Location, location, location.

This past weekend, Marty and I joined 200,000 other Minnesotans heading somewhere for the long Memorial Day weekend. We spent roughly five days preparing for a three day weekend. We packed clothes and food, chainsaws, a 200 hundred gallon fuel tank(don't ask), tools, a four wheeler, weed whip,  electrical supplies, plumbing supplies and an over-weight Basset named Molly. It is hard to tell who was more excited about the weekend. Marty or Molly. We pulled out on Friday night under an ominous looking cloud-cover, we arrived at our destination just before dark , we turned into a driveway that was completely underwater and a lake that had somehow risen enough in a week to cover the dock. We were home.

Then there is this: Twelve years ago Marty and I decided we would try to find a place on a lake. We started looking with an extremely limited budget in a housing market that would soon see record high prices. We decided to set a compass point and try to find something less than 2 hours from home. For an entire year we drove around on weekends looking at lake lots. We traveled into the neighboring state, we went south, north, east and west. I contacted Realtors all over the place, gave them our criteria and hoped for the best. Some of them were encouraging, most said "good luck". I wasn't fazed. Real Estate was a hobby of mine. I loved to read the ads, I looked at the houses, cabins and raw land and tried to picture myself there. I watched the fluctuation of the market and there was a time when I would have said I was pretty knowledgeable about cost vs. value. The first time I layed eyes on the property we eventually bought, all I could do was gasp. The realtor sent us out with directions, didn't even take the time to join us. It was early spring of the year, the ice had just gone off the lake. The lot was completely obscured by cat-tails and brush, the driveway was under water, there was garbage everywhere and an old trailer that had birds living in it. We had been looking for a year. It was all we could afford. Hard decisions had to be made. We signed on the dotted line.
For 12 years we have cleaned, fixed and hauled away truck loads of garbage to the local landfill. We pulled abandoned fish houses out of the lake, in total we removed 4 fish houses from the property. We have purchased permits to lay fill on the driveway, we blocked up the abandoned trailer, gutted most of the inside, built a roof over the top and a screen-porch on the front. We have chopped brush, created a lawn, removed countless snakes and ran a serious trap-line for mice. We have a sub-standard lot on an environmental lake.
In real estate there is a phrase, "location,location,location." That is where this lot shines. The lake has only 12 developed lots on the entire lake. The same people have owned these 12 lots for as long as we have been there. Three-quarters of the lake is state owned property. We have caught some good fish, the lake is big enough to water-ski, it is perfect for kayaking and canoeing. There are geese, 3 loons and this year a pair of swans. At night the sky is so dark, the stars stand out like fairy frost. I have seen some of the best Northern lights standing in the driveway. They undulate across the  night sky like wildfire.

This is what I know: In 2006 I gave up on reading real estate ads, I also gave up on the lake. I had spent 7 years side by side with Marty creating a sanctuary. I had spent many weekends there working harder than I have in my life, the reward came when I put up my feet on the porch and felt peace. From the day we signed on the dotted line, Marty and I knew that someday we would give the place to Mike. Mike was only ever there in the winter. He never once canoed or kayaked there. He ran his 4-wheeler over the trails and he helped his Dad clean, clear and build. But if ever there were a place that belonged to Mike, this was the place.

For the past 5 years the lake lot has waited for us. I would drive over mid-week and stand on the shore of the lake, I would pray for peace.The sound of the loons was the sound I couldn't shut off in my head. I fell asleep countless times on the love seat on the screen-porch letting the sun warm what I couldn't warm myself. I built campfires and spent hours starring into the flames. The tears I cried there were loud and anguished, it was the one place I knew I was alone. I didn't go on weekends and if someone else was there mid-week I avoided them.
This sub-standard lot has become what no one could have predicted. It had every reason to fail as a place to make memories but instead it has become what is was always meant to be. We ride 4-wheelers there, we launch Mikes duck boat. The grand-kids fish from the dock and jump screaming with fear from the pontoon. We build day-long campfires, play cards, read books and rest. We listen to music, take long walks, we talk about nonsense and we talk about the deep pain we are all trying to carry.
One of our daughters got engaged there, one of our daughters honeymooned there. All of our daughters have worked hard there. It is neutral territory, it's like Switzerland because it doesn't belong to any of us, it belongs to Mike.
By the time Marty and I leave this world we hope to have built a small cabin there. It is our intent to never sell. This lake place will someday go to Mikes sisters and eventually his nieces and nephew. We are going to see that a trust is formed and it will be family property for generations. The taxes and upkeep someday will be paid through the wise investments of Mike. It will be a legacy he left, that we never got to tell him about.

I have bought 2 houses in my life, I have built 1 house, I have inherited 1 house and I have bought the lake lot.
In 2006 when I couldn't make myself buy a cemetery plot I gave up reading real estate ads for good.
When Mike died I couldn't even talk about cemetery plots. I had spent the better part of my adult life reading real estate ads never knowing that a cemetery plot is real estate too. I stand in the cemeteries my Grand-parents are buried in and I think is this the place? I know where my parents have chosen, I think is that the place?  I visit the local cemeteries and hope for some kind of sign. It is still about location, location, location. There are city cemetery's and cemetery's in places you would swear the world has forgotten. I may have been able to choose for Marty or myself, I can't choose for Mike. Mike belongs everywhere. He needs to be free. I have stood in countless cemetery's trying to imagine if this is the one. I am going to leave that decision for the next generation. I can leave the lake place, tied up and secure, I know in the deepest part of me it needs to remain the family oasis. I have made many hard decisions, I have made them and tried not to look back. But  there is  a piece of ground that measures four by ten that I simply cannot buy.
Yesterday was Memorial Day. I didn't stand in a cemetery on that day. I stood at Mikes house, on Mikes land after returning from Mikes Lake. The Fallen Firefighter flag flew proudly in the yard. It was one day for the world to remember what many know you can never forget.

small rural cemetery, the hardest real estate you'll ever buy.

till next time.