Posted by Katheen Pooler/@kathypooler
“To say goodbye is to die a little.” The Long Goodbye, Raymond Chandler
In 2000, my father purchased a lake house on a prime piece of land on Keuka Lake, one of the beautiful Finger Lakes in Central New York State. I wrote how this came about in this tribute to Crooked Lake Memories done last year after my traditional vacation week at the lake.
Life can change in a heartbeat and, for reasons that sound rational and practical, we must put our beloved lake house on the market. As of this writing, we have several offers.
A Memorial to Our Beloved Lake House
I recently returned from what will be my final week at the lake and it seems fitting that I pay tribute to this treasured gift from my father.
Every morning from my bedroom, I soak up the sounds of the waters lapping against the shore as the gentle, cool summer breezes scan my body. The sights, smells and sounds of the lake surround me and wrap me in a cloak of warmth, security and happy memories.
Dad lives here, his presence in every corner of the cottage, down the steps, on the beach, on the wooden swing built by the Amish. I am holding his hand as we walk in tandem down the steps to sit on the swing and watch the mother duck escort her baby ducklings across the water.
Fourteen years of spending a precious week in paradise—sipping coffee on the deck overlooking the beach and great expanse of water with motorboats, sailboats and jet skis gliding by–reading, writing, dreaming. How ironic that the first time I saw the cottage in 2000, my eyes zeroed in on this deck and I dreamed of the book I would write someday. Now, as I walk away for the last time, I will soon hold this book in my hands.
We look across the lake at Keuka College with its stately buildings lit up at night and I remember moving my daughter in her freshman year. She is now married with two sons and my heart expands in my chest as I watch them jumping off the dock, laughing and giggling. Soon they will be playing soccer in the upper field or throwing the ball into the lake for their puppy, Peppermint, to retrieve.
The smoky smell of the campfires at night and S’mores brings memories of Dad and Mom, Uncle Michael, Aunt Pat and Aunt Rose—our cherished elders , some now gone– huddled around the fire and enjoying the evening. This year, a new twist—S’mores with York Peppermint Patties or Reese’s Pieces instead of Hershey’s Chocolate.
And it all flashes before me—getting lost in a book, going for a boat ride, jumping off the dock, floating on a raft, gathering with family and friends for feasts—tables overflowing with way too much food we vow we will change the next time—but never do. And memories of Dad, sneaking a few chocolate cookies under a bowl of ice cream so Mom won’t notice. I still see him on the shore, sitting on the swing with his straw hat, living his dream of watching his children and grandchildren frolic in the water. He is perusing his kingdom.
A haven for sons and daughters, grandchildren, aunts , uncles, cousins and friends…
Oh precious lake house, I grieve for you—for all you represent with your quiet beauty. You contain the joy of a family—a Richard Scarrey storybook of laughter and fun– on the paddle board, in the paddle boat, hanging out, bonding, resting from the world, bodies melting into the sectional coach in the living room, slipping into its cushions to nap ,watch a movie or, this year, to watch the World Cup.
Our dreams have been created and fulfilled on your rocky shores; a sanctuary for all to embrace the solitude, the festive gatherings, the memories.
The pain of letting you go rears up in unexpected moments–deep and piercing.
In my grief, my beautiful daughter Leigh Ann comforts me with the lyrics to “The Time of Your Life” by Green Day:
“It’s something unpredictable but in the end it’s right. I hope you have the time of your life.”
And I am reminded of the ten-year old Leigh Ann who belted out Annie’s “Tomorrow” on our front porch in Ebensburg, Pa in 1983:
“The sun ‘ll come up tomorrow”…
Perhaps the greatest tribute to our beloved lake house is found in this poem written by my younger brother, Gary:
The Crooked Lake
For our family, sons and daughters
Thank you for the peace bestowed by misshapen waters.
Where rocky shores draw boundaries
If distant memories and current quandaries
Whose vista leaves one thinking of life
Intertwined with inevitable and continuous strife
The hills and vineyards tower over the water not aloof or too proud
But protects the lake with a majestic shroud
Our lives, not easy, most human with turns and bends
Like the lake itself gives us pause to make amends
Good times, tough times, changes for sure
The crooked lake is our sanctuary that helps the family endure.
I know you will go on to bring joy to another family.
And I know our family will endure through the loss.
But, oh how it hurts to let you go.
Thanks for the memories~
***
How about you? Have you ever grieved for a place that has held a strong emotional connection?
I’d love to hear from you. Please leave your comments below~
Next Week:
Monday, 7/14/14: “Ever Faithful to His Lead Cover Reveal”
All those years of happy family times, how wonderful to have the chance to have such a place for a while but I guess we can’t hang onto places anymore than to people and can just be thankful for the times we did have them. I have my memories of camping at Schroon Lake when the children were all young, and so were we, several times for whole summers, and I still miss that area and feel drawn to go visit it.
Yes, Louise, you remind me that we have been blessed to have had the lake house for as long as we did. The happy memories will always be ours. You are right, “we can’t hang on to the places we love anymore than we can hang on to people we love.” Thanks for sharing your own happy Schroon Lake memories.
Oh Kathy, yes indeed. Place, that space we set ourselves in, has long been important to me. I feel the energy of a place and it can grip my soul. When I sold my house in Philly, in prep for leaving for Peace Corps, I also left a whole way of life that I’d never get back, I grieved big time. Then I focused on what lay ahead. I had to. Yours was a lovely glimpse into a cherished way of life that not many get to experience. My heartfelt sympathies. And Thank you.
Yes, Janet, I imagine you can relate to bonding with a place with all your Peace Corps adventures. How brave to leave your whole way of life to join the Peace Corps. I’m looking forward to reading your memoir and learning about all the ways you grew and flourished through the experience. And thank you for your sympathies. It truly is a bittersweet grieving process.
Kathy, I’m there standing next to you, seeing and feeling it all. It’s os sad to leave places like this behind. But people and places move in and out of lives. Change. Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes not.
Yes, I agree, Joan. Change is always a challenge and sometimes it ends of being for the best. Tahnks for stopping by and “standing next to ” me. 🙂
Beautiful, Kathy. Thank you.
Chistina
Thanks, Christina!
Lovely Kathy. Your Dad would be proud.
Welcome, Ryder and thank you for stopping by. Your thoughts are very consoling.
this is lovely Kathy. I feel your grief and revisit the loss of my own father and our places. Thank you for this sweet slice of memoir this morning.
Thanks, Patti. I always turn to writing when I feel deep emotions. I started journaling and ended up with this memorial. I appreciate your comments.
I can empathize with your sense of loss as your beloved cabin on the lake is in the process of sale. When I was a youngster, my father bought a cabin near Lake Travis in Texas. Our family would sojourn there during the summer to boat, swim and explore the areas surrounding the lake. It was an idyllic and sustaining time for the brood of four kids. Now that it’s been sold, I come out and see the boat docks and view the shrinking lake. It brings back precious memories of the time spent with family, treasures I cherish.
What a lovely reminder that the memories will always be there to cherish, Kathy. Thank you for stopping by and sharing. Sharing a deep loss seems to help.
Oh, Kathy, how I can relate to this. We sold our family vacation house in Door County, Wisconsin, last fall. It was chocked full of memories, many so similar to yours. I’ll never forget driving away from it for the last time. I looked over my shoulder and saw a book close. But how wonderful to have that story in the hearts of a family. Looking forward to reading your book – a dream that took wing off the deck of your beloved lake house. Brava!
Your lovely words are so soothing, Rebecca. Yes, this lake house played a big part in nurturing my writing dreams as did your advice and guidance about where to start my memoir–my defining moment. Thanks so much for stopping by and for your support along the way. My “baby” will be born very soon after a very,very long gestation period!
Ah, Kathy, how sad you must be to let this beautiful place go (but know that the memories you made there will linger on, just as your dad will, in your hearts). I think the photo of you and your dad in 2002, followed closely by the solitary Kathy in 2014, speaks volumes and shows clearly your anguish.
It’s okay to hunger for a place, my friend. And for times gone by. But look on the bright side — you soon will have your memoir in hand, the book you dreamed of writing all those years ago — and won’t your dad be proud and happy?!
Oh Debbie, you brought tears to my eyes. The sadness is so deep, I had to write about it and now your words are bringing me consolation. Yes, Dad will be proud. In many ways, the memoir pays tribute to him and my mom.I never expected to feel this loss so deeply but as you say, it’s OK. It is what it is and the sweet memories will always remain. Thank you, dear friend.
Kathy, I am at my family’s beloved lake house reading this and I understand the grief you are feeling. Although I still have access to mine, there was a time when I thought I might be losing it and I experienced a grief just like losing a beloved family member. My sincere sympathy to you, along with wishes for more wonderful memories to be created in new places.
Thank you, Sue. I feel so grateful that we, as a family, have had this gift for 15 years. It truly does feeling like letting go of a loved one. I love and appreciate your wish to “create wonderful memories in new places.” Enjoy your beloved lake house and thank you of your healing words.
Kathy, I feel the tug of your heart in this piece. The knowledge of what you must do is tugging against the desire to be in this place forever. I could feel you sitting with your dad in the swing … a beloved place where my dad and I used to sit was in a swing. All the memories you have shared with us are a beautiful part of your life and your family’s history. Yes, you are grieving The Crooked Lake House, but a new chapter in your life is just beginning. The page is barely turned, but it’s happening. Look forward, dear friend … big things are waiting for you, and all because of summers at Crooked Lake.
So beautiful, Sherrey. Thank you. Your words have touched me and I am crying healing tears. I appreciate the reminder for new beginnings. Hope matters!
Kathy, as you often do, you write of something I never had with my family, as a child or later — our own special get-away, on the water or anywhere else. Water would be best, in my book. You make your place seem so read I can pretend to share it, and I thank you for that. This is one of the many things I love about reading life stories: they fill cracks in my experience. And they give me a way to see what we did have as well as what we didn’t.
Because this place seems real and dear to me now, I share your grief about leaving it. After nearly thirty years, I still miss the home we left out west. But it will always be as close as my memories, and so will your lake house.
Best wishes on finding more suitable one you’ll love as much.
Sharon, I am so happy you feel you experienced our sacred haven along with me. We have always been very grateful to have it.Actually my younger brother, Tom begged for it as a child for years.We had to wait under we were adults but we certainly enjoyed every moment once we received this gift. I am thrilled than we had it long enough for my children and grandchildren to make their own special memories. Finding a more suitable one that we’ll love as much sounds like a plan. Thanks for stopping by and sharing your thoughts.
How beautiful, and poignant! Life just keeps going, not noticing we’re hanging on by the bloody fingernails. I am sorry for this change, however practical.
It was practical to move Mom down off the High Desert plateau where she lived with Dad in the house the’d built 25 years ago. But he passed on, and she fell and broke her leg, and it was practical. I wrote about going back up to walk the property one last time, after she’d moved out, before the new owners moved in. If you’re interested: http://anyshinything.com/boomersaging/its-her-life
Thanks, Lynne, Yes, I remember that heartrending post about moving your mother and rereading it brought back all the struggles and heartache of leaving, which resonate with how I am feeling now. Practical but painful but we all go on. Thanks for sharing.
I don’t really have a place that holds so many memories as I have moved around so much in my life, but when I had to sell my grandmother’s piano I grieved over the loss and memories that it carried. It was bought for her by her parents, my great grand parents and I inherited it after her death. I needed two years to prepare myself emotionally for its sale 6 years ago.
Welcome, Heidi! Thank you for stopping by and sharing your story. It seems when places and things are strongly connected to precious memories, we do grieve their loss. I totally understand your emotional connection to your grandmother’s piano.
“Oh precious lake house, I grieve for you—for all you represent with your quiet beauty. You contain the joy of a family…. Our dreams have been created and fulfilled on your rocky shores; a sanctuary for all to embrace the solitude, the festive gatherings, the memories.” My heart aches for you, Kathy, as you say goodbye to such a special place for your family. I have gone through such experiences, too, and perhaps that makes me hurt all the more for what you are going through now. (Your post reminded me of a couple of my recent blog posts about “hiraeth.” Did you see them?) Hugs to you as you go through this painful goodbye.
Thank you, Linda. To be honest, I was not prepared for the depth of the loss I am feeling, even though it is a rational decision. The heart has a mind of its own in these matters! I haven’t seen your posts yet but I will be sure to check them out. Focusing on the blessings of having this lake house for 15 years helps me keep it all in perspective…you know, “is it better to have loved and lost than to never to have loved at all?” I appreciate your hugs. 🙂
Oh Kathy…I feel your sadness and I’m so sorry about your lake house. It always seems when we move forward in life, that we have to let go of something special in the process. Isn’t is wonderful God gave us the gift of memory, so we could relive the wonderful moments we’ve cherished anytime we felt the need to? Memories are just relocated experiences… tucked within the safety of our hearts. They’ll be there forever for you to enjoy. Lots of love and a BIG HUG to you.
Aw, thanks,Fran. Writing about this loss has helped me work through the wide range of feelings. I appreciate your love and hugs and return them right back to you. Thanks for stopping by and reminding me of the blessings of memories. 🙂