So in Minnesota we have cabins. In some places they are called lake homes, and summer houses in others. I’ve been going to them as long as I can remember, but we never had one we could call our own. Though some of my favorite memories are of summer nights playing Hearts at the cabin on the lake, this was always cabins rented for one week each summer. We could leave our personal stamp, or even leave behind a bag of marshmallows for ‘smores at our next visit.

This Summer that all changed with my parents purchase of our very own cabin. It’s on Leech Lake (yes, it’s actually full of leeches, we’re slowly overcoming the fear), close to many of the rented cabins, and it oozes with a sense of timeless lakeside bliss. My Mother is so happy about the place I think she might explode. I know she’s wanted this for many years, and you can see the joy in her eyes every time she speaks of it.

It doesn’t have running water, and the loo is an outhouse, but I love it there. It’s quiet, it’s beautiful. It doesn’t have WiFi (or 3G), but it’s grounding. It’s the only placed I’ve slowed down enough to read more than a page of a book in at least a year. It’s a place where my sisters and I were brought together in a way we haven’t been in years. It’s where Joe and I celebrated our Mini-Moon after our wedding last month.

The lake is overwhelmingly georgeous. It sparkles. Bald eagles regularly swoop overhead, and the sound of the loons is indescribable other than it sounds like Minnesota. The sunsets are stunning, every night.

It’s my family’s cabin. We’ll spend summer days there for many years. My kids will call it “the cabin,” and in their eyes it will have existed since the beginning of time. In my mother’s eyes it will exist until the end of time. Hopefully true.