My brother Dennis bought a lake lot near Alexandria, Minn., in 1989. The sellers left behind a 20-year-old trailer. My guess is they were happy they did not have to deal with disposing of it. It’s not much to look at, but the amenities include a roof that usually doesn’t leak, a propane stove, and a refrigerator. Dad would usually bring up Mom’s homemade chicken soup or goulash, and never had to worry about bringing home leftovers.
The trailer sits at the end of a gravel road — probably to the glee of Dennis’ neighbors. It has become home to our spring fishing trips. This year will be the 30th anniversary of these outings.
Because we like to fish so much, the chores are kept to a minimum. We string out the 100-foot extension cord for power, cut the grass, and stain Dad’s old picnic table every three years. From day one, my brother insisted that if you stay overnight you must write in the log book. We’ve filled three notebooks so far. We get great enjoyment reading the pages my mom and father filled years ago. Dad died in 2010; Mom is 96 and still going strong. My brother carries Dad’s old fishing hat with us in the boat.
In 1990, my sister came up for the weekend, and our son’s wife came up in 2012. Neither have been back since. Could it be the trailer’s patina that is keeping them away? Maybe that’s why we call it our fishing outpost or, better yet, our hideaway. It’s still a wonderful place to spend weekends with family and friends. Even if it’s only the guys.
Don Blau, Maple Grove