The end is nigh.
In 1943 my grandfather bought a piece of land, way out in the boonies. He did this because he wanted a place to get away to, and he wanted to be far enough away that he couldn’t be called back in the event of an emergency.
He bought the crappiest piece available. It was at a right angled bend in the road, on the outside of the turn, so it came to a point where it met the road and therefore had no road access. So he had to buy 12 feet off the adjacent lots so he could actually put in a driveway.
It was on a rocky point on the shore. The land on either side had sandy beach, and sandy bottom swimming. He got rocky beach and a rocky bottom, so he had to pour a concrete dock to prevent his boat from being ruined on the rocks.
He also had to put in a boathouse, for the same reason; he needed someplace to store his boat without dragging it up on the rocks and ruining the hull.
The point was marshy, the land soggy, there was almost no beach. As I said, it was the crappiest piece of crap land on the bay, and that is where he built his cottage.
This cottage that I have loved my entire life.
Well, that was then. Now, 77 years later, this crappy piece of land is one of the most desirable lake front lots in the area. Because it came straight out from that right handed bend in the road, it is huge, with room to build two more cottages. This on a strip of lakeshore that is otherwise completely developed.
What was a faraway retreat from the nearest city of any size is now become one of the most desired vacation and retirement destinations west of Toronto. And Mom and Dad sold it.
It was necessary.
It was time.
And it sucks.
I hate change.
As more and more years accumulate behind me I have discovered something. Despite all the adventures, despite all the transformations my life has undergone, I hate change. Maybe it’s not despite all the adventures and transformations, maybe it’s because of all of that, that I hate change. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I’ve spent a decade preparing myself, bracing myself, for the day it would be gone. Mostly what I’ve done is lie to myself that I’ve been getting ready, because I’m not ready. This is my last week here, and I’m not ready for it to end. For my time here to be over.
But I have no choice.
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same.
Yours is the earth, and everything that’s in it,
And-which is more-you’ll be a man, my son.