The Lake

Nothing moved below the surface, water smooth as glass made a transparent cover. I remember coming here as a girl. Carefully, I would sit on the very edge of the dock, my short legs dangling over the side, toes just skimming the cold water, and watch the fish below the surface. The small silver ones were my favorite. Darting in and out of the rocks and dead tree limbs. Watching them I often wondered, did they become friends as they swam in their group? Small crabs would dot the bottom. With their amusing sideways walking, they searched for food, claws always at the ready.

The boards of the old dock were warped and weathered. Years of harsh winters and neglect had increased the gaps. Carefully walking to the edge, I gently lowered my old body onto the sun-warmed wood. Night was quickly coming, were it not for the clouds I would be gazing upon a beautiful sunset. Deep in the Adirondacks, Saranac Lake, NY was my favorite place to be. Pulling off my shoes and socks I hung my legs over the side. The cold, clear water almost reached my knees. The dock still felt the same. Like me, it was a little older, weathered, and scarred, but strong nevertheless.

Funny how time changes things. The lake, once alive and teeming with life, now lay abandoned and alone. In its glory, the dock was lovingly stained a warm brown and sanded smooth to protect tiny feet from splinters. I spent every summer of my youth here. Fishing, swimming, boating, but mostly sitting, taking in all the beauty. The mountains in my mind made the perfect backdrop, protecting me from the pain of the outside world. Surrounding the lake, they dared anyone to scale their rocky peaks and penetrate my world.

As a child I was smaller than my peers and the doctors had told my parents I would eventually catch up. What they failed to mention was that in the meantime I would be picked on and teased to no end. The lake became my refuge. Very few homes surrounded the lakeshore, and the few inhabitants were well into their golden years. Fourth of July weekend their grown children would visit bringing with them a scattering of grand-children. I found myself staying indoors, my cat Zoey in my lap watching them splash and play from my bedroom window. Only in the evenings, would I venture out to the dock and sit. Bathed in moonlight I would watch fireflies dance above the water and listen to the sounds of the night.


The closing of our summerhouse marked not only the end of warm weather but also my freedom. Back to the schedule of school and classes, each box I helped pack was taking me one step further from the lake and one closer to my old life. It never seemed to matter how many boxes my mother and I packed, my father would always jokingly yell to me, “Lizzy, I have room for one more.” With the car packed, pillow, blanket and Zoey in the backseat, I would head down to the lake to say my goodbye. Standing on the dock, tears in my eyes, I would try to burn the image of the lake and mountains into my mind in the hope it would carry me through until the next summer.

In the summer of my seventeenth year the unexpected happened. My father lost his job. Times were hard in Albany, and lay-offs were happening all around New York. Sitting with my parents, they broke the news. Our summerhouse was being rented out to strangers. We need the money, was the explanation. Looking back I remember thinking what would the lake think when I didn’t return. Would these new people take care of the dock, appreciate the beauty and respect the lake and all that called it home? Year after year the summerhouse was rented and I was forced to move on. I eventually went to college, got married and raised children of my own. All the while, I never forgot the lake.

Now years later I am back, wishing I were anywhere but here. My mother felt having my father’s funeral here would have pleased him. This morning his ashes were spread across the lake. He gave me my love for it and it was only fitting that in the end he should become one with it. As I sit here, feet and legs numbing from the icy water I know this will be the last time I enjoy it alone. The summerhouse has been sold; the new owners were nice enough to let us spend one last weekend here together. I ache that my children never wanted to spend a summer here while growing up. Their childhoods were so different from my own. The simple things in life bored them; video games and computers filled their time. This place helped mold me into the adult I am today. It taught me how to slow down, see things others take for granted. I know it would have done the same for them had they only given it the chance. As I leave this time I not only say goodbye to the lake, but my father as well. He is resting in the place he loved most, surrounded by the beauty and protectiveness of the mountains. I know the next time I return it will be to join him.