Summers in Oscoda

                                                                                                                       

Yaya and Grandpa Skupin loved staying out in Oscoda, Michigan on their fifteen acres.  As children, their cottage became our summer home-away-from-home.

As kids, were could hardly contain our excitement at the first glance of the gated cottage property entrance, with its small hill and a very narrow two-track, where only welcomed visitors had a key to unlock the summer’s adventure.  After passing through the locked gate, the tree lined, manmade dirt road snaked right and left, straightening out a bit before reaching two trailers.  Along the path, signs to unwelcomed guest were posted here and there reading, “No Trespassing!”  This was one warning that should be listened to; grandpa carried a pistol, and warning shots could be heard in that area.  Unsuspecting trespassers had need to be concerned, even though we called these warning shots "target practice."  Another deterrent to wandering onto the land was our German shepherd, Windy.  She took her job of protecting family seriously; unwanted guests were not looked on as "friendlies".

            The trailers had not always been on the land.  When I was very young, the cabin burned to the ground.  The only remnant was the large sand pile next to the underground electric pump, where my sister Cecelia and I dug for treasure.  Our expeditions turned up old spoons, pieces of broken dishes and an occasional pot or pan.  Mom told me that she spent all of her summers as a youth in that cabin.  There is a visual tale, my mom's personal story of the cottage, which is still easily discerned from the snapshots taken at the time.  Almost every black and white picture of friends and relatives is another page in the catalogue of smiling faces from the past. 

            Yaya and Grandpa were not the original owners of that cottage.  The original owner was a man named Hindy.  He lived in the other cabin at the head of the property.  Grandpa had Hindy when he was in school, as a teacher.  From what I understand from anecdotes, Hindy routinely invited students up North, to Oscoda, for swimming and fishing.  My Grandfather and Hindy grew very close, so close that Grandpa ended up buying fifteen acres from him.  It was not hard for anyone who has ever been there to figure out why he bought fifteen acres of mature hardwood trees, with motor cycle paths, a shooting range, and a down-the-hill path which lead to the docks on the Au Sable River.

            My grandparents' love for the river getaway transferred to us grandkids; we all loved swimming, boating and fishing with them.  I believe that all my siblings and I, and all of our cousins learned how to swim at the cottage.  Every day, my mother and grandmother packed a picnic basket full of food, filled a Thermos with Kool-Aid or tea, and one very important treat, Yaya's lemon drops.  Yaya always told us that if we sucked on a lemon drop, we wouldn’t get thirsty.  Every day our family spent hours swimming, fishing and boating.  Our dogs, Windy and Abdul, could be found at any time, swimming and running up and down the banks of the river, and often flinging dirt on unsuspected sunbathers.  I can still here Yaya yelling, “No, dogs…!” as they both climbed out of the river and intimately shook off by her.  “Splash!”, off went grandma into the water to rinse off.  Each day, after hours of playing in the sun, we dragged our tired bodies up the full one hundred, twenty steps back to the trailer.  Grandma cooked the fish we caught each day, while we kids fell asleep, lying all around the trailer.  

            Sometimes, mom stayed up North with us kids during the week, and dad came up on weekends.  One night, my dad thought it would be funny to surprise my mother in the middle of the night.  Grandpa heard the unexpected car drive past his trailer, and grabbed a gun to go check it out.  Our dog Windy heard dad's station wagon pull up, but didn't recognize it, and started growling.  The door knob turned, and the door swung open.  Windy launched forward at the unsuspected intruder, who was really just dad.  Face to face with a very angry dog, he was also angry.  “Stop, you dumb dog, it's daddy!”  As soon as she heard dad’s voice, Windy backed off, switched off "attack mode" and switched on her “welcome home” mode.  Mom came running out of their bedroom to see what was going on.  After the dust settled a bit, I could hear mom and dad laughing in the bedroom over what had happened.  The next morning at breakfast, I overheard grandpa laughing with dad about how dad almost got shot. 

            In the years to come, Yaya and Grandpa gave each grandchild their own exclusive cottage experience.  During the special vacation week, the chosen grandchild went on their own private adventure.  It typically included going to historical sites in northern Michigan, swimming, boating, picking berries, going to Mr. Jim’s Ice Cream Shop, and for the boys, hunting. 

            These days, we no longer go to the land in Oscoda.  I haven’t been there myself since 1979.  I wish I could’ve passed on the tradition of going to my summer home to my own children, but that chapter in my life closed.  Yaya and Grandpa Skupin are both gone now, leaving us one snapshot catalogue of our childhood in the photo albums, and another special snapshot catalogue of my own, up North, in my heart.