This story takes place in Minnesota when I was 12 years old. I had lived in Minnesota all my life. We used to have a lake house at Burntside Lake. It was an old wood cabin on the side of the lake that my dad had saved up and purchased 2 years prior. Even as a boy, I found the surroundings to be calm and rather peaceful. The cabin was surrounded by tall American basswood trees and had a mile long gravel driveway off the main road. This cabin was in a very rural area with the closest neighbors at least 20 miles away. We went to the cabin for family time, I think mainly for my father to get away from the hectic stress of his busy career. One winter, I can remember it was one of the worst blizzards Minnesota has ever had with temperatures reaching -35 degrees or that’s at least what the news said. Our family still decided to go to the cabin anyway. When my father told us one night before our winter school break that we were going up to the cabin, I wasn’t thrilled to go, almost mad yet I gathered up all the calmness within me to ask my mother why we had to go. She said in a two word fashion, ”it’s tradition.” And then she added “don’t forget to pack your bags tomorrow morning.”

I began to pack my bags for the trip next morning. I started with my clothes and then I got through my toys and put everything down stair. I was ready to go even though I really didn’t want to. I liked to be responsible. My dad ask my “did you get everything?”
I responded with “yes.”

Luckily my parents sleep in a little bit with a nice breakfast made. After eating, we headed out on our drive through the blizzard. The whole time I could barely see anything, because the windows in the back of the car were completely foggy. The whole three hours were complete torture for me. On top of that we were the first ones there as our uncles, aunts cousins and grandparents where also on their way. I guess you could say we had a pretty big family considering not even half of them were coming this year. I am super excited to see my cousin Brian Buckluck who we teased him by calling him Buttlick. I thought it was funny yet it really wasn’t even cool calling him that because I could see him subtley cringe every time I said it with a smile. He was almost one year to the day older so we always ventured around the cabin and played together.

When we arrived, my dad asked me to help him get the house ready for everyone coming. The plan was for allof us to put up christmas decorations to get the house festive which meant I had to help put up the fake christmas tree and decorate the house. All of the boxes were in the basement so I had to haul them one by one up to the main level. My mother and sister where putting sheets on the beds and getting everyones room ready when all of a sudden I heard my mother scream. My dad laughed at her yet she was trembling because she heard footsteps in the attic. My dad pulled down on the attic steps and slowing walked up into the attic with a flashlight laughing that he saw a racoon and a few babies. I knew my father and I would have to move them to another location which didn’t sound at all to be fun so I quickly got back to what I was doing even though I really didn’t enjoy that either so my father wouldn’t ask me to help him relocate those pesky creatures.

With one more box to grab, I see this red piece of wood wedged between the crack in the wall. It looks like it has been there for a while I have just never noticed it before so I stop myself from simply bringing the box upstairs and finishing my duty to go figure out what is in the wall. I notice that wood can wiggle so I slowly pulled out the wood not to damage anything. There was nothing special about the wood other than the cool red color but behind the wood was what looked like a folded piece of paper. Hoping there might be something more than just a piece of paper, I unfolded it to find to my surprise that it was a love letter to what I think was a girl that once lived in this house written by a boy who lived across the lake. It talks about how this young man rowed his boat across the lake to come and visit this girl of his dreams and about affections he has toward her. Then at very bottom of the letter in teeny tiny print it looks like it says Brian Buckluck. “What” I yelled out in confusion as I hear scuffles from upstaires. I run upstairs to find Brian standing in the doorway. I show him the note in my hand and he starts busting out laughing. We laugh all night and throughout the next week about his “love story”.