Familiar return

Stepping out of the car at our family's mountain cabin I reminisce as I take in the familiar surroundings.

”How many years again? Seven, eight?” I said as I stepped out of the car. Not realizing I had voiced my question out loud I was surprised to hear my sister’s reply.

“You said something about the last summer before high school, I believe. That makes it eight years, right?”

I looked up, confused, my thoughts interrupted.

“What? Oh, yeah. About eight years then. Yeah, makes sense.”

I wonder if it’ll take father seven or eight minutes to suggest someone better visit the store to buy fudge. Without fear of father forgetting the candy that over the years had become something of a cabin tradition I began observing the familiar surroundings.

Things looked exactly like I remembered them, only smaller. Feeling nostalgic I observed how tiny, worn and green our cabin looked next to our neighbour’s more modern buildings. They’re Dutch and, from the looks of things, very well off.

That mattered little though, as I had hoped to find everything as unchanged as possible. Our cabin is supposed to be plain, without hot water or a real toilet. Stepping inside one thing didn’t seem smaller than before though; the old black and white TV. It was just as miniscule as it always had been. Its size unable to be exaggerated even by memory.

“I wish Gabriel was with us. It’d be just like old times,” I said to no one in particular as I stepped outside again. Maria was again first to answer.

“True. But we’ve got Daniel filling in for him.” My sister smiled and kissed her husband on the cheek before dumping their largest bag pack in his arms.

“Somehow I doubt Gabriel accepted the role as pack mule,” he muttered in response.

Smiling I crossed the yard in the opposite direction from the cabin. No, being the older brother and all, Gabriel would never accept the role as pack mule. Daniel wouldn’t be a very likely replacement either, since he’d probably spend most of his time by his laptop. That didn’t bother me much though. He’s a great guy, and in case of rain I was planning to borrow that very lap top.

Again smiling I rounded the corner of our tiny storage house to have a look at the privy. Nature wasn’t calling, but I wanted to survey everything as quick as possible. Our old privy, little more than a wooden shed containing a seat with a hole, was after all the scene of some both funny and unpleasant childhood memories. As I approached it I heard mom’s voice back from the cabin.

“André, tell dad to get the electricity going at once, we have tons of stuff for the fridge.”

“You tell him, I don’t know where he went,” I responded, wondering where he could have gone so quickly.

“In here, son.” His voice came from inside the privy. “It’ll be a while, but I’ll get it runnin’ in time. You tell her.”

I couldn’t help chuckling as I turned around and started back for the cabin. Those two would nag each other all weekend about chores and errands, dad teasing mom by pretending not to understand her instructions.

“Oh, André, one more thing.” I stopped again. “Yeah?”

“How about you run over to the store. With the unpacking and all, lord knows we'll need some energy. That fudge they've always sold, perhaps?”

André Söderholm