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”