My Brave One and the Summer Place

I walked through the parking lot at Donner Lake, my feet crunching on the gravel beneath them, a sleeping baby Ben slung over my shoulder. It was Tuesday morning and the parking lot was all but deserted with the absence of the weekend beach goers. I took in a deep breath and let the nostalgia of this familiar place wash over me just as the breeze coming off the lake washed over my face. Every summer of my childhood was spent at this lake, running through the rough sand of this beach, playing in it's cold water, hiking through these mountains, and riding my bike through the same streets my feet had just walked. This was Noah's third time to "The Lake", his first when he was only 8 months old and this was his second day without his daddy, who had to return home to go to work. Knowing this, Noah's grandpa had made sure to take Noah on what had become their own little morning ritual, walking down to the beach together to play at the play structure and enjoy the quiet of the lake. I soon followed with Ben, missing Jason and knowing Noah was as well, I wanted to see him laughing and playing with his grandpa. I approached the section of the beach that my family had, years before even I was born, unofficially designated as it's own. As I walked I scanned the beach looking for my Dad and the little tow-head that would be running around him. To my surprise, I spotted them both sitting in the tube tied to the back of my cousins ski-boat. I hurriedly rushed to the shoreline, calling out, "Wait, wait!" They all turned, and I saw Noah sitting securely on his grandpa's lap in his little life jacket on one side of the tube, his cousin in the other, patiently waiting for the boat to get underway. "You're taking him out?" The question came not for my worry for his safety, I knew he was in good hands with my father and with my cousin behind the wheel, I just didn't want to miss his first time being towed by a boat. "Yeah, come on!", my cousin yelled. At that moment, I looked down and saw my infant son sleeping in my sling. "I can't," I said, gesturing to my sling, and I let them go. As the boat pulled away it seemed to suck the contents out of my guts creating that sinking feeling. What did his face look like right now, I thought. I am missing it, I am missing it, and even his daddy isn't hear to see it. My brave one, who clung to me throughout his first swimming lessons just a few short weeks earlier, was now being pulled behind a ski-boat. I was so proud of him and yet so sad I was not out there cheering him on. As I strained to watched every second of their journey around the lake from the shoreline I reflected on how brave he truly had become in the past week. A few days earlier he had confidently climbed into my fathers one-man canoe, nestled between his daddy's knees he took the liesurely 30 minute journey up the shallow river that drained into the lake. Where he had difficulty even getting into the warmth of the swimming pool for swimming lessons, he now waded into the crisply cold waters to chase after the geese, or grab his sand toys. He even stripped down out of his dry shirt, shorts and pull-up, determined to join Grandpa and Uncle Conway in their "dock to rock" swim down the lake, before I cut him off, much to his displeasure and to the hilarity of onlookers nearby. Maybe there is something about these mountains and this lake in particular that brought out that sense of adventure in him, it always did for me. When Noah returned from his first trip around the lake I couldn't wait to hug him and express my pride in his bravery. Although I may have missed this particular adventure I was comforted to know that this place held many more future adventures for him and for his little brother. "The Lake" would hold it's own special kind of magic for them as it still holds for me and I will get to expereince it with them anew every summer.