A memory or two

    Hmm, town or the lake?  Not much of a decision, really.  Of course, she has to go see the lake first.  She turns left to reach the road that was built when the expressway cut off the old way to the lake.  She pulls up to the corner, and looks over at the Pine Pantry, where her family went for huge ice cream cones on the way home from the lake on hot summer days, all those years ago.  Nope, she's had ice cream once already today.  Drive on.  She drives by the beach where she'd spent so many summer afternoons.  There are "No Parking" signs posted there now, so she drives on a few blocks, parks on the side of the road and walks back to the beach.  The lake is just as she remembers.  So blue, so clear, you can see the rocks, shells, and some minnows searching for their lunch.  Of course the shoes and socks come off and she wades out past her knees, almost to the hem of her shorts.  She hopes to someday show this lake to her son.  Then she can show him why she'd never go swimming anywhere except a pool, when she lived in Ohio.  One look and he'd understand.  Time to move on, she gathers her shoes and socks and walks barefoot through the sunwarmed sand to the edge of the road and back to her car.  With one long look back, she promises herself there will be many trips to this same lake for summer afternoons in the sun.

    She drives to the north end of the lake, to the North Higgins Lake State Park.  It's worth the $8 day tag to enter.  She parks in the day use lot and walks to the shady paths, through trees so tall, you lose your balance looking up to see the tops.  To her left she can hear the trickle of water from one of the many springs that feed the lake and keep it so clean and cool.  The ferns and pine needles carpet the forest floor, moss grows on downed tree trunks, home to some of the smaller creatures that live in this hushed, lush green haven.  The winds are calm today, so she can't hear the water that she knows lies just past the path that runs parallel to the shoreline.  Along here are the little grills that stand in the ground like sentinels of summer fun.  Just waiting for that bag of charcoal, hot dogs and burgers.  Picnic tables line the treed lots that were once lakefront campsites.  Memories of summers spent camping there, bonfires on the beach, swimming after dark, sneaking beers from the grownups' coolers, and all the adventures of teenagers, walk beside her  as she strolls along.  Short summer romances that lasted no longer than a week or two, the vows to write and see each other again, are as ephemeral as the ghosts that walk the beaches of the memories of those times. 

    One particular memory comes through the mists of time-her mother.  Tall, slender, her bathing suit in the style of the early 60's.  Taking towels from the line strung between trees, she beckons her and her brother out of the water for lunch.  Sitting in the sand with them and building castles until it was time to light the fire to cook dinner.  Roasting marshmellows over the fire built up for the evening, watching the sun set and the moon rise over the water, reflecting a beam of sparkling light right toward you, no matter where you stood.  Soothing lotion on the sunburn from the day, changing into pajamas and walking, flashlight in hand, with her, one more time to the outhouse before settling down for the night....    As the memories fly, she realizes that her time for reflection is up.  She heads back to the car, making that same promise to return for many summer days to come, and turns toward town.

                                       ~Thanks For Stopping By~