The only thing better than a weekend at your own cottage is a weekend at someone else’s, am I right? You get all the relaxation and enjoyment of a couple days by the water, without the constant internal monologue about what needs fixing or trimming or maintaining. You get plenty of ahhh, hardly any hmmm.
At least that’s how it works in theory.
But what if your host is not really a “sit with a cup of coffee and listen to the loons” kind of person? What if their own persistent drive-to-do cannot be curtailed, and they view you and your entertainment as their project for the weekend? What’s the guest’s obligation?
I’ve reached an age where I actually quite enjoy watching other people work. I’m quite happy observing a bunch of folks playing Finnish lawn bowling from my chair on the deck. It’s best if none of those folks is me. I’ve also become good at asserting my lack of energy and ambition. In fact, I’ve been known to get strategically “lost” when the activities list comes out. But I do worry a bit about giving offense. Where’s the line between comfort hound and stick-in-the-mud?
At the risk of my in-laws reading this, let me give a real-life example.
My wife’s family are all fine and delightful people, and I love spending time at their cabin by the lake. The views are exquisite, the water idyllic, and the bookshelves brilliantly curated—heavy on the Agatha Christie, extremely light on political analysis. Given the right amount of groceries, I could probably do two solid weeks there without straying far from the screened-in porch and its outdoor couch.
Ahhh, the outdoor couch. I feel a nap coming on just thinking about it.
But get my wife around her three sisters, and you will suddenly find yourself in an Olympic-level competition for who gets up earliest, who swims the longest, and who can do the most number of power walks around “The Loop,” a beautiful, forested 2K circle-route they established in childhood, long before I knew any of them. For the record, I firmly believe the correct number of times around a loop is one. Otherwise, we’re talking about loops, plural, and I didn’t sign up for plural.
I once started whittling a hiking stick, knowing it would look to the casual observer like I had on my mind a very long walk indeed. Whittling is best done in a seated position. And making a dependable walking stick is not something you can rush. One might have to revisit the project a tactical number of times. That stick is still not quite done.
Don’t get me wrong. I love a good walk in the woods. I’m both a rock collector and a birder, so there are endless delights for me in the forest. But I don’t force the people around me to pick up shards of flint and jasper, or to get jazzed by the sight of a ruffed grouse. If your ornithological interests extend no further than a grill full of chicken wings, I won’t be offended.
So, how do we strike a balance? You, my generous host, just want to make sure I have endless options to stay active and amused while I’m visiting your cottage. I, your grateful guest, have a lifetime of experience amusing myself, even though I also enjoy your company.
How about a compromise?
For every round of Mölkky I play against my will, I get one free “I’m good” as an unchallenged response to a suggested activity. And for every time I screw up my face at your enthusiasm, you get to push me in the lake.
If you can find me.
John Degen, a lifelong cottager on Lake Simcoe, is the author of Seldom Seen Road, a mystery set in Northern Ontario.
This story originally appeared in our Summer ’26 issue.
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