My Grandmothers Cottage

My Grandmothers Cottage

I remember my Grandmother’s cottage,

I was quite young,

My Grandma was always busy,

(or wanted to be, because she never came),

She let our family go out to those Northern Wisconsin woods,

I remember traveling down a dirt road,

It was the kind that had a mound of grass growing in the middle,

The place where the tires never disturbed,

We arrived at the cottage,

Out of the car and down to the beach,

Chequamegon Bay of Lake Superior,

The water was almost always too cold to brave,

But, we would brave it anyway,

My brothers and I,

We were reminded,

That we were born from the blood,

That came from this place,

That came from here.

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 31, 2014