reflecting on the back deck—and the quiet whisper of memories
FORTY-TWO YEARS ago, I landed on the island as a visitor and passed the pre-spousal cottage test. That meant simply to survive a weekend off-grid and show boundless enthusiasm.
Mary and Jack, matriarch and patriarch, did their own thing. And, over the years, they showed me how to do the cottage thing, especially Mary, who was the beating heart of the cottage. When they weren’t down on the dock, my in-laws preferred the back deck. They got up early and drank coffee from bone China cups (after the war, Jack refused to drink from a mug). They folded their lean bodies into creaky metal chairs that faced toward the forest. They watched the morning sun start its grand arc toward the cottage’s favoured front, where it arrived in time for tea (for them) and cocktails (for us and our friends).
The back deck is not the most desired spot at the cottage. For one thing, it faces east, away from the water into woods that brim and buzz with mosquitoes (but also iridescent dragonflies and sweet wild blueberries). A wood-frame wall as thin as a cereal box separates the deck from the bathroom whose window looks onto the coffee-drinkers. Discretion goes out the window when occupants slam the ancient wood sash closed in an attempt at privacy.
Most visitors prefer the cottage’s west, or lake side. A generous screened porch settled high above the water takes in the drama of the Bay. Loons wail, power-boats rumble up the channel, and raging sunsets blaze like dragon’s breath across the sky.
On the back deck, Jack liked to supervise while Mary worked away with a paintbrush or served him tuna and chopped-pickle sandwiches for lunch. Next to the porch is an old shed, open on two sides, where we store brooms, rakes, garbage bins, and firewood. Mary would sweep the steps and feed peanuts to a chipmunk as brave as Heracles when he killed the snakes. She wrote “Chippie” on the lid of a large, green tin and kept the nuts in the pantry, a tall cupboard with shelves and a single light bulb with a chain you pull to turn on. We once turned on the light to discover a very real, very large, non-mythical fox-snake on the floor, but then decided he was after
