The cabin is where the light above the lake remains long after sunset, as brush-stroked reds, golds and blues fill the farthest reaches of the sky.
The cabin is where boys parade themselves from the dock to the shed, carrying a stringer full of their evening’s catch and filet it with a Rapalla knife, always under close instruction of their fathers.
Mosquito bites, sunburn, a stubbed toe from a sharp rock or an
occasional poke with a fish hook. . .these things are all taken in
stride.
Girls giggle while playing cards at the table after sneaking the Boones Farm Strawberry Hill making us wonder if they were really playing cards at all.
The late evening snack of a Chef Boyardee pizza kit and Jiffy Pop Popcorn always hit the spot.
Staying awake long enough to see the Milky Way split the night sky was always worth the wait.
We walked up the road where the darkness made small creatures in the forest sound like Coyotes or Bears. . .it made the girls scream and the boys walk faster.
Old phone booths, Bit-O-Honey candy bars, Orange Crush, 7-Up. . .
Our Dads played Gin and sipped Stroh’s while Moms sipped Mogen David Blackberry Wine and talked about their college days, even though we had no firm concept of what college was.
The cabin, the creeks, the lakes, beaches, paths and the places I hide--- There are permanent snapshots of this place in my mind.
Today my memory is a camera that takes new pictures with yellowed edges.
Girls giggle while playing cards at the table after sneaking the Boones Farm Strawberry Hill making us wonder if they were really playing cards at all.
The late evening snack of a Chef Boyardee pizza kit and Jiffy Pop Popcorn always hit the spot.
Staying awake long enough to see the Milky Way split the night sky was always worth the wait.
We walked up the road where the darkness made small creatures in the forest sound like Coyotes or Bears. . .it made the girls scream and the boys walk faster.
Old phone booths, Bit-O-Honey candy bars, Orange Crush, 7-Up. . .
Our Dads played Gin and sipped Stroh’s while Moms sipped Mogen David Blackberry Wine and talked about their college days, even though we had no firm concept of what college was.
The cabin, the creeks, the lakes, beaches, paths and the places I hide--- There are permanent snapshots of this place in my mind.
Today my memory is a camera that takes new pictures with yellowed edges.
1 comment:
So beautifully written, I imagine myself a young lad lost in the beauty that is both a private, yet universal truth.
Thank you Pete :)
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