The Lake House, Part I

My husband took me there about 9 years ago, when my oldest was 4, and my second son was just a toddler. It was a 3+

hour drive away, and I didn’t know what to expect. I had heard about the Lake – he started going there as a baby when his Grandparents lived there. He learned to fish there, and spent long weeks in the summer growing up there. His Uncle, also his Godfather, now owned his own house there. So we were coming up to stay for the week. I expected to find a run-down fishing resort, complete with houses “sitting on top of each other.”

But, I was wrong. The roads that took us there were one-lane ones, dotted with farms and fields of oats on rolling hills, and

horses that grazed in pastures. Out of the woods was the Lake. A spring-fed fresh water lake, sparsely populated with cottages and houses. There were more trees and grass than houses. Upstairs, in our room, his Aunt opened the door to show me a bed with a vintage threadbare chenille coverlet. The window was open, and white eyelet curtains flew in the breeze, revealing the view of the Lake. On the other side of the Lake, as far as I could see, was a thick row of green woods.

The lake is small, ½ mile long 1/4 mile wide (or 800 x 500 meters.) It attracts a few water skiers and fishermen, but

mostly those seeking a beautiful lake to enjoy. In a county that already has 101 lakes, this lake does not stand out – it doesn’t even appear on local maps. Many of the other lakes are the typical Rave-sports headquarters with jet skis, speedboats, and big lake houses truly sitting right next to each other, running 2 or 3 houses back along the banks.

But we really liked this one. So, every year, for the last 9 years, we came back to stay with his Aunt and Uncle for a week or two. Aunt Joyce spoiled me. Helping me with my babies, as the next two came, giving me time to rest when I was up all night, and helping me give the little ones baths in the kitchen sink at bedtime.

And my husband, he was busy going out into the boat with his Uncle, teaching the boys to cast, and how to make it to all the

best spots on the Lake. When we weren’t fishing, the boys would play in the sand right out in front of the house in the shallow water, as it lapped in from the few water skiers who left their wake.

There is a black raspberry hedge on the corner of the Lake drive that goes into full bloom each early July. A blueberry farm is 30 minutes away, and we take the boys to fill pails, to freeze and eat them all winter. Daddy’s blueberry pancakes are a big hit year round. There is donut shop, still out in the country, where they still make the donuts themselves. Aunt Joyce usually heads out to get them before we’re awake along with the paper.
Time stops here. It’s quiet, (until my boys come), and it is peaceful, (until they fight

over which fishing rod their using).

Yet, part of us wondered about the future. His Aunt and Uncle weren’t getting any younger. Could we buy this cottage from them? No, they had already willed it to their

children. These children had grandchildren, and were more frequently making it to the Lake. Finding a time when it wasn’t already occupied was getting harder.

The idea of finding our own place seemed as far away as a dream to spend the week at the moon. Lake houses like this were few and far between. Many, like

his Aunt & Uncle’s, were passed down from generation to generation.

Last summer, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Bud called to tell us the place next door was for sale. Hmmm. We wondered. Isn’t it already taken by now? No. They were asking a fortune. I had expected as much.

The Lake House had 130 feet of lake frontage. Fifteen mature hardwood trees on the property – plenty to climb. Combined with our Aunt and Uncle’s of 120, that would give my boys free range of 250 space of lakefront to roam.

This is a long story, so I’ll finish the rest tomorrow. To be continued. Part II, here.

More lake house posts, here.