WE BETTER MAKE a move, Philip Paculaba has decided, as the sky gets even blacker. The men work together, shifting the lechon with the steel-lined bed of burning charcoal deeper into the cover of a weathered tarp strung between the bunkie and a birch tree.
When a support stand starts to tip, two of the guys lunge and catch the spit before it can hit the ground. “Even with this janky setup,” announces one, “nothing stops the lechon!” Not even this rain, which is churning the flat surface of Kahshe Lake, Ont., into matte grey felt. With no wind at all, the clouds above stop moving, and we wait as they empty out.
While Philip pokes at the coals, his sister Rose arrives. She extends her golf umbrella over Philip, gracefully deflecting a persistent drip that’s found a hole in the tarp. Rose has come to check on the ears, wrapped now in foil. They are her favourite part of the pig, and as the eldest auntie here, she has dibs.
The aunties—sisters Rose, Dylin, Cora, and Carmel—and the two brothers, Philip and Jun, and their families, are being hosted by second-youngest sister Farah Rueck and her husband, Mike, for the annual Paculaba family cottage reunion. By the time all the children, grandchildren, and partners arrive at the Rueck cottage, there will be at least 30 people here, spanning about seven decades in age. All the beds, all the couches, and a small settlement of tents behind the bunkie will be full.
Farah’s extended family has been coming up to the cottage for this weekend every year—pandemic excepted—since the early 2000s, about the time Mike and Farah took over from his parents. The log cottage sits high on the steep shore, behind heavy tree cover that red.”
