Below are some of Jennifer's memories, and although they are not yours now, others very much like them will become a part of your life here after you begin your relationship with Milo.
Milo & Across the Road
To describe what being at Milo is like has to start with the journey and arrival. As you draw closer and closer to the area to the
Northwoods, but really, specifically to Boulder Junction, the air changes. The attitudes change. The kids awaken from slumber recognizing
*that* tree. The turn from 51 onto M signals the last 9 miles or so of the journey and someone always says we’re almost there . Once you
are driving down K, the pace slows, the hidden driveway sign appears. We pass the neighbors on the right and then the driveway to Across the Road (almost never stopping there first as saying hello to the lake comes first). As we round the curve and drive slightly uphill, we meet the Milo sign and columns. Memories of the postcards of the 1930’s come to mind with the Milo sign suspended between the two stone
towers. A drive down the hill and then back up to park alongside Milo and White Sand Lake comes into view. Getting out for the first time in miles (perhaps since a *city* was near) a deep breath and hello to the lake is all one can do.
Walking down the steep steps that so many families must have ventured down when Milo was the Lodge of the resort, the full lake comes into view. The lake is quiet mostly, with occasional water skiers but mostly still with fisherman quietly angling for that prize musky. Sitting on the dock, loons and eagles appear. It seems the eagle always greets us when we arrive; it often perches just to the side of Milo or across from us on the Peninsula, giving the illusion of being our protector. In lucky years we have witnessed the eagles teach the yearlings to soar. We have had the blessing of seeing the eagles fish and always have the
memories of them soaring above in the bright sunny sky.
The Loons call out to each other but often times also to us to say hello. They travel across the lake in their weighted glory as we watch. The dive and stay under for what seem to be impossible lengths of time and then pop back up above the water as if they were never gone. It’s always a hunt for who can see the loon pop up first and never does it get old. The awe of their beauty is renewed each time they choose to share their lives with us. On occasion we have seen babies, not young little babies but smaller younger loons traveling with the pair of their parents.
One could sit for hours on the dock, watching, waiting for ducks to come by with babies in tow,
the loons to appears, hawks and eagles to
circle and fish to jump. They never tire of us and allow us to be in their sanctuary day after day. It is unlike any experience near or
far. The peacefulness of the water, still at times or ripples with gentle wind, the sound of nothing but the leaves and perhaps the call of
a loon. From this vantage point, looking straight ahead, one sees nothing but nature: the peninsula lies straight ahead and to the left,
the beach straight and to the right and at the far end of the lake the canoe base beach (former boy scout camp and CCC camp). It is sitting
in this same spot that can take you from day to night and on the right nights allow one to see the Northern lights or lay flat on the dock to watch the most amazing view of the Persides meteor shower in August. The lake reflects the darkness with millions of stars overhead. Lying there counting shooting stars for hours on end. There’s always another.
Up above on the slightly wrapped around deck, one can sit and watch the same scene from a bit further away. I love sitting on the deck
and seeing the kids play off the dock or watching the
fisherman from afar. The deck is perfect for entertaining but also perfect for
solitude. It hangs over the hill close to the water’s edge allowing just the perfect venue for a hammock below. Unseen from the back of
the house or the driveway, one can sit for hours in the shaded warmth listening to the rustle of the trees, watching birds fly in to feed.
As you sit the hummingbirds appear occasionally fastest in the world but stopping for the split second of time to remind you of the blessing
of the place and the moment.
Inside, one steps into a great room with a huge stone double sided fireplace off to one side and a large picture window with views
mimicking that which we see from the deck and the dock. The open floor plan allows for people to *be* with each other if they choose but
also allows for solitude within. Off of the great room is the huge screened-in porch (where I might spend every extra hour
of every extra
day if I could). "Porch" is a less than worthy word to describe it. It is a room, a three sided screened room with more than half of the
fourth side consisting of a grand stone fireplace. The large hot tub still leaves plenty of room for socializing, chaises and a table and
chairs. The arched ceiling and copper screens makes the room extremely spacious giving the feeling of no barrier to the outside. Sitting on the screened in porch, lost in the pages of today’s novel, late into the night, is a distinctive memory. The porch is also the perfect place for casual dinners and late, long conversations over good bottles of wine. The kids can play checkers or cards out there for hours on rainy days or played *trains* when they were young. It’s perfect venue for watching a storm or listening to the rustle of fall leaves as the colors change in front of our eyes.
Naps take place in the great room, on a chaise and very rarely in one of the three bedrooms that
are in back. Very little time seems to
be spent in the bedrooms with the exception of sleeping and dressing. The private space is there if one wants it but by nature of being at
the cabin, it happens very rarely.
Walking out the back door, we turn toward the hill. The hill that the kids didn’t think they could climb when they were young. The hill
that secludes Milo in a miniature valley below the road. The hill that has now become a private sledding hill in the winter. The hill with
the 40 year old *slow children* sign. The hill that was formed not by man but by rolling glaciers so very long ago. Walking up the hill and approaching K, we turn slightly right and walk ¼ mile up the road to the
drive leading to Across the Road from Camp Milo Lodge. Three car (& toy) garage occupies the first lot nearest the road. Beyond that, up a slight incline we see the peaked roof and wood sides of ATR. It appears out of nowhere, surrounded by maples, oaks and birch trees. Stone paths lead to the door and around to the side of the house. To the front side of the drive are several HUGE boulders (the largest is about 5 feet in diameter) which were originally in the basement. The natural landscaping is nonintrusive but instead enhances the property. Blueberry and raspberry bushes have been planted and no-mow grass forms a small play area in the front. Flagstone paths around the deck lead to the inlaid boulders that provide natural steps. To the left, as you walk the steps, is the screened-in porch and to the right, the fire pit. At the bottom, the open patio, outside hot tub at basement level and steps down into the woods. The view: solely of trees and nature. One cannot see another
structure unless seeking it.
Walking into Across the Road, I am always struck by the beauty and color tone in the great room. The warmth of the wood lends a glow to the light. Ahead is a huge window (designed from a cabin window on Plum Lake) which looks out into the woods. The room is intentionally open with a two story high ceiling and grand stone fireplace in the far left corner. From every angle (including lying in bed in the sleeping loft) you can see the fire burning. Intentionally designed to have *nooks and crannies* for privacy, there is a window seat on each side of the house and a built in desk / eating area adjacent to the open kitchen floor plan.
The kitchen is state of the art (but feels completely in place). The counters are hand selected and laid wood (that match the floor) and
the appliances were selected so that cooking was made easy. The 5 burner gas cooktop, two ovens (one is convection) and dishwasher make this kitchen a
cook’s dream. Cabinets (configuration and types) were chosen for maximum storage and ease of access. The sink was intentionally set into a corner with two window views to gaze upon. Because of the open kitchen plan there is tons of counter space and never does one feel stuck or alone in the kitchen. When at the stove, you are a part of whatever is happening outside the kitchen as the floor plan is seamless. It’s perfect for entertaining but also for every day.
The screened-in porch is the site of many late night games of dominos or cards. Children playing with wooden trains on the floors or hours of Mancala as the rain dripped outside. When up alone, I’ll sit out there and read (no matter what the temperature) curled up in a blanket. Occasionally the deer come to visit as you sit there. Once there was a fox and always, chipmunks and squirrels playing just past the fire pit in the woods.
There’s a *game* we sometimes play at Across the Road. The walls and ceiling have been laid carefully with wood and there is a HUGE beam
running the length of the cabin (40 feet?). Each
piece of wood is unique and has tone changes, knots, etc. There are images all over the
cabin. Secret images that people have found: a fish here, a witch there, a face, a angel fish, a clown etc. When someone finds one in the
wood, we’ll tell the others and see if they can locate it. We talked about compiling it into a journal but never have.
We also *collect* rocks and pine cones (occasionally twigs and maybe a frog). All are set back into the wild at the end of a trip but while there, piles form looking for *that* one. Oh yeah, and collecting of skipping stones along the way, Looking for just that one that will bring the record, undecided if the child should keep it or give it to his grandpa to skip.
Memories of the Fire pit with Grandpa teaching the kids the story of the Great Spirit and Bubalis Bubalis with flames lighting the faces as dusk turned to night. A 1 year old sucking on baby back ribs for hours because when you’re there you have that kind of time. Making the dump (really a very clean waste facility) a destination many times just so you can catch up with Pete who manages it (and because the kids love the tootsie rolls he hands out). Canoeing across the lake and into the creek only to find water lilies, turtles sunning themselves and that the beavers are recreated their dam once again. Children learning to poke boat aside the dock. Floating through the reeds on either side of the beach, being pushed by a 6 year old singing in the jungle the mighty jungle. Taking cushions down to the dock and falling asleep with a baby watching the meteor shower. Northern lights across the lake coming and going like curtains across the sky. Decorating bikes for the 4th of July parade (okay, that’s Spencer’s not mine) and winning the trophy. Musky Day Jamboree year after year.
Milo and Across the Road are not just places. They are history, they are attitude, they are a way of life. They are long, thought out dinners that entail hours of conversation around the table and sometimes they are simply dinners of leftovers. They are the simple things in life. They are crossword puzzles, books and games. They are taking things as they come and swimming off the dock for hours. They are details. It’s feeling that you’re part of a small town if only for a few days at a time. They are 4 generation trips. They are 7 & 9 year olds riding their bikes to town and back, unaccompanied and stopping for a snack at Nina and Algar’s (because the grocery store is known that way to them). They are the ghosts of the families past who came to the resort for the simplicity of the water, the people, the air, the wildlife and the weather calling down to future generations to keep the simplicity intact. They are the ability to deconstruct back to the pure things in life that all lead to something simpler perhaps a reconnection with ourselves and our families, the untainted form. They are the ability, wrong or right, to remove yourself from the reality of everyday world, the violence, the sadness and to embrace the minimalism of what is truly needed in life. Very simply, more than houses, they are home.