Spring means packing for any sort of weather, and hauling vast quantities of tools from home. We cut downed trees into firewood, prune salal and huckleberry away from driveways and paths, sweep the roof and chimney, clean gutters and decks, burn brush. All around the lake the same sounds echo, as everyone cleans up after winter.
In summer, I prefer weekdays to weekends, when the lake is given back to nature and nature's inhabitants, and to the quiet fishermen. I'm glad I can choose any day to spend here... retirement means my time, my rules, and the cabin is there, waiting. In summer the evening hangs long and rich with light, and we sit outside until the light finally fades and turns to midnight blue, and the stars come out to play.
Fall comes all too soon, but is not without benefits. The huckleberries that have been green all spring and summer turn purple and ripen, ready to pick. After a few rainy days, the chanterelles poke through the leaf litter to be plucked for winter's recipes, soups and stews and pasta with garlicky red sauce. The salmon come up the most unlikely streams to lay eggs for their new crop of offspring. We walk the shorelines looking for the telltale fins that give them away. The squirrels start to build their food stash for winter, dropping fir cones on the cabin roof and waking us up each morning.
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