The Cottage

The musings of a family's Cottage, as told by the Cottage one quiet evening in July.

"... my concerns these days are of my own thoughts; general whimsy. But still I continue my beckoning call for you to join me, and sit on my dock, and in my hammock gently rock, and let the memories of our lengthening past envelop your eyes. In a single, unimpeded welcoming hum I'll tease you with all the possibilities of what you can do here with me. You always try to hang on to the reality of seemingly feasible plans created and put to order during the drive to me. I know your plans will not all be seen through. I know you'll fold to distraction. You came to rest in my comforts, but my comforts are an illusion, and there are no comforts where there are things to be experienced. And to remain uncomfortable will enable you to better fully describe a rich encounter with me. A series of them; each one different, and each one unified by my walls and the artwork hanging upon them, my scent and how it will never change. Perhaps one day you will miss me after a period of neglect. Perhaps I will entice a wandering breeze through my open windows, down the hall, and bend it toward your nose. At that moment I know you will not remember a single event here with me, but simply remember me - the one you affectionately, and inappropriately call The Lake.

I've had visitors with no plans or focus - and those with an itinerary of to-do's, and in my time I have never seen a single day of intentions actuated. It's not my doing. I have no hand in the day's events. But am merely a canvas having been painted by your families wandering, incongruent hand over and over, and still re-developing with your strokes today. Each stroke a visit and each visit another painting atop the previous. And from the way my delicate canvas has been covered I can tell I'm certainly not looked upon with aggression, or even intense passion - as each stroke mocks the whimsy of the lake which sparkles and adorns me with the jewels of it's reflection. Nor have I been implicated with planned measure for each stroke of each visit by each family member - which could possibly unify and, assuredly, paint the perfect day for everyone. Following the guided hand of everyone's experience, you would all know the right actions and thoughts and share this wisdom as a family. But the current orchestration of each visit is to prove the exact opposite of that unity; designed to create a discord, and a generation of different memories of me - the same shared space. Inside and around me, no one has felt the ecstasy of my full capabilities. But collectively, I have honored the family.

I exist for each of you, and never ask for the favor to be returned. But in the haze of my attic I've realized your error. Families exist for families, and especially for families that will follow those whose hands have touched my banister. And if together mattered, as much as time with me, then this family and future generations of shared blood will have what each other has earned. Which will be a bounty compared to their individual scraps. Especially concerning love and attention. Because when it comes down to it, without the love and attention of this family I would never have the strength to perk up when those familiar headlights cast down the gravel path, shake off the moss and straighten my joists, and gather my sagging floors with all the pride of having another welcomed guest.

They too should gather their floors, and stand firm on them in the name of family, and love, and permanence. Because one day I will  fail. Never having another opportunity following my final second to contribute my joys beyond what fate will allow. And fate will certainly grant me a moment when I can no longer withstand the weight of all of our history. But the replacement of future generations who will come to me represent the replacement of those weakening joists and footers, and together, as a family, we can live forever."

- Jordan R Shaver 07.07.2012