The Village That Raised Me

I'm getting ready for bed, up at the lake.  In the new house, the one that Dad says I should no longer call the cabin, a door opens from my bedroom out to the lakeside patio.  Music is floating across the water, from the bar a few miles away where I used to waitress during the summers of the college years.  Bottle rockets are being launched from near our neighbors' waning bonfire.  A little part of me wants to be at the bar; there is a good chance that at one or two aunts and uncles are there, along with family friends, and perhaps even a few cousins and friends closer to my age.

The bar is located in an area of the lake called Shoreham.  It is a tiny hamlet full of rowdiness and colorful characters.  Full of loyalty and friendship, and probably a little bit of heartache and betrayal.  But I'm not feeling as social tonight, I want to stay near the water and wake up sober and rested.  I need to have my wits about me for the flea market tomorrow; I'm twitchy anticipating the treasures I will snatch up.  The reality is that I'm trying to absorb as much of this place as I can before Monday, and it's impossible to deny that buying little bits and pieces makes me feel like I can pack it all up in my suitcase in order to bring it across the border with me.  The shopping urge is strong these last few days; surely a response to my imminent departure and my flailing attempt to capture the essence of the place with the right combination of souvenirs.

At the flea market tomorrow morning, I will see more people I know.  I will see some of the people who are at the bar right now, and I will see others who may already be asleep all around the lake now, under old soft blankets and quilts, listening to the same crickets and wafting sounds of Jessie's Girl being played by the cover band at the bar.

My parents met in the middle of this lake, on a night probably very similar to this one, 43 years ago.  My brother-in-law proposed to my sister here, and my husband also proposed to me here.  It is a magical, special place, and enormously difficult to put out of my mind when not enough time is spent here.