The Honorary Grandfather. Part 2

Our first May long weekend came and we arrived to find that Jim had installed the water line, serviced the Briggs and Stratton, and we were ready to begin a busy summer. When the soon to be familiar sound of Jim’s 9.9 outboard came buzzing up to the dock we were ready with our plans and drawings. Jim was mightily impressed. Annie had done a colour sketch of how the new porch should look and it was nicely to scale and clear as anything. I had done a detailed construction drawing of the decking and supports complete with materials list. You see, I’m not new to this. In a previous life I had done serious renovations to two houses. That’s probably why I preferred to hand the job off to someone else this time. Jim looked our plans over and went about methodically checking all our measurements giving sober nods as we explained our thinking.

There were some mildly awkward moments. I’m thinking of the roof. It almost didn’t get done. I mentioned that Jim is what they call a Lindsay boy. A Lindsay boy is a boy from Lindsay Ontario where they speak in a kind of sing-song dialect and tend to express themselves in the inverse. We’re staring up at the rotting mossy roof: “You don’t want the whole roof done?” “I don’t?” You don’t!!?” What Jim means is he strongly suggests the whole roof be done. Over summer I came to learn the local dialect. I learned a lot as it happened. I learned to shut up and listen. Jim was kind enough to carefully fold my detailed construction drawings, put them in his pocket, and proceed to build in the manner in which things are done in cottage country. He used a fraction of the materials my detailed list called for and a fraction of the time. For a fraction of what it would have cost. And he spared me having to know all that until the job was done, although I did eventually notice that he wasn’t following my plans. All through June and into July each weekend brought a new surprise. We would leave on a Sunday with cement pillars jutting from the ground to return the next Friday evening to a fully framed porch. The next week the decking would be on. One of the great reveals was the Friday we arrived to see the three double door walls were installed and one whole side of the cabin was finally open to the big lake facing east to let in the sunrise. I’ll spare everyone further details of pulling down the old fiberboard ceiling, vacuuming every square inch of spider web and decades of grime from the newly exposed ceiling peak, ripping up linoleum, and endless trips to the dump – mainly because I want to spare myself. The memoury has faded and I'd just as soon keep it that way. But if we worked hard Jim and his buddies worked harder. Each weekend there’d be a visit from Jim with the weekly bills to be paid and his weekly progress report. He’d take a deep breath and shake his head and tell us how those trusses fought being moved every inch of the way. Oooohhhh!, he’d exclaim, and his jowls would quiver and he’d look away across the water, remembering. I’m sure we never heard the half of it but we knew it wasn’t easy. And there was often a story or two about goings on around the lake.

We’d arrived in the middle of a gypsy moth infestation of biblical proportions and Jim told of a couple who had just bought down the lake. The woman came up the first weekend, took one look at the creepy crawlies that literally carpeted every surface, got back in the car, returned to the city and refused to have anything more to do with the cottage. They’d put it up for sale. We assured Jim we were not going anywhere over a few caterpillars. He smiled and finished his coffee. I suspect we were beginning to earn our place in his life. Lucky us.