It’s six in the morning. Our luggage has already been picked up at the door and we’re about to head to breakfast, then start the trek home. I’m not particularly functional at this hour, but I’m conscious enough to realize that we are the last group of guests to visit the lodge this season.
There’s a bittersweet quality about it. You can feel it in the air.
Once the final guest leaves, staff members begin shuttering the lodge until next June. Our cabin is stripped of bedding and coffee mugs and shampoo. The water lines are blown out and the heat is adjusted. Every cabin receives this winterizing treatment.
In the main lodge, there are dishes and silver to clean for the last time; lures and clothing to box in the store; computers and files in the office to consider. On the dock all the motors are removed from the boats and stored. The tackle is checked for wear. And I’m sure there are a myriad of things I am not even aware of that go into closing Wollaston Lake Lodge and leaving it to nature.
Nature must sense this too. As I brush my teeth, I see a spider on the wall for the first time; and I imagine it’s waiting for us to leave.
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