Lake Dreams

I am returning to the lake. I close my eyes and see her there, lying quietly, waiting patiently for me, nestled in a wilderness of pine trees, sculptured rocks, and mountain peaks. We discovered one another years ago, when I followed the suggestion of a friend to seek her out. She was breathtakingly beautiful to me then, and remains so year after year.

I am not here alone. I have never been here alone. He is here with me; present with me in nearly every memory of this place. He sits behind me in the canoe, aware of my every movement, anticipating and adjusting to my paddle strokes, looking where I look, adding strength and direction to our course. We have much history here, written in the shared book of our lives together, and find pleasure in observing and remembering what has been recorded here before.

It was early summertime when we first glided through her numerous channels, coves and pools, finding a calm serenity hidden around every corner. In late fall, after the first freezes, narrow pathways of open water are crowded on each side by ice. Springtime finds the lake brimming with water from the melting snows and white drifts of winter remain in sheltered areas along the banks. Although the spirit of the lake stays the same, each visit is a new experience, with new memories to keep, which I collect and shelter in my heart.

Looking over there, we remember when the deer crossed the channel, and walked along the bank beside us. The water is shallow beneath us, but not as much as another time, when the boys “walked on water” to find us. We look toward the wide beach where the American flag once stood upon a tall pole in our campsite and waved proudly to each visitor who rounded the corner. That shore also served as a living room for young people learning about the natural world, each other, and their spiritual roots. Over there is the happy, secluded cove, our favorite campsite, where laughter still rings in the air, reminding us of the joys of simple, comfortable camp life with friends and loved ones. Up there on the cliffs, we have anxiously surveyed the smoke from a not so distant fire, and on a neaby bluff we quietly meditated beside our own private campfire before paddling back to the dock with starlight and flashlight. Around the next corner is the place where the lake gurgles down into the ground, and near there is where we searched diligently for a few who had gone missing temporarily. Across the lake from here is the campsite with the very best view of all three mountain peaks, and where the mosquitoes once swarmed so ferociously that we made an escape in the canoe to the center of the lake to wait for the biting insects to depart as the night fell.

Our craft moves with elegant dignity through these waters. This canoe has known turbulent times and still bears the scars of more exciting adventures, but those marks do not hinder the progression through this enchanting place. Our mode of transportation is very fitting for this environment and we move with grace and quiet tranquility through the peaceful waters.

In my mind I am there again. A feeling of oneness with the surroundings enters my thoughts as we paddle. The lake embraces and supports us with quiet strength and power, while the canoe cradles and protects as we move gracefully through the waters. My husband and I can feel the sacred, almost intimate, connection, which helps us to sense the heart and soul of this place. In those moments we make promises to ourselves, each other, and our surroundings, to carefully preserve and nurture these memories as well as the environment that brings reality to our dreams. Each time we visit we are calmed and renewed. I am here now, looking inward, and reverently turning the pages of time with profound gratitude. I will return again as often as I can, to savor the sweetness of this beloved lake in the wilderness.