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Victor’s Cabin

In the west, as in many parts of Canada, the cabin (or camp or cottage, call it what you will) is sacrosanct. People may change houses, cities, spouses, even provinces, but the Family Cottage stays untouched. It may have started out as a Camp with only a shack or two, tents, and a canoe pulled up on shore, but as the generations come and go, the place just gets bigger and more elaborate. Check out Clearwater Bay in Lake of the Woods if you need evidence. I’ve been invited to many set-ups like this and enjoyed myself very much, but I’ve never been tempted to buy one. (Particularly since I’ve seen my father work on his Stag Island cottage every possible summer day since 1963.)
The idea of a man who devotes most of his life’s time-off and funds to building a Summer Palace, and then decides to go back to a simple trapper’s cabin, was just too rich to pass up.
The idea is simple: “Green trees, and blue, blue water; A little sandy beach and really who could ask for more?” but the reality…..


Victor built a cabin, as every young man should,
Built it with an axe and saw alone there in the woods.
And every piece of hardware, he carried in his pack.
To him it was a palace, to others just a shack.

Chorus

And there were green trees, and blue, blue water.
A little sandy beach and really who could ask for more?
There and then it seemed to him it wouldn’t get much better,
Than weekends in his perfect little cabin on the shore.

Well Victor didn’t stop there, he had the cash to spend.
Soon that little cabin came to grow and to extend.
First there was the guest room, then there was the loft,
Next a bigger kitchen, and finally a dock.

Next he built a boathouse, and then improved the road,
Because his simple laneway wouldn’t handle all the load,
Of visitors each weekend, family by the score,
Who stayed in his new guesthouse, and hollered out for more.

[chorus]

The MNR did not approve his sanitary plan,
His septic field required 700 tons of sand.
Wintertime was chilly, so was spring and fall,
So every building got some insulation in the walls.

The workload was oppressive, he hired himself a man,
Then a maid, and then a cook, and occasionally a band.
And in the local village, they drank to him each night,
Pledged his health and billed him twice for everything in sight.

[chorus]

You get the picture, never mind the satellite TV,
The snow-machines the floatplane, or the 8-wheel ATV.
Victor, getting older, came to wonder what he’d done,
And finally remembered back when all of this was fun. So…..

Victor built a cabin, as every Old man should.
Built it with an axe and saw alone there in the woods.
And every piece of hardware, he carried in his pack.
To him it was a palace, to others just a shack.

[chorus, and end]