The Peterson Perspective: Family at the Cabin

Savoring time spent at the cabin.

By Christy Heitger-Ewing Perspective is a beautiful thing, and no one has offered me a greater sense of perspective than my cabin neighbors Bob and Gerry Peterson. The Petersons, who both turn 98 this year, have been married for three-quarters of a century, and some of their most cherished moments have been spent at their lake retreat in northern Michigan. Every summer our families gather at each other’s cottages for spaghetti dinners, fresh strawberries, and root beer floats. My youngest son, 5, especially digs the root beer floats, and I’m here to tell you that there’s nothing more precious than witnessing two males, spaced 93 years apart, bond over vanilla ice cream and flavored carbonation. Whenever we invite the Petersons over for a meal, it’s like breaking bread with a living, breathing history book as Bob and Gerry share decades-old stories about families who have come and gone, bought and sold, lived and loved at the lake. Their knowledge of past generations isn’t limited to the intangible. Last summer Gerry treated us to a tour of their cabin’s unfinished basement, which stores a treasure trove of dusty, musty antique tools, games, cameras, and kitchen appliances. Gerry even fired up her iron-roller press and demonstrated how to create a wrinkle-free sheet. Afterwards Bob encouraged my sons to burn off some energy by going up and down the 85 steps that lead to the shoreline; their youthful legs delighted in the challenge. The Petersons are like a combination of Santa Claus, Mother Teresa, and Jedi master all rolled into one because through time, love, insight, and a keen appreciation of all three, this beautiful couple has life pretty well figured out. For instance, although Bob admits that he’s fascinated by computers, he doesn’t own one because he recognizes the importance of face-to-face interactions – the kind we relish when we’re at the cabin but tend to let slide during our day-to-day routines. “If I stared at a computer screen all day, when would my lovely wife and I have time to converse?” Bob asks. The Petersons’ priorities are properly aligned, and when I’m with them they remind this fast-moving, multitasking momma to slow down and savor the moment. It’s something I do quite easily at the lake when I’m bobbing on an air mattress without a care in the world; back home, however, I quickly get sucked into the hustle and bustle of daily life. The Petersons take their mindful mentoring a step further when every few months I open my mailbox and amidst the stack of bills and junk flyers, I receive a handwritten note, penned thoughtfully on fancy stationery. I begin reading and am transported to the lake, as Bob provides the latest weather report, water conditions, and a vivid description of the week’s vibrant sunsets. “Weather-permitting, Gerry and I will stay at the cabin through October,” Bob writes in perfect penmanship (another generational art that has fallen by the wayside). I’ve asked them before if it’s strange being up there during the off-season when the docks are pulled in, the restaurants are empty, and the late-afternoon skies portray a softer, lonelier hue. “It’s different, sure, but we wouldn’t change a thing,” Gerry says. They feel privileged to witness the shifting seasons, the altered landscape, and the ever-changing canvas of cabin life. Since my boys go back to school in late July, our cabin season is cut painfully short. But this is where the lesson of perspective comes sharply into focus. I look at the Petersons sitting side-by-side, their fingers linked as they have been for the past 75 years, and I’m reminded that there are many more seasons still to come. “The cabin is where we’re the happiest,” Bob says. I couldn’t agree more. Proof positive that the joy of cabin living spans the generations.