When I was around twelve years old, my mom and dad started taking me and my brother and sister up to my aunt’s cabin in Minocqua, WI. I had the fortune of spending extended weekends on Twin Bear Lake almost every year.
I remember experiencing the coolness of the dark cabin as my dad creaked open the door in early spring. It felt as if we were the first explorers to enter Tut’s Tomb. The rush of cedar and damp stillness of the air added to the mystery. Dad would walk over to the curtains and slide them open with a silence-breaking woosh. Blinding light poured into the cavernous great room as clouds of dust that sat patiently on the wool curtains for seasons awoke with the thunder. My brother, sister and I then hauled in crates and bags of delicacies from the family station wagon.
The Caprice wagon was like another character in our story…
