memories of the lake... part 3

Fishing

I've learned how to bait a hook... and, I've learned how to take the catch off... but, I've never learned how to clean a fish.  At 41, I don't really relish learning now.

Fishing, for me, is synonymous with being at the lake.  I'm not a fisherman at heart and the only place I enjoy it is here.  I'm not into all the fishing doodads... just a simple rod and reel and a bucket of big, fat nightcrawlers.

I watched my girls get into fishing this week.  They could tell you exactly how many fish they have caught... roughly in the tens of thousands, probably.  And, since I've never learned to clean a catch, they had to throw them all back (which means they probably caught the same three fish over and over and over again).  

I used my skills of baiting a hook and releasing the catch over and over again... especially Friday morning.  For some reason, known only in the underwater world, it was a good morning to catch fish.  As I stood on the dock with the girls, I realized I could do a lot of things for them but I couldn't clean their catch.

My Dad can.  My Mom can.  My brother can.  My man can.  I think even my sister can.  It's not that I can't... it's more that I won't.  Cleaning fish is Bud's job.

My grandfather, Bud, cleaned many a fish in his lifetime.  He was a man of few words who enjoyed life a slow pace.  But, boy, when we kids came in with a mess of fish, he would spring into action... giving us all directions...

"Get that yellow bucket out there"

"Now, ask your Grandma for a clean bowl of water"

"Go to the kitchen and get a couple'a spoons to scale these fish with"

"Take that out to the fish table"

"Find me some newspaper for this table"

"I need my filet knife"

"Dig a hole on the side of Grandma's pink rose bush for those fish heads"

"Make sure you save those fish eggs"

"Take this bowl of cleaned fish into your Grandma and she'll fry 'em up for us!"

And, because Bud cleaned the fish, I never had to learn.  I think for him it was easier to do it than to explain it in detail to me over and over again.  I was okay with that.  He had the yucky job.  All I had to do was do his running for him... carrying buckets and bowls of clean water, finding newspaper and utensils and then digging holes for fish heads when we were finished.  

The best part, though, was that by the time the fish heads were buried, Grandma had a whole mess of lake fish fried up and ready for us.

...I did learn how to do that.

memories of the lake... part 2

Snowed In

The lake draws me winter as well as summer.  In the winter, the quieter is quieter... the calm is calmer.

Sometime in the 1980s, our family realized that Christmas at the lake would be quieter... calmer... more peaceful.  So, we would pack up our boxes of Christmas decorations and clothes for a week, bring our gifts ready to place under a tree here and head north. 

An hour and half later, we would unpack and commence Christmas vacation.  The tree varied year to year.  One year we brought a live tree with us and planted it on the farm after Christmas.  Other years, we bought one in town.  I think we even cut our own on another year.  The tree didn't matter and truly the decorations seemed less important when we were at the lake.

We would come to the lake to sleep...to rest... to read... to escape.  We would laugh outrageously and eat equally outrageously.  Someone, it seemed, was always in the kitchen concocting cookies... candies... buckeyes. 

Books, puzzles and games were our entertainment.  No tv or phone to connect us to the outside world.  An occasional video (we all have a distinct memory of laughing uproarously at Never Cry Wolf) bounded us.  Late night card games were what our memories are made of.

Some years, snow would come.... Other years would be a "brown Christmas".  We longed for snow.  Snow meant we could be "snowed in" and stay a day or two longer... and we would.  It matter not the amount of snow... all we needed was enough snow to be able to legitmately say were snowed in... and a couple inches or so.

We would savor our extra time... thankful for being snowed in.  We would enjoy the fire in the fireplace a little more... relaxing in the peace and joy that comes from not being able to go and do.  And... when it was time to leave, we were all a little more ready to face the outside world thanks to the extra time we had being snowed in.

******

... in returning to the calm of the lake this week, I opted to be "snowed in".  Rather than drive home yesterday, I called my man and asked he and the man-cub to come up.  They arrived late yesterday afternoon. 

Today we are "rained in" and loving every minute of it.  I think when it is time to leave tonight, I will be more ready to face the outside world thanks to the extra time I had being snowed in at the lake in August.

memories of the lake... part 1

**I wrote this in 1989 as a tribute to my grandparents and in celebration of their 50th wedding anniversary.  Being back at the lake this week, I found this forgotten memoir. 

Fourth of July

The serenity of the lake, with it's diamond-like sparkle is rudely interrupted by the splashing and giggling of grandchildren playing in its shallow waters.  The childish adventure is echoed through the screaming of "Marco--Polo", as the children play their version of hide-and-seek in the cool lake.  On the lakeshore sit parents and grandparents watching their youngsters as they play... enjoying the carefree day away from the demands of the world.  As they sit and chat, they are keenly aware of the littlest children romping around the water's edge... the older children as they bob up and down in the water... and the boats that move swiftly by.

"Meema", as she has been lovingly dubbed by a small granddaughter, who couldn't quite pronounce "grandma", is hardly relaxed.  Back and forth she runs into the house making sure that lunch is coming along well and that everyone is taken care of.  Just as she stids down in the refreshing shade of the cottonwoods, she thinks of "just one more thing" that must be done, and up she goes again into the house to find a disposable dish for a grandson... who, in the process of going fishing, needs a container for his bait that he "found" under Grandma's rose bush.

Soon the peacefulness of the shade is broken by the preparations for lunch.  Picnic tables and benches replace lawn chairs as mothers bring out the potato chips, condiments, and salads and fathers huddle over the grill adding the finishing touches to the already blackened hamburgers.  Grandchilden are summoned in from their frolicking in the water... dripping and hungry, the children line up along the picnic tables as they survey the provisions set before them.  As the whole family joins hands, they bow their heads to thank their Creator for the blessings He has given them.  The last syllable of "amen" has not even left their lips when everyone "digs in."  For a brief moment, chaos prevails as the parents try to make sure all of the youngsters are content before filling their own plates.  A satisfied hush hovers over the table as each person fills themselves to the rim.  Soon all the burgers and salads are gone.  Just as the fathers begin to push themselves away from the table and the children start thinking of something to do for a half hour before swimming, an aunt brings out the pie and Grandma's "junk cookies".  Moans and groans accompany the second and third helpings of pie piled onto the plates.  The general consensus is summed up in the words, "I am so full, I could burst!"

None too soon after the final leftovers have been put away and the last dish wiped and put it its respective place, the first grandchild wanders in and mentions the word "hungry".  Out come the pies, the plates and the forks once again, as one by one, the rest of the grandchildren straggle in.  Not too far behind are the fathers and grandfather to begin on their fourth and fifth pieces.

The remaining aftertoon light is spent as the children once again play their favorite water games and the parents fill each other in on the latest family gossip.  Listening in the shade, Grandma and Grandpa just can't seem to get enough.  They tune themselves in to every grandchild as they yell from the lake, "Lookitme, Grandma!" or "Watch this, Grandpa!"

The setting sun begins to reflect on the lake as mothers run around finding towels, shorts, shoes and kids.  Children slowly come in from the lake with frowns and groans of "why can't we stay as long as we like?  Grandma doesn't mind.  She said we could stay 'as long as we liked'!" Above the children's groans, fathers yell for one more "potty break" and begin herding the children to the cars.  Hugs for Grandpa and Grandma and handshakes and pats on the back stall for a few more minutes together.  Soon, though, all cars pull out and head for home.

Once again, solitude prevails over the lake and Grandma and Grandpa take time to readjust as they watch the sun set over the lake.  Just as each is refecting to themselves, "I wish they could come more often," a small child pipes from a backseat, "I left my shoes at Grandmas!"

the calm of the lake...

Standing on the dock with a cup of chai watching my daughters fish this morning brought to mind the calm of the lake...

Sitting on the deck watching the sun burn of the morning mist and shorten the shadows dancing on the water brought to mind the calm of the lake...

Seeing a family of swans lazily swim past the girls' fishing lines out for their morning breakfast forage brought to mind the calm of the lake...

Surrounding myself with the early morning symphony of birds, insects, waves and ducks brought to mind the calm of the lake...

... on weekdays when the weekenders are still at work and the tourists haven't arrived yet, there is a calm that surrounds the lake....

A calm that cools the hot heart and speaks to the frazzled mind... 

A calm that permeates the skin and settles deep into the soul...

A calm that draws one in and takes one's breath away...

...all at the same time...

...the calm of the lake.

the healing balm of the lake...

I've been coming here longer than I can remember and even before that.... this lake... this oasis...


In the 1960s my grandparents bought a parcel of land on a previously unihabited island in the midst of an inland lake in Michigan.  At the time of purchase, boat was the only means of travel to and from the island.  As the island property was partitioned off and sold in "lake-frontage" lots, a road, was built... a pennisula of sorts joining the island to civilization.


In 1968, my grandparents finished my grandmother's dream home and while my grandfather continued to live on the farm, my grandmother moved the less than 10 miles to the island without him.  As she watched the island become inhabited...houses being built... docks being placed in the water... boats moored... and a 9-hole golf course take over the center of the island, she eventually saw her man reluctantly join her in living at the lake.


The summer of '69 was my first summer... and my first summer at the lake.  For 38 years I returned summer after summer... when I pined for time with my cousins, I came to the lake... when life left me unsure, I came to the lake... when my heart was broken, I came to the lake... when I fell in love and wanted reveal part of what made me who I am, I came to the lake... and, when it came time to marry the love of my life, I woke up on my wedding day at the lake.


There are a few loves of my life that I have been able to pass on to my husband and kids.  The lake is one.  Our first summers of young married life were spent at the lake.  So many memories of my man saving his vacation time so that he could fish a day longer at the lake.  Memories of new love spending long, lazy hours with seasoned love.  Memories of my grandmother catering to my man's every whim.  And, memories of bringing young children to play at the water's edge with the cousins... the next generation to pine for cousin time at the lake.


My grandparents have both gone on to heaven and there is now a different house to come to... but the lake always draws me back.  The lake draws me when my heart hurts or life has been rough.  Here is where my man brought me after we buried our stillborn son.  I found rest and renewal and healing at the lake.


Life ebbs and flows.  There are seasons of life that seem to leave no time for rest and renewal and no time to come to the lake during the summer.  And, there are other seasons of life that demand it.  When life spins so out of control that sleep is only a dream and rest is unattainable... there is only one place for me to go... to the healing balm of the lake.


Watching my girls rest and renew this week... feeling myself unwind... finding sleep in the cool lake breezes... sitting and soaking in the solitude of a flock of swans swim by in the morning hours... reading in the shade... listening to the sympony of waves... unplugging myself from my electronics... all of this and so much more is the balm of the lake that heals my soul.