autumn's coming

Summer's sneaking out while autumn's creeping in. I see it, feel it, smell it. Autumn fools you. It was in the 40's this morning, but by the time Ellie and I walked, the air was warm. Well. Ohio just that does that all the time.

A nip in the air also means we "close" our cabin for the winter. "Close?" ask the southerners. What do you mean? This is north, way north, where snow can blow in October and ice remains on the lake until April.

Whitecaps whipping the lake, we spotted just one lone boater all weekend.

 All docks get pulled from the lake. And for a cottage built in 1945, it means the pipes are drained. We check for dead trees that could blow down on the cabin.

Usually, we'll have spotted one or two over the summer that really should come down. I'd cry for the felled birches, except there are dozens more coming right behind them.

To make way for the dock sections, the boathouse is straightened and cleaned.

And - perhaps the best entertainment all weekend - my husband put on waders for the dock disassemblage (such a word?). He was, shall I say, a fish out of water!

With the able help of our amazing neighbor Roy, the dock was soon put

into hibernation. 

It wasn't quite as cold as you might think ...

but almost.

Call me crazy, but I am crazy over the entryway into the kitchen.

I love the way thousands of feet have worn away the paint for 65 years.

I roll up and hang the clothesline behind the door.

I love the collection of small stones lining the screen.

The kerosene lantern I found for $2 at a yard sale hangs here. I proudly use it because I learned how at Girl Scout camp many years ago.

And I like how my daughter's flip flops sit waiting for next summer.

On our final night there, I played with my camera,

trying to catch the light on the boathouse.

And as the sun slipped beyond the western lake shore,

we sadly and sweetly said goodbye

until next summer.