What Does "Ready" Look Like to You?

Almost 15 years ago, my husband introduced me to his family cottage.   It’s adorable. Situated on the shore of Georgian Bay, it looks out over all the beauty nature has to offer. The history of the family cottage is equally as beautiful. What is now a modest three bedroom mini home was built single-handedly by my father-in-law, with occasional assistance needed from neighbouring cottagers who helped with some heavy lifting.

My parents-in-law bought a piece of land at auction, with the intention to build on it. My husband, the youngest of three, was six-weeks-old when construction began. The family of five made the jaunt to Georgian Bay every week; all construction materials were carried across the Bay in a 14' cedar strip boat.  The first order of business was to build some kind of temporary living quarters. The picture shown below was the family’s home-away-from-home for two summers. Inside was a wood-burning cook stove, kitchen table and enough floor space for the requisite sleeping bags.

When the family was able to move into the main cottage, this original structure became the shed. As new priorities and alternate storage options presented themselves, the shed became neglected. When I first saw it, I immediately said to my then boyfriend, “We could clean this out for your parents”. “No way! It’s too big a project and we’ve got too many other things to do up here. Besides, it’s all my Dad’s stuff”. Fair enough. Boundaries always need to be respected. I moved on.

As dating led to marriage for my husband and me, it only seemed natural that I play a bigger part in helping at the cottage. But I was limited. I couldn’t find anything in the shed and had to rely on my husband to retrieve and put back anything that was stored in there. I muttered my frustration over the years, but never again suggested that we tackle the project.

Then it happened. Two weeks ago my husband said, “That place is gross! We have got to empty it out and get rid of all the junk.” “Pardon?” “I can’t even go in there anymore. We have to do something.” I don’t know if it was just me, or if everyone heard the angels singing. I was ecstatic!

What had changed? Furry squatters had taken over the shed. My husband worked fervently to eradicate the problem and remind our unwelcomed tenants that this shed was still owned by humans. The ick factor is what finally pushed my husband over the edge—and I was ready for action!

We arrived at the cottage for the August long weekend with grubby clothes, face masks, gloves, a shop vac and trailer. I swept, vacuumed and tossed to my heart’s content.  Then I realized I was all alone.  Everyone else was at the beach. 

I tried to get my husband back on board. I started to share my master plan of peg board, lazy susans, and labeled containers when I was suddenly jolted back to reality. “What are you talking about? We’re done. We have to move on. We’ve done a lot here. I’m going to have a hard enough time justifying what we’ve done to my parents.”

And there you have it: the dream has been shelved until another time. Ready came, we acted, we moved on. I hope my husband’s ready isn’t another 15 years in the making. The best part: no complaints from my inlaws.