We got “the cottage” when I was maybe about 9 years old. Back then, it was a little red cabin, covered in red logs and sitting on blocks. I clearly recall that, when a storm would come in off Lake Erie, my dad would get us out of bed to sit on the green vinyl-covered benches around the kitchen table until the storm passed. I’m not sure what he was afraid of, but that guy is the definition of “safety freak.”
We used to visit the cottage sometimes in the winter,
setting up portable heaters (which I'm sure my dad turned off at night) and using electric blankets in bed. After my parents retired, they decided to move to the cottage full-time.
