When we were young, our parents bought what had been an old motor hotel alongside the river at the edge of town. It was sold at a sheriff’s auction after a long period of tax delinquency. Some folks considered the property to be essentially worthless. The various buildings, sheds and cabins were in pretty rough shape. The shower house needed to be torn down. It was being undercut by the river and was structurally unsound. There were some interesting buildings on the place. One building that had been converted into two guest rooms had begun its life as a band shell when the property was a park. Another building had housed a slaughterhouse. That building was covered in stucco and had an archway connecting it to a smaller building that had been an office. We called it “The Alamo.” The main cabin, which had been a residence was divided into three sections: A front room with a counter that had been the registration desk, a center kitchen area, and two bedrooms in the third section.

The grass, brush, and willow trees had overtaken the place. There was barely room to turn a car around in the loop at the end of the driveway.

We camped out at the place after it was purchased. We cooked over a campfire. We played in the river. We fell in love with it. For us kids, it offered a summer-long camp experience.

Our father got to work, sketching out plans for a bathroom addition to the main cabin with one bathroom with a tub next to the bedroom area and two smaller rooms with showers and facilities. He brought machinery from his shop to dig a new septic tank and lay out a drain field.

Meanwhile we went to work repairing all of the broken windows. I learned to cut glass and glaze windows. We painted the interior rooms. Not much longer, shingles were the order of the day as we removed roofing, rolled out tar paper, and nailed down shingles on roofs that were not completely square. Each of us children claimed a cabin, cleaned out the cobwebs, and made it into a summer bedroom. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was a lot of fun. We had room for friends to stay over. We set up our trampoline in the yard. We built treehouses. There were always extra kids for dinner, which often was a meal cooked over the campfire.

We raised chickens and donkeys and turned a couple of the smaller buildings into a chicken cook and a shed. The old shower house was torn down.

Over the years various improvements were made. Our parents dreamed of building a home on the property and there were a few sketches of what they might build. Our father got sick and that same year a fire burned past the place and caused some damage to the exterior of the main cabin. The year after our father died, our mother ordered a log cabin. the main cabin was torn down, leaving the new bathrooms in tact. The new cabin was built around the bathrooms. It features a large great room with a kitchen, and two bedrooms.

The slaughterhouse was torn down and we had a huge bonfire with some of the rubble. Mother worked with a local builder that was short of work in the off season and cabins were jacked up and leveled. Siding that looks like logs was put on the outside of the buildings. The new cabin afforded a longer season and the kitchen made things a bit less like camping all of the time.

A large steel shop building was added to the place, offering a lot of storage and work space.

The cottonwood trees on the place continued to grow old. Some fell down. Others needed to be cut down. New trees emerged. Some were planted on purpose. I came to visit when I was able and brought our children here. In the summer of 2001, I spent much of my first sabbatical here, writing curricula to fulfill a contract and paddling and playing in the river. I helped with the mowing and care of the place.

When our mother died, the property was placed in trust and we shared management in an informal pattern. First our younger brother and later two of our sisters lived for a while on the property. We visited on vacations and stayed in the cabins. The trust had no source of revenue and the occasional rental of the place didn’t bring in enough income to cover taxes and insurance. A hailstorm finished off the old asphalt shingles and new metal roofs were installed. Stain was applied to the outside of the buildings and other improvements were made.

The time, however, has come to sell the place. We don’t have a structure to support keeping it into the next generation. Our family has grown in many different directions and we are all getting older. The visits are less frequent now that Susan and I have moved farther away.

For the next few days, however, we are back camping at the place. It feels like camping as some of the furniture has been moved. We’ll be putting the place to rest for the winter, draining the water system and taking down screen windows. In a few days we’ll leave once again. This might be our last visit. The property, however, is a unique kind of place and it may take some time to get it sold. We are unsure of what will happen if it is unsold by next summer when it will need maintenance and work and we are living far away.

Those are problems for another day. Right now we are living with a bit of nostalgia, working on the place. We’ll meet with the realtor and stop by the insurance agency to pay our bill. We’ll make sure that our addresses are correct with the county for tax statements and the electricity company for power bills.

Life goes on. The place of our childhood awaits a new family and more children to come and make it their own. It doesn’t look at all like it did when our family bought it. I expect that in a few years we’ll be amazed at the changes the next owner makes.