Our Adirondack Lake

Just back from Memorial Day weekend in the country. E is the fourth generation to summer (and fall, sometimes) at our little brown camp on the lake, and the third generation of girls--my mother and her sister Abby, me and my sissy, and now Hedgehog--to hold memories of this lake from birth, or as far back as a person can remember...

Once, sixty years ago, there was a white cabin with a stone porch:



peopled with our dear ones, and their dear ones:





We're all there now, my mother alone from her generation, and the rest of us from ours, in the white and brown camps next door to each other. The pine trees around the house immeasurably tall, the water very cold, the weather wildly changeable, my grandmother's hydrangeas and her low stone walls and paths all still there, and the creaky dock, and the stubbornly peeling white boat house...






Sissy and I were joking that every night there we get the weeping whoo-hoos...it's hard to adjust to the quiet there. But after dark falls, we lock what we only semi-jokingly refer to as Bear Door and get out the craft projects. For that alone can stave off the whoo-hoos--it is cozy as can be to sit up with Sissy late into the night, knitting and crocheting, gossiping and laughing uproariously over our needles...