LAKE HOUSE VACATION, THE END GAME

So the last three days on the lake may have been quieter than the six days that proceeded them, but no less busy — or fun.

One of the things we did was visit other people’s homes.

I love it when someone invites me over to their house for a visit. On Black Oak Lake, some of the homes are quiet places that are visited for only a few weeks or less each year. These are the places willfully not modernized, as if they stand resolutely as a tribute to the past.

Here is a glimpse of a hallway in the house of my Mom’s late friend, Caroline.

She died a couple years ago and I found it so poignant to see here the thousands of pictures assembled and framed by years, going back decades, approximately fifty per year.

It was like watching flash forward age progression; Caroline as a young mother, playing with her babies, watching these kids grow up, then bringing their own children to the same lake.

Same vistas. Same living room. Same lake delights.

There were hundreds of images of three generations of a family enjoying a simple cabin, memories all captured in now-yellowing Polaroids.

I noticed that there were fewer and fewer pics of Caroline in her last years (presumably as she got sicker) and the emphasis in the collections was increasingly on the youngest of the crew.

As I looked at the collages in the most recent years, I wondered which daughter had lovingly continued the tradition of the wall albums; the edges now weren’t quite as neatly cut as the earlier ones and they were film not Polaroid, but no less thorough. Someone had been busy compiling them.

Surely it was a brave act of continuance from a committed family member who wanted the tradition to be enjoyed for years to come.

Other cabins are more modern affairs that hold inhabitants for weeks or months at a time. They are fully winterized, feature modern conveniences and you can feel the ongoing life in them.

These are the places families and large groups visit throughout the summer and shoulder seasons on each end, and entertaining is an on-going affair.

For those that are lucky enough to live within driving distance of a family cabin, it’s doable to pop in on the weekends and even invite friends over for a big family meal during a long weekend.

Consequently, tables are perennially set, the bar is always stocked, and provisions are gathered for the shorter days and colder nights just around the corner.

And sometimes the most fascinating things about these cabins are the things inside that were collected some time ago — sixty years or more — and remain to intrigue and beguile.

Fritz’s sister Debby lives right next door in a cabin of her own, and her place is a treasure trove of childhood favorites.

Like the little vintage milk carrier for her doll, given to her in the 1940’s.

She showed me a couple of her favorite books from childhood.

I wondered later if she had read them them over and over in her bunk during the long summers spent on the lake.

And then I saw this little gem.

As a youngster Debby played with it. Years later, had her own daughter Heidi enjoyed it, and then many years later, had Abby, her granddaughter, in turn played with it in the grassy field behind the house?

I didn’t get the chance to ask, but my mind wandered.

I  imagined a rich life for this little fawn.

And because this is Wisconsin after all, some of the relics are a bit eerie.

There were many proud captures from days of yore in these cabins, remnants from a time when most of the men hunted and were eager to show off their trophies.

At Fritz’s uncle’s house right next door, I think there must have been two dozen animals in the grand lodge-like living room, standing sentry from shelves and logs above.

I have to admit seeing all that taxidermy was a little unsettling, but that’s how it’s done there.

That alone was fascinating.

Because so many of the people on the lake originally hail from the Midwest, however, there is an ease to entertaining on the lake.

Opening up your home is as easy as putting out some simple crackers and dips (often in the containers they came in) perhaps spruced up with a napkin and placed strategically near a full bar.

Throw it all in a basket and set out some funny cocktail napkins and then boom — pre-party set up done.

Just help yourself, the hostess seems to say, and then sit down for a spell.

Cheese spread is surprisingly good, and every single recipient on the lake seems to have at least one (if not several) tubs of this on hand for company or just good old afternoon nibbling.

Coming from the land of artisianal cheeses and small-batch production fromage, you forget that what’s cheese to you is not what it might be for another.

Sometimes it’s refreshing to live somewhere else, do things differently.

Same so for eating.

And lest you think all our nibbling was eaten on someone’s else’s dime, let me reassure you that was not the case.

We cooked some wonderful meals to be enjoyed on the thirty feet screened-in porch of our cabin.

One night we enjoyed brats (a Midwestern staple) alongside a blue cheese romaine salad and Ruffles potato chips.

Smoked brats, cooked first in beer and then finished off on the grill, are a very good thing.

A trip into a nice market about thirty minutes away rewarded us with some fabulous New York steaks and Iowa corn, both cooked on the grill just outside the cabin.

And we ate out plenty, most notably at two places.

First up was this place, a log cabin outpost that specializes in hearty breakfasts.

People around here just call it The Country Store, and it’s clearly a mecca for cyclists and those who value great eats and coffee.

Oliver and I took advantage of the wonderful bike paths all around the area and a pair of killer wheels.

We jumped on the bikes and met my folks and Charlotte there.

It’s a good thing we got some exercise early — the egg sandwich with three strips of outstanding bacon, perfectly oozy egg and Swiss cheese almost knocked me out.

As you can see, the egg yolk was so yellow and rich and the applewood smoked bacon was some of the best I have ever had — three smoky strips with only the tiniest ribbons of crisped fat inside.

Who puts that much bacon in a sandwich — and where else is the bacon that good?

This place also reminded me how good potato hash browns can be.

And then there was Culver’s.

It’s a chain that’s spread out mostly throughout the Midwest and it’s known primarily for their Butterburgers and frozen custards.

Lord help me we went twice during our last two days — once in Minoqua and once in Rheinlander before We flew out.

Come on, just look at the signs you see there.

One day I opted for the fried chicken which, while very good, paled in comparison to the real reason why people go there.

 Butterburgers.

Geniuses like myself know to nab a couple of the hottest crinkle fries served alongside and put them to good use.

Think of them as a valuable assist on a winning play.

And as stuffed as you are, at Culver’s you still need to save room for dessert.

Frozen custards.

I don’t know what exactly it is, but this primarily Midwestern treat is the creamiest, most velvety, soft-servy ice cream around.

And when you can add one of forty toppings to it, consider it heaven on earth.

Even my mom with the bird appetite polished off a Butterburger, fries, and a frozen custard with Heath.

I had to snap a picture because I knew my brother and sister wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t have documentation.

And lest you think we just mooched booze and appetizers off neighbors and ate our selves silly, I can assure you we did not.

We played miniature golf.

My Mom and I almost wet our pants laughing every time we’d hit the ball — no matter what we did, or how many strokes we took, our two golf balls always ended up alongside each other. It was like they couldn’t stand being apart.

Sort of like my adorable Mom and me.

We went Go-Karting.

One course was super curvy but flat and long.

And unlike lesser courts, they gave you a good twelve minutes or so to race.

The other course was very hilly and you need to traverse a couple little bridges on your quest for track supremacy.

Most of the racers were adults, but Oliver and Charlotte jumped right in.

Go-karting rocks.

We made some strategic purchases.

We showed some restraint here for take-home purchases: a box of cashew-caramel turtles, and only three kinds of fudge (peanut-dark chocolate, cookies and cream, and milk chocolate).

Has there ever been better advice doled out by a stranger?

(Portland pals, stop by for a taste).

But most of all, we were on the lake.

We found ourselves doing all our favorite things.

Tubing.

Kayaking.

And going for boat rides.

Fritz took us all out one at a time in his vintage Chris Craft.

It remains to this day one of the most amazingly beautiful boats I’ve ever seen.

It has gorgeously inlaid wood, buttery leather seats in the most luscious gray-blue, shiny chrome, a white leather-encased steering wheel and lots of Art Deco styling.

Before he took this dreamboat home, he had it named after another beauty. My Mom.

It was built in 1939, the same year she was born, and Fritz takes extra care of this boat during the summer, keeping it on a kind of raised platform and under a full canopy.

Come fall, he has it hauled out to a guy who specializes in storage of special boats.

Getting a ride around the lake is magical and usually just a once-a-trip treat.

Sometimes Fritz just likes to go real slow and take in the beautiful homes on the lake, and then all of a sudden he likes to show his passenger just how fast his baby can go.

We hit fifty mph just after this.

As you can see on the photo below, the wood is polished to such a degree that you can see the clouds reflected on its surface.

And in those last hours, we took two last trips around the lake on the electric boat.

We saw dozens of loons as we toodled around in the electric boat, and one loon even got within ten feet of our boat before diving back under the surface off the water.

We’d been hearing the loons every night around two in the morning, their mournful cry awakening all but the heaviest sleepers, but their sightings had been rare, and so to see so many of them at one time was a wonderful send off.

And then before we knew it, it was time for us too to say goodbye to Land O’Lakes.

The drive out to the tiny airport rewarded us with the most spectacular cumulus clouds over the empty country highway.

Thank you so much, Tootsie and Bubbles, for such a wonderful ten days.

We can’t wait to pick up where we left off in Portland. Come soon.