To the Lake

The anticipation of heading northward, to the lake, begins a few weeks ahead. I begin thinking of what we need to pack and to buy, what will be doing that will require what?

I actually get a little giddy.

Thinking of packing sparingly is a benefit. It’s not about more…the lake is about less.

I’ll only bring my army green colored, comfortable shorts, certainly not my Ann Taylor Loft whites. I’ll wear my favorite jeans, barefoot, my straw hat. I’ll layer. I’ll wear a white cotton nightdress, but pair it with soft blue pajamas top and bottom for warmth and so that I’m ok walking the grounds at day break. In case a neighbor sees me.

Sometimes there are neighbors…sometimes not.

A few bathing suits since that is the most common attire for the week. A cover up, if I must.

My oldest flip flops – the grounds could be muddy, could need them in the water, could need them as slippers in the camp. Multi-purpose.

If I can bring puddle boots, it’s a win-win. I love sloshing around in big, old puddle boots. I can walk anywhere in them, no worry of ruining them. The muddier, the better.

Camp clothes are about comfort and need, utility. A heavy sweater to pull on night after night as I sit on the dock and gaze at the moon making the waves on the lake shimmer.

The wind coming off the lake is so fresh; it both wakes me up and calms me down.

I can breathe there.

There is no one.

No noise except for nature (and an occasional motor boat far off). Kids laughing and swimming, now from afar, not my own two, jumping off rafts.

The light shimmering across the lake at 6:00 p.m. is breathtaking. I sit in the L.L. Bean green porch rocking chairs and think that it doesn’t get better than this. Rocking, gently, back and forth.

For me, it doesn’t get better.

For me, it is truly the ordinary things. It’s nature and quiet.

My weeks at the lake make everything in my life better.

To the lake.

Any season of the year. Yes, please.

Photos: Loon Lake, Rangeley, Maine