| Home Page
Biographical Page
Northwoods Photo Page
Family Photo Page
Quilt Photo Page
Duree Genealogy Page
Hunt Genealogy Page
Caywood Genealogy Page
Linthicum Genealogy Page
Spencer Genealogy Page
Wilson Genealogy Page
Justice/Gustafsson Genealogy Page
Skiles Genealogy Page
Bullard Genealogy page
Stewart Genealogy Page
Slide Show Page
|
|
 |
Welcome to the Island!
Escaping to the Canadian side of Lake Saganaga means leaving my work-a-day life behind with my car, making watercraft my only means of transportation and opening my mind to a world of simplicity, beauty, and sometimes hardship.
Life at Claw Point on Sitch Island, Saganaga Lake, Ontario has shaped my life in ways both large and small. |
In 1953 our family headed north to Flin Flon, Manitoba. In spite of a difficult trip, our stay on Amisk Lake left us hoplessly in love with the north woods. Since that was too far to drive (especially in the mid 1950s!) We found a lovely lake that was closer and still open for settlement. With another family, we built our first cabin on Lake Saganaga in the summer of 1954. My parents sold their share in this property to the other family and purchased the portion of Sitch Island known as Claw Point on the original border survey maps. This webpage will reflect my belief that the stewardship of the wilderness and my island home is a sacred trust. I also will share the arts and crafts that I enjoy. I will attempt to chronicle my family both past and present through genealogy and photo albums. |
|
Cabin Vs.Cabin
The little cottage community on the Canadian side of Lake Saganaga and the way of life I love is not for everybody. Now, I can’t imagine not loving it, but there are those whose image of a “cabin” means something very different than the quiet, primitive little place that brings peace to my soul.
Sometimes I really worry about people visiting my cabin and being disappointed. Not that surviving disappointment is so difficult for most folk. But feeling stranded on an island in a truly primitive cabin 6 miles by boat from your car and another 58 miles from the nearest town could really unhinge a normally stable person.
Some people just don’t want to face a 30-yard walk with a flashlight to go potty in the middle of the night. Let’s not even mention the possibility of large wildlife greeting you on the path. Even thinking of the large wildlife can make you twitch at a small toad jumping suddenly away from your flashlight. Some people do not find a lake-water shower an exciting prospect nor do they consider splitting firewood an acceptable way of “turning on the heat.”
Let me draw a few contrast between my cabin and a more “civilized” version.
Air conditioning - We can guarantee plenty of air (in great condition) through open windows.
Running water - Our running water is running right past the cabin day and night!
Hot water – The water that I pour out of the tea kettle is plenty hot!
An indoor toilet - Our toilet is inside . . . inside its own little building that is.
Electricity - Only via battery or the aurora borealis.
A road – Alas, only the Voyageur’s Highway.
Now on the flip side my cabin compares well to tent camping. There is a roof and the kitchen is inside. If it rains, you can stay dry. There will be no rocks poking up through your mattress in the middle of the night. There is a refrigerator, so fresh meat, milk, fruits and vegetables can be a part of every meal. At night, you can go to bed with the sun or stay up longer to read or play cards under the gaslights.
While we have more comfort than tent camping we still have the sounds and sights of living close to a way of life that only exists in the wilderness. I know the direction of the wind by listening. Coming from the south it passes through cedars and has a very different sound from a west wind that comes through white pines. I am lulled to sleep by the wind in the trees, the water slapping on rocks and loons calling across the lake. Because we left the ceiling open to the rafters, I can hear the rain pit-patting quietly on the roof. It is one of the softest, gentlest sounds I know. Morning comes with the scratchy scamper of a tiny squirrel across the shingles and the splashing arrival of the Black Ducks and Mallards in the bay. By the time the sun turns top of the trees on Horseshoe Island from dark gray-green to a yellowish green color, the Great Blue Heron will be slowly stalking fish in the reeds and won’t mind me watching him from a rock with a steaming cup of coffee to warm my hands.
But, like I said, I can’t imagine not loving the little cabin on the Canadian side of Sag.
  
|
|
|
|
