BIG
We’ll sit for hours in the car for it, we’ll deal with annoying family members to be able to afford it, we’ll work tirelessly to keep a building that desperately wants to fall apart standing. Cottaging. It’s not just magic, it’s science!
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Most cottagers would probably tell you that being fashionable at the lake isn’t their chief concern. That didn’t stop The Globe and Mail from suggesting a $4,754 ensemble in “15 Ways to Refine Your Away-For-the-Weekend Wardrobe,” in 1995. At the time, we countered with our own, much more realistic cottager getup, grand total $58.94. But what would the Globe recommend today? And what ‘fits are we actually rocking? Click the image to find out how we answered both questions, and swipe right to see what cottagers are really wearing.
Check out the original in our Nov/Dec ’96 issue.
Featured Video
The world has changed a bit since Cottage Life was founded in 1987. Click through the timeline to take a trip down memory lane with us in honour of our 35th anniversary!
Illustration by Katie Hicks
We asked readers, Cottage Life staffers, and our social media followers: what’s the best thing that you’ve learned from Cottage Life?
1. Embrace it all
I’ve learned great maintenance tips for each season, and I like the puttering projects that everyone can try. The recipes are good for quick, hearty meals, and I appreciate the local dining and bakery recommendations. Above all, it makes me appreciate that we are all blessed with the beauty that surrounds us.—Andy Lamovsek
2. It’s a family affair
Family cottaging can be a real pain in the butt.—Gianni Cirilli
3. Some jobs are sneaky
I have to get my chimney cleaned!—Kathy Thomsen
4. Repurpose what you have
I loved the tip on how to fill a bucket with water by using a broom pan.—Chris Fox
5. Let it be
We always wanted to change the shoreline at our cottage, as we worried about erosion. We read in CL it is best to leave it alone!—Vicki Archambault
6. Rack ’em up
I learned how to build a kayak stand.—Rhonda Lennox
7. Chips are important
While researching potato chip history, I discovered that the inventor of the Pringles can was buried in one. Not all of him, obviously, just a portion of his cremains.—Jackie Davis, Senior Editor
8. Have a sense of humour
I don’t know if it is something I learned, but my favourite story was a family who had ungrateful guests complaining about things they had no control over. The hosts got the dog to lick the plates clean and put them in the cupboard. When the guests suddenly left sooner than planned, they laughed and got the dishes out and washed them.—Beth Hayhoe
9. Industry secrets
I’ve learned where to find the best butter tarts!—Martie Whitaker
10. Sage advice
Don’t let your subscription run out.—Gayle Wouters
11. Be prepared for anything
I had to ask a source for “Game of Thrones” (Mar/Apr ’21) whether he stood or sat to pee on his alternative toilet. I learned more than I wanted to that day.
—Marie Waine, Assistant Editor
12. Foodie faves
I collected many keepers from the recipe contest. Please bring it back!—Katie Maloney-Buchanan
13. Stay hydrated
I like the water filtration and winterizing tips.—Evelyn Chisamore
14. Maintain your stuff
Deck maintenance is so important. I have always cleaned between the cracks with a fine tool, such as a steak knife, as seeds sprout and compromise the wood’s integrity. My decks are 35 years old and only a few boards have been replaced.—Norma McNaughton
15. Nature is wild
I loved learning that when grouse make their motorcycle-starting sounds, they do it by moving their wings back and forth so fast that they form a vacuum, which creates mini sonic booms. It’s actually breaking the sound barrier. Whaaat?—Liann Bobechko, Deputy Editor
16. Off-grid options
The article on alternative toilets was very informative. (“Game of Thrones,” Mar/Apr ’21)—Shelley Fire
17. Keep records
Have guests sign a book. Ours is full of memories!—Jola Ruta
18. Bacon makes it better
Wrap pork tenderloin in bacon.—Tom Mara
19. Try new things
I’ve appreciated all the info about renting.—Robert Mann
20. Nature finds a way
There’s so much hormonal pee involved in animal mating strategies, which I learned while fact checking “Nature Swipes Right,” (Early Summer ’18). There’s only so long you can remain professional asking experts about “copulating” while your co-workers are giggling at the next desk over.—Alysha Vandertogt, Senior Associate Editor
21. Sharing is caring
I liked reading about how to share the cottage, the tips for entertaining, and discovering why we get lost.—Louise Keevil
22. Age = experience
I’ve grown right along with you. Your first decade, you helped me dream about cottage ownership as we rented. The second decade, you taught, informed, and influenced what we did at our cottage. Now, into the third decade, your content is still delightful, but I have learned and failed so much on my own that I can say, “All hell, I could have written that!”—Karyn Klaire Koski
23. Get outside
I love the recipes about cooking in tinfoil over a campfire.—Gail H.
24. You can do it yourself
The DIY projects are my favourite!—Darlene O’Neill
25. You’ll learn stuff
There are ice worms that live many kilometres beneath the frozen tundra. I once spoke for two hours with an expert who spent his whole life studying them. He was very keen to talk, which made me think that ice worms are vastly under-covered by media. It was fascinating. Not the worms necessarily, but realizing how passionately people get into things. The most obscure things!—Michelle Kelly, Editor
26. Community is important
Cottage Life fans are everywhere, which I learned when I was at a friend’s wedding, and two women approached to ask me for a photo.—Adam Holman, Cottage Coach
27. Use vertical space
I loved the suggestion about using wall attachments to hang life jackets and deck cushions.—Linda Mara
28. Live a rustic life
We appreciated the tips on how to open and close our water system with an old pump. And how to keep mice out—use steel wool!—Lynn Band
29. Add more storage
I learned how to build a shed.—Vivian Geneski
30. Some truths are…ugly
I found out from Cottage Q&A that red squirrels are cannibals.—Megan McPhaden, Managing Editor
31. Unplug the router
Even if you have good Wi-Fi at the cottage, it doesn’t always mean you should use it. Sometimes, it’s important to be completely present and enjoying your surroundings device-free.—Roxy Kirshenbaum, Editor, Cottage Life Digital
32. Be proactive
I read, “If your cottage is surrounded by trees—look up.” We’ve taken down a few trees that could have fallen on our cottage.—Ann Mittag
33. Take it easy
You suggested using an eco-toilet grey water system. It’s handy and very low maintenance.—Violette Sarkozy
34. Start small
When my father passed, upkeep of our property fell to me. The three cottages needed repairs, and I didn’t know where to start. I picked up an issue with a cartoon of a fellow worrying about the work he needed to do on his property. The Old Man of the Lake came and asked which job was needed most. The owner said his dock. The Old Man shoved a piece of lumber into the cribbing and said, “That will hold for this year.” A light went on for me. Do the immediate, and plan for the rest. It was my sanity saver.—Kevin McKee
35. Stick to the basics
How to have fun.—Avery
Keep these memories coming! Share with us on social, or email letters@cottagelife.com.
Throughout our history, covers have transported readers to the lake, no matter where they are. Which one is your favourite?
Photo by Al Zikovitz
No Cottage Life party is complete without a martini made by founder Al Zikovitz—it’ll get the party started, if you catch our drift. Make your own, and raise a glass to 35 years with us! (CL will not be held responsible for behaviour under the influence of Al’s martini.)
Pour
Tanqueray, straight up with a twist, very cold, very dry. No vermouth. Add to a shaker with lots of ice (then double what you added, because that’s how Al rolls).
Mix
Shake until your hands freeze. Pour into a martini glass, then squeeze the zest from a fresh lemon peel until you can see the oil floating on the gin. Rub the peel on the rim. (“When you bring the martini up to your mouth, you’ll want the enjoy the aroma too,” says Al.)
Drink
“I normally enjoy one down at the dock around sunset.”
Party
“For over 20 years, we’ve hosted an annual party. The first year, I made less than 10 martinis for our guests. In 2019, I served up close to four litres.”
Illustration by Katie Hicks
Into the early 2000s, we published a series of “Classics.” The writer would argue for something that you could not live at the lake without—watermelon, beach towels, a beloved web chair. Twenty years on, we’re asking, what are the new cottage classics?
My husband can run from the dock to the cottage, up our steep, root-encrusted path, in the dark. When it comes to using lights outside, we prefer to avoid them to better view the stars or enjoy a campfire.
One summer, though, even a simple flashlight might have saved the day, or the night, as it happened. DH (Dear Husband)’s ribs would have thanked him had he taken just a moment to slip on the best light in a cottager’s arsenal—the hands-free headlamp that’s embraced by serious campers and coal miners alike.
Anyone who doubts the superiority of a headlamp over the flashlight on our ubiquitous cellphones has only to imagine nighttime visits to the outhouse. Consider the acrobatics that ensue while you clutch a phone in one hand. You could set the phone down, like a regular flashlight, where it will illuminate the ceiling, or wall, or anywhere other than where you need it. But that’s risky. Those black holes where light can’t get out? They’re not just in space. A headlamp is safely attached to your skull, can be set at an angle, and also ensures that, when you get up to pee in the night, you don’t get sucked into checking your work email. (Curse those notifications!)
Headlamps rule when you crawl under the cottage on your belly to address a plumbing leak, or you indulge in cross-country skiing at night, or you need to gather wood in the dark for the fire. Keep one beside your bed or under your pillow, ready for duty just like any other flashlight.
It’s true that even headlamps have shortcomings. A blinding flash when your buddy turns toward you is like meeting a car with its high beams on. And don’t be surprised when moths fly into your face. Remember, there’s a beacon of light shining out of your forehead.
Like other flashlights, headlamps require batteries, a problem when they accidentally get turned on in your bag. A canoe tripper I know solves this potential mishap by stowing the light with one battery installed backwards. Finally, the strap that you find on cheaper lamps can get stretched out over time, becoming as useless as the elastic waistband in worn-out underwear.
But straps can be replaced. So can headlamps, for that matter. Thus, there was no excuse for my DH to be racing up the hill in the dark of night, except that after 50-plus years, he knew every rock and root in the path. What he didn’t remember was the pine tree that had fallen across it just days before.
Illustration by Katie Hicks
Mornings are beautiful at the cottage, made of sunrises over the lake, gentle mists, and birdsong. But for me, it’s hard to truly enjoy this beauty before caffeine kicks in. Coffee is a sacred part of my morning ritual. And my afternoon ritual. (And other rituals depending on how I’ve slept.) It’s the same for about 70 per cent of Canadians who drink coffee daily. But cottaging isn’t typically associated with top-shelf java. In the past, cottage coffee meant worn-out percolators or jars of instant crystals. For some, coffee from the decades-old drip machine they use at the lake is the cup they want. Others with more particular tastes are finding ways to embrace their favourite coffee away from home.
One of my dearest friends, who visits her Saskatchewan cabin every summer, says that good coffee is luxurious, but not blasphemous. It’s not too fancy a luxury to detract from the feeling of escaping the wider world. It actually enhances it. Well, good coffee enhances it. Luckily, it’s never been easier to BYOB: be your own barista, that is.
What this means has as much variety as cottages themselves. Some lake houses may have high-end espresso machines. Other cottage-goers swear by French Presses or pour-overs. (For me, a pod machine devotee, that’s too many steps before caffeinating.) Once you establish your preferred brewing method, your favourite roasts, and get a couple of good (i.e. big) mugs, you’re mostly there.
But, since we’re at the cottage, give yourself permission to play around. You want your set up to help you thrive, not merely survive! On a summer afternoon, a hot cup doesn’t hit the same, but ice trays and large, reusable cups with straws make homemade iced coffee an easy fix. Pack a few syrup bottles to add familiar vanilla or caramel flavours, or spoil yourself with exotic ones like Italian eggnog or macadamia nut. For post-dinner coffees around the fire, spill in some whisky, Kahlua, or (my first choice) Bailey’s. Do this in the morning too, if you feel like it—you’re on cottage time after all. Consider making coffee like crafting a cocktail—let your imagination run wild. Caramel sauce. Whipped cream. Chocolate shavings. Maple syrup. Plant-based “milk.” You can have any or all of them. (Or black coffee, if you prefer.)
No matter how you make it, coffee tastes better at the cottage. Peaceful moments sipping it on the deck or the dock go beyond mere refreshment: they’re memories to take home with you.
Photo by Ellen Tofflemire
It was rent to be
In our March 2000 issue, we published a story by David Cameron called “Internet Biz Offers New Lease on Life.” This picture of Mike and Jean Campbell using a desktop computer on their deck may be dated, but they were on the cutting edge of a soon-to-be cottage trend: renting out cottages online.
The couple owned a property on Warner Bay on the Bruce Peninsula, not far from the place where Mike’s family had owned a cottage for 30 years.
But it was the 18 years that Mike spent as Bruce County’s senior planner, followed by a stint as the area’s 911 coordinator, where he became familiar with the many bays and hamlets of the region, not to mention the potential of the peninsula’s often dormant cottages.
In 1995, Mike and Jean did a mail-out (yes, through the mail) and found that 17 cottages in the area were interested in renting. They set up a “Web site” for Bruce Peninsula/Huron Shores Cottage Rentals, including an early take on a rating system that judged a property’s privacy with a score out of five. The site was so successful that, after three years, Mike left his planning job to run the venture full-time. Soon after, the couple listed their 100th cottage. The Campbells were able to work from home for most of the year, but in the summer, they would move their fax, scanner, two computers, and two kids to the cottage for July and August. Though that sounds pretty great, summer is obviously a busy time for cottage rentals. “One of us has to stay in the office,” said Jean at the time, “while the other goes for a swim.”
Twenty-two years later, even we’re in on the cottage rental game—we have a hub on our website. Man, you can’t help but wonder if Mike and Jean had the foresight to buy shares in Amazon too?
Ducking out of the office
“The Electronic Cottage,” was a famous catchphrase coined by American futurist Alvin Toffler 10 years before we published a story by Yvonne Cox in 1989 about working remotely from the cottage (“Taking Care of Business,” Aug ’89). Can you believe? According to Toffler, this revolution would be made possible by “word processors, computers, facsimile machines, and teleconferencing equipment.” Well, considering that’s a prediction from more than 30 years go, it’s pretty spot on.
But even he couldn’t predict the effect that a global pandemic would have on accelerating the trend of remote working. Cox goes on to say, “Futuristic predictions aside, most urbanites still do not grab a home-brewed coffee, close the den door, and fire up the computer for another day’s business.” We beg to differ.
Extending the weekend isn’t a pandemic innovation either: “With his cellular phone,” Cox writes, “[Then-CEO of Rogers Broadcasting] Jim Sward gets the jump on Friday evening traffic and occasionally postpones his trip back until Monday morning.” And these early-adopters were already starting to grapple with conflating the cottage and the office. ” ’Why?’ ask incredulous cottagers for whom the vacation home, however humble or grand, symbolizes an escape from profit margins, demanding bosses, nagging clients, and the shrill summons of the telephone.”
The technology, however rudimentary, presented an opportunity that we’re still taking advantage of today: without the convenience of such time-saving tools, Jim Sward said he would be hard-pressed to get away at all. Now, surely there was a 1990 article about unplugging we could read? No? I guess we’re still trying to figure that out.
Back to the future
You might not think of cottagers as living in the future, but as we’ve highlighted many times, you’ve always been innovative.
Photo by John Scully
In 1993, Gary Scott Breithaupt was trolling the skies above Georgian Bay with a camera he attached to his model helicopter. Gary basically invented drones, apparently.
(Nov/Dec ’93)
Photo by Renton Patterson
Tired of paddling to his water-access cottage, Renton Patterson built his own electric boat. It topped out at a blistering 9 km/h. But hey, no wake.
(May ’96)
Photo by Brian Becker
In 1991, David Thompson had the bright idea to create solar-powered buoys for better hazard visibility at night on Kawagama Lake, Ont.
(Mar ’91)
Photo by Greg Long
Echo Lake, Ont., cottager Greg Long was doing VR before it was cool. He created an interactive, digital version of his family cottage logbook in 1995. (Nov/Dec ’95)
Illustration by Katie Hicks
Into the early 2000s, we published a series of “Classics.” The writer would argue for something that you could not live at the lake without—watermelon, beach towels, a beloved web chair. Twenty years on, we’re asking, what are the new cottage classics?
Every so often, I’ll find my cottage on Google Maps, go into satellite mode, and then float around like a ghost, observing things from above.
It’s a strange way to visit nature, isn’t it? I’m using technology that is literally out of this world—multi-million-dollar orbital cameras. It’s an alien’s-eye view of the landscape. Yet this is precisely what makes it so wonderfully revealing: looking down from space, you behold cottage country like a minor god.
My cottage sits near the tip of Presqu’ile Point, a peninsula that juts into the northeast corner of Lake Ontario. I grew up hunting for snakes in the woods and watching herons with wings the size of car doors take flight.
My older neighbours, one cottage over, would explain to us kids how Presqu’ile contained critical and endangered wetlands; it was why nobody was allowed to go deep into the marshes behind the trees, for fear of upsetting the ecological balance. I was a dutifully environmental kid, so I obeyed. Peering down from space now, I can see in a fresh way the beauty and fragility of those wetlands—the tendrils of bullrush-thick marsh reaching out into the lake like graceful fingers, the gothic darkness of the murky water just offshore.
Satellites show you secrets. Looking at your cottage from above, you realize how much of the surrounding land you’ve never really visited. You couldn’t have; it’s dense forest, which—as the deer know—is great for concealing things.
From space, the woods cough up their mysteries. I’ve met cottagers who were startled to discover, on Google Maps, entire dwellings they were previously unaware of, not far from theirs. One found a small gravesite deep in the forest; another, a hidden stream. And satellite vision can be a way to spy on your neighbours, like a low-rent James Bond: Hmmm, those folks across the lake added one heck of a deck.
Peering down from above, you also grasp just how damn huge is the Canadian wilderness, and how tiny, comparatively, are the parts we occupy. I’ve gone on virtual “hikes,” zooming down close on my cottage then slowly scrolling farther and farther north, until—15 minutes later—I’ve travelled so deep into the Ontario north, I haven’t seen even a dirt road for miles and miles. You can feel lost, pleasantly so, in a digital map.
These days, when you visit the cottage, go stargazing. You’ll see some of the lights zipping across the sky. Wave at them: those are your eyes now, looking down.
35th anniversary celebration: An ode to the dock spider sweatshirt
Illustration by Katie Hicks
Into the early 2000s, we published a series of “Classics.” The writer would argue for something that you could not live at the lake without—watermelon, beach towels, a beloved web chair. Twenty years on, we’re asking, what are the new cottage classics?
A cool, late-summer morning in the early ’80s: I was a cottage newbie, recently introduced to lake life by my soon-to-become-spouse, Steve. We had just pushed off on a leisurely paddle—I was a rank beginner at canoeing too—when after only a couple of strokes, Steve headed us straight to a neighbouring dock. “I don’t want to upset you,” he said (which alone was enough to upset me), “but I think when we got in, a dock spider got in with us.”
Right. Me, in a 14-ft. canoe with the largest spidey species in Canada, and the ones I’d seen on our dock were particularly healthy specimens. The size of salad plates—hairy salad plates, with venom. Steve, who grew up in cottage country, had assured me they weren’t aggressive, but this was no time to take a chance. I leapt onto the neighbours’ dock, peeled off my jeans, tee, and everything else, and began to shake and shimmy from the shoulders on down. Apparently, it was quite the dance routine. Luckily, the neighbours missed it. Luckily, the spider (if one really had hitched a ride with us) got away.
Fast forward to the early ’90s: I was the editor of Cottage Life, and Steve was its art director. We were in a meeting discussing CL merchandise. “How about we do a sweatshirt with the logo on it?” someone suggested.
Steve, who clearly hadn’t forgotten that delightful scene on the neighbours’ dock—he still claims it was the fastest he’s ever seen me undress—said, “Boring. Needs attitude. How about a sweatshirt with a dock spider?”
“Beside the logo,” someone else said.
“Nah,” Steve replied. “On the back. So it’s climbing up on your shoulder, like you don’t know it’s there.”
The spider wouldn’t merely be printed on the sweatshirt. Verisimilitude required that it be done in fuzzy flocking to achieve the hairy effect; and it would be life-sized, of course—all the better to horrify someone approaching from behind.
And so a classic was born. On the sidewalks of cottage-country towns and at the annual Cottage Life Shows, I’d exchange knowing smiles with other members of the Spider Sweatshirt Society. The original run eventually sold out, to be replaced by a less, uh, realistic version, with a flat, printed-on spider. But I hear that people are still showing up at the Cottage Life booth today with their classic sweatshirts on. Mine, sadly, was retired to the ragbag years ago, its dock spider bare of fuzz, worn down to a faint shadow that wouldn’t even alarm an arachnophobe.
