Being: Conscious, mortal existence; life.
Every month we welcome two families, two people, two voices to share their stories in whatever way they chose. We hope that you find joy in their daily lives, and their simple habit of just being.
Summer is a word that connotes so much for so many for people. For some it means the season of work and plenty. For others it is the season of rest and calm. For my family summer itself was neither, I grew up with corporate parents who adored placing me into summer enrichment programs, summer camp, and summer school. But for two blissful weeks each summer we had the opportunity for rest. Each summer we had two weeks on Lake Michigan. A land of constant, unsupervised play dates in the woods; ice cream before dinner was more than common; parents and children alike found solace in slow days, time by the water, and quiet conversation.
My family has owned land in Door County, Wisconsin since the 1930s. My great grandparents built the first cabin in 1942. It is a quaint log structure with a modest kitchen, two petite bedrooms, and a sleeping loft. Around the same time another family had built a cottage just down the rocky beach from my family’s own. In the 90’s, my grandmother built her own cabin next to our old one—in essence severing ties from her brother so as both of them could enjoy entire summers on the lake.
The three cottages have now seen 4 generations of lake dwellers: my great grandmother and great grandfather, my grandparents, my parents, and myself. The Biseck’s cottage is now on its fifth generation. Each of us has spent our summers with one another, watching generations come and go. Last summer the first of the 3rd generation was married, this year I followed suit in that abundance and joy. Yet simultaneously, we lost 2 of the surviving 3 from the 2nd generation of Door County lovers. Something softens the blow of this loss. You see your family members whom have passed everywhere you go. Their life still breathes in and out of the doorways.
When I explain Door County to an outsider, they often believe I am bluffing. Such a place of rocky shores, safety, and joy simply can no longer exist. While I am sure most readers will find this absurd, as most of you live in such places, I am saddened when people look on baffled.
My love and spouse, fell in love with the place quickly and remarked, “Can we move here tomorrow?” I think we are both inspired by the sense of ease, the meandering drives that lead to hidden galleries, the rolling farms that evoke such pastoral calm, the way the water reflects orange glow harvest moons.
As I personally prepare for motherhood, I am thankful to know that my children will have the opportunities for such memories, will grow up in the 5th generation of friends that are closer than family. They too will catch frogs in the woods, learn what it feels to have sand permanently (for two weeks) stuck in your toes, and come home covered in scratches from jumping over raspberries and brambles. And while my daily life might not equate easy, simple living yet, it will soon. And much of this is due to my life growing up among the farms, the ‘sparkly lake’ as I have often called it, and a sense of peace.
This month we are welcoming Makenna here as a guest contributor to the Being series. Makenna lives in Georgia, and is an Adjunct Professor and Doula. You can check up on her at her personal blog, CALL SIGN: Wife and we hope that you’ll return here each Monday in August for her reflections.
Rhythm of the Home is an online magazine for families that focuses on creating with children, nature explorations, seasonal celebrations, conscious parenting, and mindfulness in all that we do. To learn more about us, please visit us on Facebook,Pinterest, and Twitter.
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