In 1973, we bought a cabin in Bayfield County on the south shore of Lake Superior. We were in our 20s and did not even own a home. The cabin stood 60 feet back from the lake when we bought it, but was only 30 feet back after decades of shoreline erosion brought it closer than zoning rules allowed.

In 2008, we had to remove it, in all of its '50s knotty pine glory, and build 100 feet farther back from the shore. (The county zoning board estimates this will be a safe distance for another 60 years.) While we do not welcome erosion, maybe the Big Lake's dangerous power is part of what draws us to it. That power calls us home after a day's fishing and causes us to find comfort in the soft light from our cabin windows. Every sunset over the water is a spectacular event worthy of a photograph, every walk along the beach a lesson in geology.

The lake is the main attraction, but the cabin has its own power, too. It always makes us feel safe when the wind roars over from the North Shore. Memories rekindle, too, when chili is cooking — we're reminded how our children used to say that everything tasted good at the cabin. Most of all, the cabin is a launchpad for exploring the natural world. If, as Robert Frost wrote, "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in," our cabin is the place where when we have to lock the door and go home, even the dog doesn't want to leave.

Bruce and Coleen Johnston, Mazeppa, Minn.