lifestyle may be commonplace, we know better than to take it for granted.

Our lake place has all the amenities and conveniences of a standard home. But it wasn't all that long ago that water had to be pumped and hauled from a well, rain pounding on the bare-beam roof was our lullaby, and the calls of nature had to be relieved in nature. The outhouse was 50 feet away. Don't forget the flashlight.

In a lot of ways, then was better.

That old wood-fired sauna five paces from shore always promised to remedy what might ail us. Hence yet another sign within: "If a sauna and strong spirits don't cure you, then the disease is fatal."

Katie Ojanpa, Mankato