Am at the cottage of a friend, on a lake filled with loons. The hinges in her kitchen are the same ones we had in our family cottage growing up.
One signal difference: H has an elderly, affable but very smelly dog. There were no dogs in my family cottage. One of my grandmother’s most common refrains of disapproval was to walk into a room, sniff and say “I smell dog.”
I’m sleeping in a cabin down by the water, another treehouse-like fort of perfection.