Upnorth
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Bond Lake Photo by Jonathan Chapman
"When I was a baby, my father purchased a mile of shoreline along the west end of Bond Lake in northern Wisconsin. Since then, many of my family have places on Bond Lake or nearby and spend most of their summers in this sacred place. The lake bottom is sand and the water crystal clear. I wrote most of my memoir, Sunlight on My Shadow, while at the cabin my father built in the early 50's. I believe he and mom inspired me to write the story even though we never spoke of it while they were alive. Back then, it was just too painful and was meant to be erased by time and silence. I believe my father would have been proud that I had written and published a book, and I hope he and Mom don't mind that I came clean and put the Liautaud name on my story. The book just begged to be written. In breaking the silence, we are free."
"I seek to maintain a calm and mindful presence and allow nature's beauty and the laughter of loved ones to inspire joy."
cabin on bond lake Built in the 50's
Cabin at Bond Lake
When I was a baby and until I went off to college I spent the summer-time in this cabin on Bond Lake. It was lonely for me because there weren't any kids around and my brother Jeff was 7 years older than me. I learned to water ski and swam a lot but was afraid to go on the beach by myself because we had purple martins that lived in a large bird house Otto had built. The birds dive bombed me when I went down to the sandy beach so I never went alone. At the end of summer I was always happy to get back to school. My favorite times were trips to Hayward with mom when she would buy bagfuls of candy. Also I loved it when my sister visited with her ten kids. You heard it right—ten beautiful and perfect children. Finally I had some playmates! Her oldest, Kate, was only three years younger than me.
Today, the cabin is owned by my niece Beth. She has refurbished this charming place, using the original interior and has brought it to its most perfect potential. Beth is the owner of the world famous doggie farm, Aunt B's Pet Resort and Spa near Madison, Wisconsin.
Otto Never Took A Bath
Otto Kriede was about 90 when he worked for my father. He was an authentic lumberjack and could name any living thing in the forest and knew the habits of the woodland creatures. Each morning, Otto walked five miles from his home in Wascott where he lived with his wife Pearl to come to work for my father. He cleaned out brush, removed dead oaks, or built flower boxes, and bird houses for Mom. The curious thing about Otto was that he never took a bath and he had this sweet smell about him that was a hefty blend of nature; something like: surprisingly pleasant smelling dried sweat, (only Otto had this), pine tree sap, and an earthy loam.
Birdhouse for the Purple Martins on Bond Lake
Purple Martin Birdhouse Still Stands
Mom loved the chipmunks but hated the squirrels because they climbed up the bird feeders and stole the food. When the squirrels harassed the birds in their home, Mom had Otto put the birdhouse on a 20 foot pole. I think the purple martins have been long gone but their house still stands amid the trees. Picture taken Sept. 4, 2013.
Growing Up On Bond Lake
Yearning for a Cabin in the Woods
Many families dream of owning a summer home and spending time at the lake with their families. My father made that dream come true for us when he purchased shoreline on Bond Lake in northern Wisconsin. When I was in the early grades of school, it took two days to travel from Chicago to Wascott. We’d stay overnight at the Dells. The motel was right off the highway and when I woke up from my night’s sleep I could hear the roar of the trucks speeding up and down highway 53 and I would become excited in a Christmas-morning-sort-of-way, because today would be the day we would arrive for our summer stay. The cabin had sat lonely for eight long and cold months—quiet and boarded up.
We never knew what we would find when we first got up there. Sometimes hunters had broken in and the boards were taken off the windows. And one time we drove up and a whole family was picnicking on our lake shore. Our little log cabin was vulnerable because no one was there for miles around and it looked deserted because it was for those long eight months that spanned fall, winter, and spring..
I always left a stash of coloring books, dolls, and games in the cupboard so when I first walked in, I would pull out my toys one by one and show mom. OH look what I found! "Remember the Indian princess doll we got in Hayward with her real leather dress and beaded moccasins!" OH how happy I was to be back at the lake. I loved swimming and playing in the sand, but mom was often busy baking blueberry pies or cleaning and I needed someone to go down to the lake with me. There are about 40 wooden steps that lead down the hill to the beach so I felt like I was a million miles away from safety if I was down there alone. After all, there were wild animals about, like deer and ducks and once in a while bears. Jeff was usually off hanging out with his friend Jiggs from across the lake. MOM said I could go down and play in the sand by myself but it was so far from the cabin, I was afraid mom might not be able to hear me call if I needed her.
Purple martins took residence in the birdhouse that Otto built and they didn’t take kindly to my presence. Once I got dive bombed— that put the nail in the coffin.I never again went down to the beach alone. The summers were long. I didn’t have any friends that were my age so I spent a lot of time tagging along with the adults.
One summer, we built a wooden barge with plans from Doc Lorenz. Once it was completed, our evenings were spent on a putt putt about the lake. That thing moved ever so slowly and it had a lot of weight behind it so you had to turn off the engine and glide it in to shore when you were way out there or you would crash it into the pier. With our little ten horsepower outboard motor, you couldn't use reverse to slow it down because it weighed too much. Dad and mom would pick up their friends George and Val and drink Tom Collins in mason jars and get tipsy on the gin while the ice clacked against the glass. We’d watch the evening sun set in an orange glow against the pine-studded shoreline. I remember they told a lot of stories and laughed louder as their mason jars emptied.
I learned to water ski at the lake, pick blueberries, go for rides along the winding country roads looking for deer, shop for candy and trinkets in Hayward. And the best part was when we had the screen porch and I could feel the wind blow across my face tickling my hair with the smell of pines as I fell asleep.
By the time fall drew near, I could not wait to get back to the city. OH how I missed my friends! I remember pulling up to our bunglaow on Fairfield Avenue and feeling the steamy summer warmth that lay on the city. It was sometimes 20 degrees warmer in Chicago than it was up at the lake. School would start soon and I would be around kids my own age. It was as exciting to return to Chicago in the fall as it was to leave for the summer.
I must confess, I had a love hate relationship with upnorth. I hated the bats that would make their way into the cabin and wake me from a sound sleep with the flutter of their wings. They moved like dart-lightning and were unpredictable and hard to spot once they landed in the rafters. Mom would turn on the lights and swat at it with a broom and get the situation taken care of, but I often slept with the covers pulled over my head even when it was blazing hot—just in case.
And when we first got up there in the summer, the daddy long legs spiders creeped me out, but after a few weeks, I made pets of them and picked them up by their legs and put them in a shoe-box and watched them saunter up and over the sides. I never befriended the cockroaches and hated finding them under the plates or especially in the bed. One time I woke up and after I lifted the toilet lid, and was just about to perch on the seat, I found a baby squirrel in the bottom of the bowl, scrambling to get out. It had fallen through the vent in the roof and was still alive, but crippled. Mom got the fish net and gathered him up. We watched him wobble off into the woods. I hoped he found his mom and dad out there. I was mad at him for scaring me and then I felt sorry for him—or maybe it was a her, and that thought made me feel even sorrier.
Dad always said that we were so lucky to have Bond Lake because the water was crystal clear and we had a big sandy beach. The fishing was also great—bluegills and bass, although that didn’t matter to me, but it did to my dad. When you walked out to take a dip, you had soft sand oozing through your toes instead of sharp rocks or gravel or muck like in some other Wisconsin lakes. Dad bought the property in the early 50’s and we now have about ten families who own property and cabins in the near vicinity. So Bond Lake has become a sort of legend and a huge part of our family history.
WE have a fourth of July celebration every year which includes about 90 people and the same old meal—roast beef, mashed potatoes, fruit salad, and creamed spinach. The party has morphed over the years. At first the older generation paid for it and prepared it and all we had to do was participate in the talent show. But then they got this idea that the next generation should take over and that has worked out.
So today my kids are grown and have their own families. I sometimes pine for the lost dream of providing the family experience of life and bonding at the lake for my grand-kids —the safe haven of the upnorth experience for them just as my dad did for us. But today, the times are different. Not many families can afford to be gone from their homes for three months because of all the extra-curricular commitments. My dad worked it out so I inherited land, but when we were making a living teaching hang gliding back in the 70’s and were living in Utah, which wasn’t close enough to come up for the weekends, the land lost its value to us. Also, we needed the money to put food in our mouths so we sold it to other family members. Then when my dad died, I inherited half of his cabin with my sister Jackie and I sold that to her and then she sold it to my brother John.
So I had my chances with Bond Lake and I made my choices. Being the type of person who feels accountable for my own destiny, I am sad today that I don’t have my own place on Bond Lake, but I have made peace with my past decisions. What a blessing that money was at the time!
I find that I yearn this cabin-of-my-own the most, when I am sad or lonely or missing something in my life. If I am learning new things, am creative, and am writing, I don’t search Zillow for lakefront listings with a dreamy gleam in my eye, nor do I look for tiny houses and imagine myself drinking tea on the front porch. Sometimes, I am content with what is and I get comfort from knowing we are living within our means and our retirement income is enough for a very good life with or without a cabin in the woods.
So I can only come to realize that this yearning is for something missing in the moment and not an absolute necessity for my grand children to bond to each other or for me to get some good writing done or for Joe to be able to bike his heart out. And, sometimes, when the content returns—the contentment that comes with gratitude for that which I DO have—I am filled with love for my six beautiful grand-children, who I get to see often, our daughters, son, and their beautiful husbands, my home on the wetland, and my Joe who nurtures, provides, and cares for me and loves me. And oh goodness! I have that cabin-in-the-woods, right here in my heart. And on those days, that is good enough.
POSTSCRIPT 03-24-17: So there is an unexpected happy ending to this sad story of missing my cabin in the woods. Last October, 2016, I got an email from my nephew, Jimmy John. It said, there is some property on Bond Lake with a rustic cabin on it. I was thinking of purchasing it and gifting it to you and Joe. Question is: if I did that, would you use it? OMG, these words gave my heart a flip that went from the bottom of my gut, over the moon and back. As fast as I could type, the answer was yes yes and yes. On November 30, 2016, we got the keys to the cabin. It is an amazing dream come true with 200 feet of frontage on Bond Lake and 1.83 acres of beautiful wooded land. It sits high on a hill so the views of the sunset over the lake are inspiring and incredible. My heart sings every time we pack the car to head up to the lake. So you see, my grand children will have a place to spend happy summer days at the lake and I will be forever grateful to my dear nephew, Jimmy John.
