Cottage Country Weekend...with a Mouse!

In Canada, you will hear the terms “cottage” and “cottage country” a lot, specially in the summer months, and occasionally, at winter.

During my first summer of working in Vancouver, my Canadian co-workers would say they were going to spend the summer “at the cabin.” When I moved to Ontario, it was “at the cottage.”  It seemed like everyone either owns or regularly goes to a “cabin” or “cottage.” This was something new to me. I didn’t know what that exactly meant. I knew of course that a cabin or cottage refers to some kind of summer recreation house, usually away from the city. But definitions aside, I was curious about this cottage culture that seems distinctly Canadian.

I asked a friend what people usually do at the cottage. He said people head out to cottage country to get away from the hustle-and-bustle of city life, experience nature close at hand, and engage in outdoor activities such, as camping, hiking, swimming, canoeing, and fishing in the summer or skiing, snowshoeing, ice skating, and ice fishing in the winter. And Canadians seem to do this at every opportunity they get, be it on a long weekend or a long break from school – spring break, summer break, Christmas break, that is, if they are not travelling south to some beach resort to escape from the cold, winter months.

I was fascinated with how Canadians view the perfect getaway – commune with nature and experience it in the wildest possible form, not just for a few hours, but for full straight days…even for weeks or months for some!

Where I came from, we enjoyed beach getaways (my home country is after all, an archipelago with 7,100 islands) or trips to the mountain (the mountain city of Baguio and the Tagaytay highlands are popular summer destinations), but seldom do people spend days on end just lounging by the waters or camping in the forests. Countryside getaways are either short, or when longer, are often combined with “big city” activities such as cultural explorations, shopping trips, and culinary explorations.

Beach and mountain vacations also meant accommodations at three to five-star resorts that provide all levels of convenient amenities and dining experiences. Pitching tents, taking an RV camper, or staying in austere huts with no electricity or running water is not the norm. Outdoor sports and activities are also interspersed with karaoke nights, video games at the arcade, movies-on-demand, or a dance party at the in-house club. Hard-core camping in the wilderness is only for a few brave souls – like a mountaineering club member sort of person.

The closest I had even been to a rustic vacation is staying on a wooden stilt hut perched on seawater by the beach. But it was part of a luxurious beach resort in southern Philippines, where the accommodations were designed to mimic the homes of the native tribe around the area.

Inside, it was anything but rustic with its traditional décor blending with modern design and first-class amenities like a queen-sized bed covered in luxurious sheets, all-wood ceiling fan, air conditioning, large TV, mini-fridge, mini-bar, coffee and tea station, electronic safety box, large tub with hot and cold shower, fluffy bathrobe and slippers, a complete set of toiletries, and complimentary fresh fruits and chocolates.

There were also a few times when I went to Baguio and stayed in log cabins that while looking simple and austere outside, came with electric fireplaces, fully equipped kitchen, and hot tubs in the bathrooms.

And there were the “cabins” or “cottages” we stayed at in Namibia, which were really four-to-five-star accommodations in the African deserts and savannahs (please see stories from Namibia in earlier posts), so they don’t count either.

Here in North America, I have only stayed at hotels on out-of-town trips. The most rustic place I have ever stayed at is a budget motor inn where we just literally crashed in for the night during a long drive from Vancouver to Oregon. But I have never truly stayed in a real cabin, cottage, or whatever it is that is not a hotel.

During my early years in Vancouver, a Canadian roommate once came up with the idea of us five roommates (the Canadian term for “housemates” as we actually didn’t share a room, but an actual house) to go camping, but when he mentioned he needed to teach us how to pitch our own tents (and that he could borrow tents from camper friends), one Asian roommate backed out.

I was still in, until he said that we could “possibly” take our showers in the communal shower stall and that there were outhouses in the campsite. I wiggled out. The thought of no proper toilets with flushes, the uncertainty of available running water, and the lack of privacy freaked me out.

The third person, a Latino who had never gone camping, suggested we could spend most of our time in the wilderness but at least rent a furnished cabin or stay at a cheap hotel for the night.

In the end, our master planner abandoned the idea. He jokingly said he didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of nowhere, looking after a bunch of pansies like us. The whole idea of camping was roughing it up and if we couldn’t sleep on the ground or last even a day without a shower, then what was the point? We would all just drive him crazy.

That was the closest I ever got to the possibility of a wilderness getaway or a brief stay in a cabin or cottage that never came to fruition.

My family are “hotel people,” so to say. My brother, who likes long driving, has a Marriott membership. No matter how far off he travels with my sister-in-law and niece, they always want to sleep on a comfortable bed, take a hot shower, and eat a complete breakfast in the mornings.

I have the same preferences, and even when I got married, that stayed the same. My husband, who studied geology and has been on several geological trips and camping in the middle of nowhere, is by heart a “hotel guy” who prefers a clean bed, a proper bathroom, and access to fresh food prepared in a sanitary kitchen over sleeping in a tent, digging a hole, and cooking camp food on the camp fire. It is also worth mentioning that he has a food intolerance issue, therefore, a flushing toilet and running water are of utmost importance for those times he accidentally eats the wrong kind of food.

So, one summer, I was pleasantly surprised when my husband booked us for a one-night stay at a cabin - a real, honest-to-goodness cabin. It is in a lodge resort though, so I wouldn’t call it “roughing it up” because the cabins still have the basic amenities. But it is not one of those posh hotels posing as a rustic cabin of some sort either. It was the perfect balance - rustic and homey enough, but still comfortable. It wasn’t really planned. It just happened to be the closest accommodations to where we were going.

My husband and our son wanted to see the Perseids Meteor Shower from Mont Megantic in Quebec, following our stargazing trip in New York State. But we realized how tired we were from the long drive to and from New York and New Jersey, and my husband was not up to some more long driving. Besides, he couldn’t take three consecutive days off work as he had some urgent projects to finish.

As a compromise, he found this place in North Frontenac, Ontario called North Frontenac Astronomy Park – Dark Sky Preserve, which was only a couple of hours away from Ottawa, and where we could view the meteor shower along with other astronomy enthusiasts.

He had initially planned it as a day trip but realized that driving back home after midnight might not be a good idea. Fortunately, the lodge, which was already fully booked since a few weeks back, had a last-minute cancellation and it was a perfect-sized cabin for us three, so we decided to stay for the night. It was only a 15-minute drive from there to the astronomy park.

Our then-seven-year-old son and I were excited at the prospect of staying at a bucolic camping cabin in the backcountry.

Fernleigh Lodge, a family-owned and operated lodge resort in Canada’s Land O’Lakes region of southeastern Ontario, is built along Kashwakamak Lake, and is a popular extreme bass, pike, and walleye fishing destination.

It is located within the fringes of Ontario’s “Cottage Country,” the area north of the major urban centres of the province that stretches from Georgian Bay in the east and northward to Lake Nipissing. This beautiful lake-dotted landscape, created through millions of years of glacial scouring, is the vacation home and waterfront resort paradise in the province. While “Cottage Country” originally referred primarily to the Muskoka area, the term has extended to include the Kawarthas, Haliburton, Northern Simcoe County, Parry Sound, and the surrounding areas defined by access to freshwater lakes and rivers.

Fernleigh Lodge boasts of its lake, shorelines, islands, inlets, and bays ideal for fishing and other water activities. They have authentic log cabins and cottages that are open year-round and are a stone’s throw away to several hiking trails, where one can enjoy the sights and sounds of nature.

We could not leave the house as early as we had planned, so by the time we reached the lodge, it was already sundown. Still, there was enough daylight to admire the view of the lake and the islands that dot the waters from where our small cabin was perched.

We were met by the owner’s friend at the administration building at the main camp site. Due to our late arrival, the owner couldn’t wait for us because he had an appointment that evening. His neighbour kindly volunteered to escort us to our cabin.

We followed his small ATV along a winding dirt road that led us to a point overlooking the lake. Our cabin is one of the four secluded cabins built on what he said is the “more private” spot in the camp. There are paths nearby and the main camp can be accessed either by a short drive through the same dirt road we took, or by foot through two wooden bridges by the woods. We parked our car and began to unload after we said our “thank yous” and “good nights.”

Our cabin, called “Point #5 Cabin,” is a 600-square foot one-bedroom cabin with a queen bed, a study desk, a small bathroom, and a full kitchen equipped with a full-sized refrigerator and freezer, microwave, toaster, pots and pans, silverware, and dishes. The best feature is the screened-in porch overlooking the water with a comfortable sleeper couch on one side and a small table with two chairs on the other. I confirmed that this was not exactly “roughing it up,” but it was not a hotel suite either. I loved it!

Our son immediately said, “I like this house! I wish our house is like this.” This is the first time he had ever set foot on a cabin. Like us, he’s only stayed at hotels.

It was a warm evening, but very breezy, courtesy of the wind blowing over the trees around the area. I told my boys that since we couldn’t all possibly sleep comfortably on the queen bed, they could both take the bed and I would gladly sleep on the couch at the porch. I preferred the outdoor breeze over the electric fan, which my husband and son did not want to turn on anyway. And among the three of us, I am the only deep sleeper, so I wouldn’t be bothered by outdoor noises.

Since the porch was screened-in, there was no need to worry about mosquitoes. It was also dark enough to provide ample privacy. Besides, I wanted to feel the soft gusts of the wind as I slept and I wouldn’t at all mind the soothing sounds of the sloshing waves, the hooting of the owls,  the chirping of the crickets, and the other nocturnal sounds coming from the nearby woods to lull me to sleep (not that I needed to be lulled as I was pretty sure we’d be back from our astronomical excursion in the wee hours of the morning and that by then, I was sure to drop dead, with or without Mother Nature’s lullaby).

As soon as we got settled, we prepared our simple dinner. Since we booked at the last minute, our package did not include meals which had to be reserved ahead of time. We brought some food from home – dinner rolls, pasta, German sausages, leftover baked salmon, granola bars, breakfast cereal, fruits, juice boxes, and bottles of mineral water.

As I was warming up my salmon on the stove, our son shrieked. He said something was moving underneath the oven. We checked and found a mousetrap with a cute little mouse tangled between the wires.

I told our son that the mouse appeared motionless and had a blank stare, but he insisted he saw it move. My husband and I looked closely, and we both declared that the creature was most probably dead and that I might have kicked the trap by accident, that’s why our son thought it was moving. We pushed the trap under the oven again and decided to clean it up after dinner. But our son was very certain that our little friend was still alive and was in fact trying to get out of the trap. He also refused to step into the kitchenette, in case the mouse managed to escape. I brushed his imaginations aside and continued my chore.

Suddenly, I heard scraping on the floor and before I could react, I saw the mousetrap inching its way out from under the stove as the mouse dragged it. Our little friend was wriggling ever so slightly and the deadpan eyes we saw awhile ago was now gleaming with quiet determination. My son jumped up from his chair in the bedroom and triumphantly said, “I told you!” The mouse must have been some kind of an actor, trying to play dead in the beginning. He surely fooled us the first time we looked at him.

I called my husband out from the bathroom and asked him what we should do with it. The mouse was still alive. We both agreed that we had to get rid of it. The owners, for sure, do not want mice in their property. But how? It was so tiny and cute and he looked so helpless. We didn’t have the heart to hurt it. My son was in near tears. This was the first time he had ever seen a real mouse and though a little freaked out, he said it reminded him of Mickey and Minnie and asked us what we were planning to do.

My husband and I just stared at each other, lost in a dilemma, and thinking of what to say. I blurted out this crazy idea of just taking the trap outside and setting the mouse free. But my husband warned me that this would involve lifting the lever to release it and could result in getting my finger stuck between the wires, getting a scrape or a cut, or worse, even getting my finger decapitated. I cringed at this thought. So, I said that we could just take out the trap without releasing the mouse and perhaps, it would be able to free itself after all.

My husband, ever the logical person asked me, “And then what?” The mouse could go back to our cabin and eat our food. And we wouldn’t want it to invade any of our neighbours’ cabins and pass on the problem or responsibility to them. We were not to be the harbingers of domestic disaster to the quiet vacationers in the lodge.

Then he paused and asked if I was comfortable with whacking it on the head for a quick and painless death, because he certainly couldn’t. And I gave him a look that said, “And you seriously think I could do it?” 

In the end, we decided to gently scoop up the trap, put it inside one of our plastic food containers, then leave the container in the recycling bin on the porch temporarily. We’d tell the maintenance guy the next morning that we’d caught a mouse, and he could dispose of it as he’d see fit. We knew for sure that the mouse would eventually die (even though we left the lid slightly ajar so it could still have some air), but at least, it would be an indirect way to end its life and we didn’t have to watch the little creature fade away. Such cowards we were…but that was the best and most humane alternative we could think of at that moment.

Our son watched in horror as his parents struggled in tandem to get the mousetrap into the container with the use of a couple of kitchen utensils we found handy. After the deed was done, we peered into the plastic, whispered our apologies to our little friend, and laid the container at the bottom of the bin outside, never to be seen again.

We spent a few minutes assuring our somewhat traumatized child that this is all part of cottage life, and that for everyone’s health and safety, we had to do what we had to do.

When he calmed down, he finished his sausage and pasta, and we got ready to leave for the meteor shower event.