Beautiful.

From the late sixties to the mid-eighties, "the very best station on the radio dial" was always playing in my Uncle Fred's cottage Up North.

Uncle Fred ... Borkum Riff tobacco in his pipe and the faintest scent of bay rum.  His daily uniform consisted Bean khakis, Bermudas, or corduroys, white canvas Top-Siders, gingham button-downs in every color imaginable, Izod cardigans, and an ancient Timex dive watch.  He drove a navy blue Jeep woody Wagoneer with a huge glass pipe ashtray on the console.  He sailed, fished, and knew every snowmobile trail within a 50-mile radius around Higgins Lake.

His cottage had a bar in the kitchen that fascinated me as a kid, not because I wanted to get at the Crown Royal and Kessler's ("for first-aid purposes on the snowmobile"), but because of all of the other treasures it held: vacuum-sealed glass containers of Planters dry-roasted peanuts, Cheez-Its, and Schuler's rye chips, with accompanying bar cheese in the 'frig, next to the Vernor's, Faygo rock and rye, and the pull-top Budweiser (put the tab in the can after you pull it).

I'm certain that my life-long love of Gordon Lightfoot's music came from the magical time with my family spent enjoying the wondrous woods and water Up North at Uncle Fred's place (don't run on the dock) playing softly in the background on WGER.

Blue-jay screams.

It's sandwich time.  Make mine hard salami and mayonnaise on rye.