Going to "The Lake" this weekend? How was "The Lake"? I love "The Lake". Where I come from "The Lake" could be a quiet nature preserve where bountiful fish are reeled in or a water skiing paradise creating choppy wakes to bounce over. As a child, I had the blessing of both. My dad's family had the peacefulness of lake number one and my mom's had the festivities of lake number two. So, from before birth, "The Lake" was a part of my genetic makeup.
My years growing up were filled with everything lake living had to offer. Frosty, but warm memories of sitting on an ice fishing box with my expert fisherman grandfather as he cranked the ice away layer by layer and I peered into the dark watery hole. The descent of the lone worm who would soon become an icicle. My little body shivering as we waited and waited and waited some more. The joy at hearing my grandma's voice calling us for lunch or a hot chocolate so my innards could melt back to normalcy. Yes, I loved eating lake fish and catching them too; still do, but now I realize the best lesson I was learning besides fishing was how to create a patient soul.
On the other side of the county at my mom's family lake, I was told at age seven "DON'T LET GO OF THE ROPE," as they strapped skis the size of Sequoias to my feet. After being drug behind a cherry red Hydrodyne under the water for several yards with lake weeds wrapped like a crown around my head and neck, my father finally jumped in to pry my fingers off the ski rope handle. Eventually years later I was able to drop a ski and slalom, but that first snootful of water on the Sequoias embedded itself in my memory bank even until today! So it is no wonder as I aged and found myself far away from the lakes of my youth, that I longed once again for "The Lake". Thankfully, my husband obliged my request and cottage 41 was found.
Now "The Lake" for me has all the wonderfulness of my past and all the sameness that I treasured. The sameness of the smells be it campfires, water or roasting hot dogs. The sameness of sounds squealing, splashing, motors whirling. The sameness of borrowing anything from a neighbor-- life jacket, milk, or tool and knowing that they will borrow from you tomorrow. The sameness in sleeping with open windows and a gentle breeze caressing your face and then awakening rested with a dotted imprint of the chenille bedspread on your cheek. Endless gazing at the glistening waves that will lull your hammock to nap. The thrill of jumping off the boat on to the dock, sameness.
I adore my little 1940's knotty pine walled cottage. It's cozy and fun to decorate with old lake memorabilia. The lake community I am a part of enjoys bingo/root beer float nights, breakfasts at the clubhouse on Memorial Day to welcome back lake season and on Labor Day to sadly say good-bye. Pontoon tie-ups in the middle of the lake with snacks and stories along with laughing euchre games to the wee hours. An annual picnic with a potluck smorgasbord that fills you up before horse shoes; gunny sack races and pony rides. A walking path that lets you chat with neighbors as you stroll around the lake and always come home knowing something new.
Like the spider webs that greet me every morning (remembering a broom in both of my grandmas hands) there is a connectedness in the strands of people that make up my lake. It really makes me ponder that our lives were made to intersect and then years later double back once again. Although I am back in the area of where I grew up roughly 40 minutes away, the city still has a population of 150,000. So I am amazed that across the lake is a family who I babysat for and now their babies have babies. Two doors down, a new couple moved in; her family owned the Creek Chub Bait Company where my grandmother tied flies as a teenager. Next door to them is a woman whose best friend grew up in my childhood home; my parents bought our house from hers. A few years back another new laker arrived. After introducing myself, I found out he was friends with my uncle and spent his teen summers learning to ski at my mom's family's lake. (Sorry, I hope you let go of the rope!) Further around the bend is another man whose father worked with my dad. A girl across the lake marched in my high school band when I was a drum major. The sweet retired veterinarian who makes vanilla extract to give to all the lake folks used to treat my great grandparent's animals on the farm. These are just a few wonderful strings in the web.
So "The Lake" is certainly the toads, turtles and dragon flies. It is most definitely the bobbing up and down of a noodle, inner tube or fishing line. No doubt it is finding that one cold spot in the midst of all the warm ones. It is being the littlest laker that has to sit atop the wooden bucket while others crank to make delicious homemade ice cream. It is the stillness that only a kayak, canoe or sailboat can find. It is generations of families camped out in the same house sleeping bag next to a cot or spread around the lake in multiple dwellings. It is the crickets that soothe you to slumber while the lighting bugs provide a nightlight and the birds a wake up call. Yes, all of this and s'mores is "The Lake". So go ahead jump on in, the waters fine.
"The Lake" is right now sitting at the end of the pier on my Adirondack chair in my Lake Girl sweatshirt silently mesmerized by the setting sun and soft rippling waves, knowing I will always adore "The Lake".
