It’s our first time back at the cabin this year. We were all excited and a little nervous about what we might find. Fortunately, the long winter does not appear to have caused any damage to the structure itself. My husband found lots of pine needles on the roof, and I found lots of dead ladybugs in the cabin. No rodents, no roof damage, no water damage. We are very thankful.

A tree fell over the winter, but it did not block the driveway or land on the house. After last year’s big storm in July, we’ve been worried about that. We have some lovely tall trees near the cabin, which help to keep it cool during the summer, and we don’t want to lose the shade or the cabin should they go down.

The lp tank was empty. One of the guys who keeps an eye on the place for us decided to come in two days before we arrived and turn the thermostat up so the cabin would be warm when we arrived. He didn’t look at the lp tank first, unfortunately, so we had to call the gas service for a refill, and we had to have the furnace restarted.

All in all, it was an easier “opening up” than we anticipated, and we are grateful.

We did have to do some cleaning, of course: dusting, sweeping, cleaning the bathrooms and cleaning the roof and gutters and picking up deadfalls in the yard. The grass is long; it needs mowing. The children did not want to help with the chores, of course. They were too excited to be back at the lake.

I’m so glad we’re able to provide this place for them, for all of us. Chores are more pleasant when there is a view of moving water and the lovely peace. Even helping to pick up sticks has a reward: the promise of a bonfire later in the night.

Of course, they don’t want to do even that. They want to explore. Was that a frog? What’s under this stump? What kind of bird is that? I’ve never seen this kind of bug before! Are the little fish swimming by the shore yet? How cold is the lake water? Is that a loon? Are the neighbors’ grandkids here yet?

My husband started a bonfire last night, and we had our first s’mores. We saw our first loons, our first bald eagle, and our first pontoon of the season. (The boaters were not as picturesque as the birds, and they looked chilly.) The loons were in their element, diving for long seconds and resurfacing yards away. The only time we heard them call was when we saw the eagle. It flew low over the lake to land near the shore; we watched it through the binoculars while it perched there for several minutes. Then it flew up and back across the lake toward us, curving up so closely that I thought it might fly under our trees. At the last moment, it beat its wings and flew up above the trees, and we watched with dropped jaws as it disappeared from view. I can never see an eagle fly without feeling awe and amazement.

We’ve also seen a woodpecker—I think it was a downy woodpecker, but it flew off quickly when it saw us watching it by the fire, so I am not certain—and a trumpeter swan on a nearby lake just before we reached our place. I saw a duck flying over the lake, too, but I’m not sure if it was one of the black ducks we saw last year. We have not seen any geese yet this year, and we usually see more ducks by this time, as well. Perhaps they are still making their way north. The songbirds have returned. I can hear them calling, and there are nests under the eaves of the porch. It still seems like early spring here. The absence of mosquitoes and ticks is a blessing for us, but I suppose it means there is less to eat for the birds.

We have not seen any mammals yet. The squirrels and chipmunks are being coy, or perhaps they have moved on. There is deer scat in the yard, but we have not seen any deer. We heard a splash near the shore that may have been the muskrat, but we haven’t seen it swimming yet. For the past two years, one or more have lived in a burrow on the shoreline, right at the boundary of our property with the neighbor’s to the south.

The trees are still leafing out here. They are at least a week behind the trees in the metro area and possibly more. The sumacs that line the shore are still leafless, and the giant oak tree has only tiny, pale green leaves. We have our picnic table under the oak, and I am used to seeing its large, shady leaves above us as we eat. It was too windy and chilly to eat outside last night, and it would have seemed strange, anyway, to sit under it without the leaves above us forming a mutable ceiling.

This morning it is cool. It rained a little earlier. My husband and I think it is a good morning to sleep late and to stay inside with cups of coffee or hot cocoa. The kids have been out already exploring and renewing friendships with the neighbors’ grandchildren. We’ll renew friendships with the neighbors later today, over a fire and probably some beers, watching the lake and the wildlife.

My other posts have been about experiencing nature in Minnesota. This post is about daily life, in more narrative form than my other observations. I feel like I have to write about my experiences today, though, if for nothing else than that I want to remember them. Maybe I can use this in a story sometime.

My day started at approximately 3:30. I know the clock read 3:31 when I got back into bed, so it was sometime before then when I was awakened by my husband getting out of bed and the sound of someone retching in the kids’ bathroom down the hall. My husband, bless his heart, went to the immediate aid of our 9-year-old son, while I drew myself into some sense of wakefulness before staggering to join them. The poor boy was nearly finished by the time I arrived, and he did not seem terribly sick. I helped clean up, tucked him back into bed, and said a prayer that it was a one-time event and everyone would be able to go back to sleep.

My prayer wasn’t answered. My husband was able to go back to sleep. I fell into a sort-of doze that was interrupted by thunderstorms, driving rain on the roof, and trips to the bathroom to help my son. It was not a one-time event. I lost track of the times he was in the bathroom. I think it was four, but I’m not entirely sure. The last time was around 7 am.

My poor son said he had been awake since the first time, and he was becoming more exhausted. Fortunately, he did sleep for a couple of hours after that. I gave up. The dog was awake, too. She had been following me partway down the hallway each time I traced my steps (I wish I had thought to put on my Fitbit; my step count for today would have been higher). It was now past our regular time for her to go out and get her breakfast, and I took pity on her and took her out.

It should be noted that we don’t have a fence. Taking her out means taking her out, on a leash, in any kind of weather. She is a good dog, but she is not happy about the suburban wildlife I’ve mentioned in my previous posts (foxes, squirrels, rabbits, birds), and I don’t dare let her off the leash for fear she would be lost. About the only thing that would be worse than standing outside with a dog in a thunderstorm would be chasing a dog through the neighborhood during a thunderstorm. Fortunately, we were able to take advantage of a lull in the rain for her to do part of her business, and we made it back inside just before the skies began to pour down buckets again.

My son slept until nearly 9, and he came downstairs feeling somewhat better. I was able to start giving him small amounts of fluids, which he kept down. Despite a less-than adequate amount of sleep, I felt like things were looking up. The rain was letting up, too. It was time to get going with the day.

It was the day of my daughter’s dance recital. There were to be 2 performances, at 11 am and 6 pm. We had planned to attend the 11 am show as a family, but that plan obviously was out. I gave her the choice of which parent she wanted to attend the show with her and which one would stay with her brother. (I think both my husband and I secretly hoped the other would be chosen. It’s not that I didn’t want to see her perform. I was just tired and I have seen her at practice and last week’s dress rehearsal.) She chose me.

The dog was letting it be known that she would like to finish her morning business. The dog division of labor in our house involves me taking her for her morning walk, and my husband taking her in the evening. My husband did not chivalrously offer to take her, despite the fact that it was still raining. Well, it was sprinkling. It looked like it was clearing, but a check of the Weather Channel radar showed another band of heavy rain coming. We suited up and headed out.

For this is the interesting thing about the dog: She has decided that unless it is very cold, or she really just can’t wait any more, she must be walked at least two blocks to a small park in our neighborhood, where she will finish her morning business. It’s amazing how she can hold it until we get there. She will not poop in the neighbor’s yards except in direst emergency. She will also not do so in our yard unless the above conditions are fulfilled. My husband and I sometimes joke about it: the grass must have a particular scent there, she loves the scent of rabbit in the morning, she needs to let every other dog in the neighborhood know she was there, she prefers the view, the plumbing is better, etc. This was one of the days when I wasn’t joking.

I did try walking her around our yard, first, but I knew it was fruitless-if you’ll pardon the choice of words. When we finally started down the street, she glanced back at my as if to ask why I had been wasting her time. Of course, we did not make it to the park before the next band of heavy rain arrived. Of course, she had to sniff around to find the correct combination of grass, moisture, breeze, underlying scents, etc. When she finally finished, she watched me pick up her deposit with a look of mild reproach, as if it was my fault that we had gotten soaked. I tried to get her to jog back to the house, but that is not part of the routine, so she would not cooperate. Not wanting to afford any of our neighbors any further amusement, I stopped dragging my dog uphill through the rain, and walked as fast as I could. She was content to trot along with me, but she would not run.

I returned, soaked, and my son was now feeling well enough to demand Sprite. I seldom let my kids have soda, so when they get sick to their stomachs, they are happy to take advantage of the opportunity to have Sprite. I insisted he wait while I showered and made sure my daughter was getting ready for her recital.

We left for the recital and all seemed to be going relatively well. Son was better and was content to watch movies on a portable DVD player while lying in bed, as long as his dad promised to bring him a sip of Sprite every 15 minutes. My husband was not too excited about this program, but he agreed, knowing that his other option was to go to the recital. Daughter was less happy with me, because I had not helped her with her dance outfit to her satisfaction. We engaged in typical mother-daughter conversation on the way (blame, eye rolls, etc.), during which I took a wrong turn, and we had to stop at every traffic signal we met, including one that lasted more than five minutes, because the police stopped traffic to allow a motorcycle charity ride through the intersection. While I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, I gave thanks that I was not riding through the rain on a motorcycle and admired their dedication to the cause. I hope they did not catch pneumonia.

We made it to the recital in time. It was very nice. My daughter’s group danced beautifully, despite the unexplained absence of one of their members. I cried during their tap number. (I cry at a lot of things, but they were really very good.) I cried when I was telling her how proud I was and hugging her. I gave her flowers. We left, stopped at Culver’s drive through for lunch, and came home.

Son had only tossed his cookies once while I was gone. In the meantime, he had watched two or three DVDs and had some water and Sprite. I made him come downstairs and eat a few crackers and drink a little more water. He was happy to go back to bed, although I confiscated the DVD player for awhile. He rested and then came downstairs to watch tv with his sister and eat a few more crackers. When it was time to return for the next dance performance, he seemed quite a bit better, although he felt a little warm. Took his temperature: 99.2. Hmm. I told him to keep drinking sips of water and occasional sips of Sprite.

The second performance went well, I’m told. The previously-missing member of the group appeared. I was volunteering offstage, with the non-arduous task of making sure that daughter’s group of four seventh-graders made it to the stage in time. They were mostly occupied with playing with their electronic devices and gossipping. I did nearly mess up with that, however, because I hadn’t noticed that daughter did not have her dance shoes on when they were called for their performance. Still, all went well, and we returned home.

Husband reported that son had fallen asleep. He had tried to get him to eat more crackers and drink more fluids but had only managed to get some water into him. Son woke up when I felt his forehead. Temperature now 100.2. He reported that his stomach was better. I wanted to give him some ibuprofen for the fever, so made him eat a couple of crackers and drink a little more water before he had that. He still takes the liquid form of most medicines. Our current bottle of the stuff is cherry-flavored, so the liquid is red.

Five minutes after taking the ibuprofen, and just after tucking him back into bed, up it came again. I just about panicked when it first started coming out red, but I quickly remembered the red dye. He didn’t make it to the bathroom this time, so it got on his sheets and the carpet. Husband helped with clean up and re-making up of the bed. Son is now tucked back into bed and resting. He got up again while I was typing this, but I think he was sleep walking. He didn’t vomit, anyway, and he feels cooler. I am hoping to have some sleep tonight. It’s now 10:30. It’s been a long day. I think it will be my husband’s turn to take the dog out tomorrow morning.