We purchased the lodge in the winter of 1987, freezing like the Floridians we had become. Our children were experiencing their first snow, with all the activities we enjoyed growing up–skiing, snowmobiling, ice-skating, tobogganing and creating snowmen. It was an eventful vacation that culminated in our new summer home.
The ceiling was still just open beams, with only a shingled roof to protect the inside of the vacuous space that once housed campers dining. Bits of black shingle dust would gather on the floor over the winters when we left the place locked and packed. Cleaning would take days to get it ready for our summer fun.
One of my husband’s six sisters had just married in Ohio the following summer, and all those who could drive north for an extension of the festivities climbed into cars and headed up the highway. The green metal bunkbeds that graced the huts were left in the loft that had been built by the previous owners. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a great room, a kitchen and two porches were designed on the east and west sides, divided by a wall. Between bunk beds and sleeping bags and four bedrooms, we managed to squeeze in a very large family for the night.
We thought we had all the young ones settled in, but suddenly heard screams from the loft. A BAT!! There is nothing worse than hysterical young girls, so we attempted to calm them down and find the critter, while we handed them all badminton racquets from the sports benches on the ping-pong porch. Covering their heads with their bedding, they waited for the all clear as their hero managed to corral it out the front door. I don’t think anyone slept that night, for fear of its return:)
Years pass, but bat stories never stopped. There were bats pressed against screen windows by drunk Irish boys, who managed to get the bat to safety. There was the surprise bat that interrupted a daytime ping-pong game and was accidentally volleyed with the paddle. A nephew, in his tidy-whiteys threw a sock in the air with a tennis ball inside, while standing on a camp dining table. Tossing it in the air, he hoped for it to follow it to the floor and be caught with a towel. Failure. Blankets thrown from the loft caught one. Many were lured to the porch, with double screen doors open wide for fast exit.
Years ago we had installed a cedar ceiling to dress up the open beams and to cut down on the roof debris. We were sure that would take care of the bat problem and for years it did. This week made the second episode since their installation that we have had to suit up for battle. (Having heard that if a bat touches you, rabie shots are in order.) The windows had been closed in our bedroom, so when I felt a breeze on my arm that lay outside the sheets, I lifted my sleepy head in the early dawn to see a bat flying around the room. BAT!!! I screamed, as we covered our heads with bedding. When my husband finally pulled on clothing and saw it fly down the hallway, we closed the doors and he managed to get it out to the porch and back into nature.
Three times in one week, bats interrupted our life. Flying over our guests during a Euchre game, my husband finally solved the puzzle of their entry point. The next day he caulked every seam in every board that had space on the front porch and the loft. Of course, still paranoid, we are sleeping with doors closed until our exterminator arrives to remove the well-intentioned bat houses placed on either side of the lodge, smoke out and trap the bat nest near the loft window and seal up their nest. I will be so relieved, even though I know they are great mosquito eaters.
The photos show the crazy get-up of a woman not wanting the bat to touch any part of her; the badminton racquets handed out to visiting guest for protection, just in case, and the one man caulking team. The metal bat sculpture is a whimsical reminder of past adventures with the hope there will be no more incidents.
