a floating assortment of thoughts

My siblings and I used to have a competition as we rode in the car on our way to the lake. We would each crane our necks, trying to be the first to see the green water peeking through tree limbs. There have definitely been a few false confessions of sight–intentional or not. The road that led to the marina had sharp, short curves as it went down the hill, and the green leaves of those tall trees sometimes faked us out and gave us the impression that we were already at the bottom of the hill. Once we saw the real lake though, we could start to see hundreds of houseboats lined down the dock, with smaller boats coming in and out of the idle zone.

I think the joy of seeing the lake never really fades, even as we grow up. My siblings and I have been going since we were in-utero. We are now four generations in, at the same dock that we started. My grandparents built a houseboat back in the early seventies when my mom was three years old and her sister was three months old. They put it in the water in 1971, and it stayed in the family until just a few years ago.

Their houseboat was just big enough for all of us but sometimes got cramped if everyone came. “Everyone” included: my parents, my aunt and uncle, my granny, my two cousins, both of my siblings, usually my brother’s friend, and me. Close quarters, high heat and humidity, and multiple days together? It did not always turn out the greatest. But for the most part, the good heavily outweighed the bad.

When I was in middle school, I went to the lake less and less. I couldn’t drive, so if my family wasn’t going, I wasn’t either. At that point, my aunt had moved away and I wasn’t able to just go with her. A few summers ago, I started going more again. My sister and I would drive down together and stay with my aunt and uncle on their new houseboat. I began to remember what summers were like when I was little and I was able to get closer to my sister, aunt, and uncle. Family friends that we knew from the dock that I forgot about reappeared, and new ones were introduced.

The lake has always remained consistent. The people change, the dock’s wooden planks are replaced with large concrete tiles, and marinas become bigger and better, or get smaller and more run down. But the lake itself is the same. The same water, the same banks, the same flat stones that I learned to skip as a child. The nostalgia slices at me, like the blades of a boat’s motor propelling itself forward. Except instead of moving ahead, I feel like I’m falling backward.

Last fall, I drove down for my fall break. It was just me on the boat, and it felt like it was just me on the dock. It was too cold to swim, so I sat out on the back porch and stared at the water. I read, I journaled, I cooked little meals for myself and ate them in solitude. It was one of the first times I had a moment of silence for reflection. But I didn’t immediately take advantage of it. In the time I was alone, I started with watching shows and movies, and trying to do a little homework (I didn’t get a lot of that done). By the end of day two, I felt anxious. The reason I kept trying to stay busy was that I didn’t want to think about the things I think about when I’m at the lake. Everywhere I looked I saw my grandparents. At the time of this little trip, it had been less than a year since they had both passed. As I mentioned earlier, they first put their boat in the water in ‘71, so they had been going to that lake for the majority of their lives.

A history that deep doesn’t wash away easily. While I was there, I kept thinking, this is the same dock they walked down. The same water they swam in. The same place they found solace. It made for an emotional long weekend. But at the same time, I felt more connected to the place I had been coming to my entire life. And I felt more connected to my grandparents.

After that trip, I began to value the lake more. Getting tan and going on boat rides is super fun and all, but the peace that being at the lake brings me turns the joy into memories rather than just another fun trip. And now that I’m older, I have less of a desire to be moving all of the time, so instead of tubing and swimming every hour the sun was in the sky, I have slowed down and taken a moment to be present with my surroundings.

This past weekend, Wanda (my dog) and I got in the car, and we drove down on Friday morning and stayed with my sister and my aunt. Oftentimes, when we go to the lake my days follow the same general routine: breakfast, watching a movie (until the UV goes up), tanning, eating a snack, getting in the water, then supper. In the hours remaining in the day after eating, we all either hang out and talk or, when it is a quieter night, watch a movie. This weekend pretty much followed those parameters.

But something that shifted for me this weekend, mentally, was due to the man who owned the boat in the slip across from us. For his privacy, I will call him Mr. V. He is 76, which is a little younger than the age my granddaddy would be now. Like the solo trip down I had taken last fall, I ended up becoming emotional. We would invite Mr. V over for breakfast or supper, and he would joke around with the adults and ask me about my future plans. It isn’t that he distinctly reminded me of my granddaddy, but rather that he was old, he liked–no, lived–to fish, and he seemed to listen to me. During the meals in which he joined us, he would tell me stories about his time in the Army and encouraged me when I told him about the time I will be spending abroad this fall. He was stationed in Germany, and he was able to explore the surrounding countries, so we talked about the things he saw and the things that I will see. The conversations ended on my promise of bringing back pictures for him when I got back.

I had been seeing that houseboat for years, sometimes noticing it, many times not. Until this summer, I had only known his name by the sign on his boat, not by him. I met him at the beginning of this summer, and now I am happy to say I know him. We may not tell each other secrets or fish together or even hang out beyond meals, but I think meeting him was a little comfort that I needed. Just simple conversation was enough to heal me a bit. And I know how stupid or cliché that sounds, but it’s the truth. Especially in a place where I feel the presence of my grandparents so deeply, it is nice to have some type of physical being from their generation. Of course, I know that Mr. V is no replacement, but there is some type of easement that accompanies knowing and talking to someone that would have gotten along with them. I don’t think I am completely alone in feeling like that, but I cannot speak for those around me, not for those who know Mr. V and have known my grandparents.

By the end of the weekend, I was physically alone. Not lonely, but alone in a place I love. My sister went home Saturday evening, so that night was just my aunt, me, and Where the Crawdads Sing. My aunt went home Sunday afternoon, so that night I went and got dinner at a restaurant on the lake with some family friends, then went to bed at nearly midnight, lake time. Waking early on Monday, I made breakfast, cleaned up the boat, then went home. What’s normally a 2.5-3 hour drive turned into almost four hours. I don’t know how, but I think Wanda and I were both tired of it and we wanted to be home.

And now I am back to reality. My day so far has consisted of Starbucks with my mom, a solo trip to the grocery store (where I was in and out in less than half an hour! Hallelujah for organizing the list by aisle beforehand), a podcast while putting away groceries, and finishing a draft of this post before a Zoom call. The rest of the day looks like cleaning, laundry, a doctor’s appointment, leg day, and coaching tonight. It’s honestly one of my busier days, but I’m wishing I was still on the boat. I have less than a month until I leave, and I’m trying to soak up as much sun and lake water as I can before I go.

As always, thank you for reading. I really cannot express how thankful I am to have people reading my words and hopefully witnessing me grow as a writer. As I write here more, and in my journal less, I feel more connected to those around me and myself. I am still working on it all, and I hope that you will stick around to see where Abundant Thoughts goes. Thank you, I will talk to you next week.