I am the product of a matriarchy – my mother, her sisters, my sister. My father and my late husband were only children. Even among the kids in my childhood neighbourhood, there was only one boy. So the world of men, especially teenage males, was always as remote and unexplored to me as the Arctic is to most Canadians.

Into all this estrogen, I bore two sons. Thus I am belatedly getting a bird’s view, albeit of the parental kind, into the world of young men. It has been an educational initiation.

Case in point: starting around April, Son #2 (age 14) started introducing the idea that he wanted four of his pals to spend a few days at the family cottage with us. Wanting to give him something to look forward to as he finished up a second year of (mostly) online schooling, I agreed to this plan. Sounded good in theory and was still months off in the future.

As the date was confirmed and I started to think about the nitty gritty details, The Boyfriend and I began getting nervous. What would we feed them? What if they didn’t get along? What if it rained all weekend and eight of us (two adults and six teens, including my older son) were stuck together in our adequate-but-not-spacious cottage the whole time?

Only the fools who persist in their folly soon become wise, so I persisted in attempting to make the best-laid plans. I wrote the parents, offering details of the rattlesnakes that inhabit our part of cottage country, the nearest hospitals in case of an emergency, the fact the boys would have to share beds, and the reality our cottage is modest (meaning no air conditioning, no dishwasher, no TV or internet, no motorized water vehicles). In other words, prepare their kids that this was almost as much camping as “cottaging.” Like a good camp director, I even offered some suggestions on what to pack.

The parents were great, offering to help deliver/pick up the kids despite the long drive, offering to send along food and generally being appreciative. I declined all offers of food, but they (being wiser than I) sent along all manner of pop, chips and candy. Those items (inexplicably) hadn’t made it onto my shopping list and the boys would have been miserable without those necessary infusions of sugar and salt. Perhaps these parents had previous experience as camp directors or maybe they were just naturally more tuned in to their sons than I.

In any event, the guests arrived Saturday midday. Upon dumping their gear, they immediately headed outside and commenced the formalities. They went on a tour of the property, took a swim, went out in the canoe and peddle boat, chopped wood, had a wood-fired sauna and then a bonfire with Smores. They capped off the day by watching a movie on a laptop that one of the guests had thoughtfully brought along. The six boys crammed themselves onto the sofa meant for three. The whole day proceeded in fast motion, as they attempted to jam in every cottage activity available to them. It was as if it were their last day on Earth and they needed to live it to the fullest.

After Steroid Saturday, Sunday was consumed at a more leisurely pace. To avoid the dreaded bogeyman of “Boredom” from setting in, we drove our pubescent posse into the nearby metropolis (population 500). Armed with water bottles, suntan lotion, a basketball and a volleyball, we dropped them to the basketball court at the local elementary school. Once they tired of that activity, they walked over to the community’s sand volleyball court. In between, they looked for trains coming through town, and visited the water-filling station (a hose on the side of the community centre) and the grocery store. Two hours later, we got the call to drive the hot and tired kids back to the cottage. The rest of the day was quieter, and the boys went to bed right on time – half an hour after the stated time for lights out.

Monday, our last full day, got off to a rocky start when the adults’ specific requests for assistance with dishes and a project requiring some young muscle were blown off. Upon returning from their abdication of responsibilities (a swim/paddle across the lake), they were greeted by an annoyed camp director who didn’t mince words. My blow-up was greeted with deafening silence, but they were a little more, um,  “careful” afterwards. Later on, with good grace, they set to moving parts of a then yet-to-be built shed that had been delivered and lying in the grass for six weeks … and we all learned an unplanned lesson on the lifecycle of red ants (in the thousands). It wasn’t a pleasant experience for any of us, but a good story to tell later when the immediate “ick factor” has worn off.

As for keeping the stomachs of six teenage boys full, The Boyfriend made a valiant effort to keep the constant cravings at bay. For my part, I made daily forays to the nearby grocery store and contributed substantially to the local economy. The “Feeding of the Five Thousand” had nothing on us, although our efforts didn’t involve baskets of fish and loaves of bread. Then again, there were a lot of carbs involved.

I cannot attest to how much soap or toothpaste was used throughout the weekend. The bottled water provided in the bathroom for brushing teeth remained suspiciously untouched and the shower was very considerately “spared” heavy usage. But the boys were in and out of the lake regularly and I reasoned that a rinse was as good as a clean. Or so I told myself.

Despite the lack of internet at the cottage, the visitors all seemed to have sufficiently robust data plans to spend at least some time online with their phones. Still, I was heartened to see rounds of chess played throughout the weekend. Monday night was capped off with all six teens playing the boardgame “Risk.” On reflection, I realized that there is likely no better game to reflect the realities of posturing for position and asserting one’s power when one is a teenage male.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the weekend was watching the dynamics within the group. These boys had previously spent a lot of time together, although never as intimately or intensively as three days at a cottage. Despite the differences in personalities, they seemed a remarkably cohesive group. There were times when they separated for an hour at a time into groups of two or three or else sought quiet time individually. Before long, however, they had reassembled as a “committee of the whole,” cramming themselves together onto one bed or the long-suffering sofa. Only once over the whole weekend did I hear raised voices – I could tell just by the tone and volume that tempers were flaring out on the water. And I’m pretty sure the whole lake heard the dispute too. But it blew over in a few minutes and the storm passed as quickly as it came.

In the end, the things that I most feared – an encounter with a startled rattlesnake, a medical mishap or irreconcilable differences leading to a complete breakdown in the relationships – did not materialize. Mother Nature helped by putting on her best face, and we didn’t suffer one drop of rain. Consequently, I look forward to continuing my education next year and seeing how an added twelve months of further maturity (and testosterone) changes the dynamics. Obviously I have much yet to learn.