Cottage Horrors

After packing up an entire house, loading two children prone to car-sickness into the car for a 4-hour trip, I finally arrived at our cottage destination. Our home for a week. And here is what transpired:

I pulled into the entrance, saw a sign directing me to the office, and proceeded down a one-lane drive toward said office. A truck began driving toward me. It continued to head straight for my car until we were both forced to stop – nose to nose. Confused (and a little bit ticked off), I put my car in reverse and backed out to the main road. The truck followed and then stopped right in front of me. The driver emerged and walked to my window. “And you are?” he asked, in a tone that implied I was trespassing or committing some other unidentified offence. 

I sized him up, said my name, and then added with what I hoped was some semblance of authority that I was renting a cottage here. 

“Yeah,” he answered. “Number three. That’s why I tried to stop you. You have to pull in behind.”

This guy was the owner? Not a very welcoming introduction to the premises. I found our cottage and parked behind the rear wall, or what was left of it. Part of it had been patched up and the other part was lying on the ground. Hmmm. Interesting. I opened the screen door, minus its screen, and entered the cozy kitchen. I had to lean slightly forward as the floor was listing so heavily to one side it was a bit of an incline. I herded the kids inside and tried to ignore the obvious: this place was falling apart. 

We unpacked our few belongings and Hannah had a few minor freak outs about bugs, spider webs, etc. As I started filling the fridge, I noticed that the incline of the floor was affecting everything I put into the fridge. It all rolled to one side. The whole fridge was leaning precariously. I warned the kids not to touch it since it might fall on them. Later, Scott rolled up a magazine and wedged it under one side creating some stability. 

Entering the bathroom, I noticed a sign warning me not to drink the water or even brush my teeth with it unless I boiled it first. No problem. I located the kettle. It was coated in spider webs. I emptied the dead bugs out of it and then pretended it was sterilized after boiling twice. When Scott arrived later that night, he asked me if I’d seen any mice. “No, thank goodness,” I laughed.

Of course, I hadn’t opened the oven yet…

To be continued.