Lake Superior Journal: Our Little Cottage by the Big Lake

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Why winter lures out our reminiscences, I cannot say. In the dark, shortened days, some memories cause a heartfelt longing for what is lost to us, but they also can spark anew the joys of the past.

So it is that a lifetime by Lake Superior can warm my winter days.

I was 7 years old when Mom and Dad bought their “Little Cottage,” as they called it, on the Minnesota shore.

The year was 1947. We were two years removed from World War II, Dad was working for a local concrete plant in Knife River, and the nation as a whole was emerging from the depths of the Great Depression.

I remember when we first visited that little two-story house. Its picket fence had seen better days, the gray paint outside seemed nearly white and even the shutters, once a bold Marine blue, had paled to the color of well-faded jeans.

The living room was small, but an inviting huge stone fireplace filled it, and my mother’s eyes lit up when she saw it. Rarely did Mom show such excitement.

This Little Cottage, I knew, was something special.

We next made our way into the kitchen. Bright and airy, a large bank of windows faced Lake Superior. Again, even at my tender age, I felt this special place would be more than a house. Indeed, it became a home filled with loving family times together.

In the days and weeks and years that followed our North Shore purchase, my mom would sit for hours by that old stone fireplace. making curtains by hand. The fire hissed and crackled as she rocked and whistled a tune known only to her.

Dad and I would boisterously crash in with the day’s catch, flush with victory and walleye or trout. Mom would put down her sewing – or whatever she was working on – and would start to clean the fish.

Without fail, as she worked, she’d admonish us.

“You boys could at least clean your catch,” she would say, a smile playing around her lips.

Dad would wink at me and reply, “Ah, Ms. Charlotte, no one cleans and prepares fish like you.”

Without further protest, Mom would continue whistling as she created a feast that always left me awestruck.

The years that followed saw the boy turn into a lanky teenager who finally became a man. I joined up with the U.S. Navy, returning to our shoreside home as often as possible.

I courted Patricia, and we married in 1973 at St. Peter’s Church in Duluth’s Observation Hill neighborhood, where I was confirmed many years before. Together we continued pilgrimages to the Little Cottage.

Then one fine summer day in 1975, my wife surprised me with a most unforgettable gift.

Mom, Dad, Patricia and I were setting up a picnic around our fire pit on the beach.

“Honey,” my wife said, “go into the picnic basket and get us some sandwiches and chips, will you?”

When I opened the basket, I found the surprise. Wrapped in tissue paper was a tiny pair of knitted blue booties, very tiny booties … teeny tiny booties.

I held them up, and my mother burst into tears.

Befuddled, as men sometimes can be, I stared at the little blue creations, so small in my hand. Patricia leaned over and kissed me.

“Honey,” she said. “You’re gonna be a daddy.”

Hallelujah, the light went on.

I leaped into the air, letting out a loud, “Yippee!!” I am sure that everyone heard my cry of joy for miles around.

Whenever I remember that amazing moment, I can still smell the faint odor of the cool summer evening perfumed by fish being smoked, sweet freshly cut grass and a barbecue somewhere farther up the shore.

The waves of Lake Superior, frequently riled, that evening ever so gently washed ashore. The Lake seemed to feel as tender as I did. I was to be a father, one of life’s greatest gifts. I will never forget my joy and trepidation. I will never forget that evening surprise.

My folks and Patricia have passed on now. I am my father’s age and more. Many times my boy, Daniel, whose feet once wore those tiny booties, joined me to visit the Little Cottage by the shore. Those walls enclosed happy times and a few sad ones.

But with the folks gone and our own family moved away to Fort Wayne, Indiana, we sold the cottage. It has been sold once again, the new owners are tearing down the old to construct something new, something to hold their own memories. I must admit, I’m heartbroken to hear it, but when they say nothing lasts forever, they do mean it.

In my heart and, I hope for a long time to come, in my head, the Little Cottage will spend time with me. I will replay that first day with Mom and Dad and will cherish that beautiful lakeside afternoon of the tiny booties.

Daniel and I continue to visit Duluth, picking up locally grown apples or just taking in all that Lake Superior has to offer.

Minnesota has always had summers to remember, ones that transport, even in depths of winter, the scent of Lake breezes and fresh-mown grasses into the mind of this native son. Long live summer, and long live the spirit of the Little Cottage.

After serving in the U.S. Navy, Daniel Thompson, a Duluth native, became a postal carrier in Duluth and worked until his retirement. He has since moved to Indiana to be closer to family, but Lake Superior is never far from his heart.

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