to the lake

the house where i spent the first eight years of my life sat on top of a hill, overlooking lotus lake. when it came time to move away, i finally came to realize that not every kid had it as good as jimnerd and i did. not everyone could live on a lake. there just aren't enough to go around. some people, in fact, would rather swim in the ocean, or a pool. we wouldn't have a boat and a dock and a swimming raft in new jersey. we wouldn't ice skate in the winter, unless it was on a pond or in a rink, and we wouldn't have steps, countless steps, down the hillside to the water each day when we woke up. how could this be? it was a shock to the system.

i have very vivid memories of our first home. take, for instance, the smell of the evening. in minnesota the sun sets pretty late in the summer, later even than we became used to on the east coast. we would go to bed before the daylight left the sky. there was a magical moment in the evenings, after having taken a bath, wrapped in a clean towel, putting on clean pj's, lying in bed after a story, with the windows open to the lake... the last boats of the day would be humming their way home, the breeze would come in the window, and the clean scent of seven year-old combined to make what i think is the perfect summer smell. the other night as i got out of the shower and wrapped myself in a fresh towel i caught a whiff of the smell from my childhood - and i was instantly taken back to the small little room in the house on the hill. it is amazing how things like that get etched into our being.

dad built steps down the hill to the boathouse; it was a steep hill and for years the only way down was a winding path to the dock. the stairs made it a little easier to carry things to and from the boat and were a nice addition to the property. dad worked and worked in the hot sun and probably drank iced tea or lemonade as he slowly made his way down, down. i had the chickenpox, and i would watch out the window of that same small room, hearing the hammer pound the nails and wished i could be out there with dad instead of inside, itching.

i used to be afraid of boat engines; they perched precariously on the back of the boat, turning their heads heavily from side to side as they turned the boat. i likened them to darth vader, dark, metallic, and loud. from time to time i would have to sit in one of the seats on either side of the engine, and during those rides i spent most of the time holding my breath, hoping that day wouldn't be the day i fell victim to the scary engine monster.

when we finally did move away, we began our summer vacations to minnesota and the cabin in wisconsin. going to the cabin was such a treat. we could run around outside all day long, helping out with projects or exploring on our own. we sometimes headed out in the canoe, or on the rowboat, and of course there were rides on the pontoon boat where everyone would pile on to go swimming or just float around the lake. when it would come time to leave after every vacation, i would take my seat on the plane, often with my trusty companion, a bear called "minnesota bear", nonetheless, and would cry and cry because we had to leave.

so, in 48 hours i'll be listening to loons instead of the canada goose i hear outside my window now. the familiar smell of the cabin will fill me up and i'll sleep like a baby in the fresh air. you can take the girl away from the lake, but you can't take the lake away from the girl. it is part of me and each year i look forward to refilling my soul with a little lake water and midwestern sun. you see, we're so lucky to still have a lake in our lives.