It’s summer. I was tired of looking at the misty autumn river scene on my banner. So I edited in my favorite view in the whole world. It’s a bit grainy, but I don’t mind.
The pier on the left is our family pier. It’s fairly new, 10 years or so. My grandfather built the original sometime in the 30s. It weathered a good long life, then got traded up for steel pylons. No more walking from wood hand post to wood hand post. Now it’s a clean, straight walk to the end. A balancing act if vertigo is an issue, especially at cocktail hour.
I miss the old pier. It smelled like fish and bait and suntan oil. It had history. Still, the new pier works. Eventually, it will assume the summer odor appropriate to all beach cabins. It will take on the patina of dropped ice cream cones, Popsicles, clam dip, wine, sodas, lotion that have baked in the sun crusted with sand.
I don’t get enough time looking at this real view anymore. The family has grown, everyone wants their time there. And who could blame them. Look at that view!
I was blessed to grow up on the other side of this grand lake, way up on a mountain over looking the lake from what seemed like a far distance. Really, it was only a mile, if that. Still, nothing was like driving the miles around the lake to spend time at the cabin. It is the only family home I have left. It is the only place that still holds onto my childhood, no matter how long I have been away. I walk out on the beach and down the pier and I am a kid all over again. “Welcome home,” it calls. “Thank you,” I say. A hundred, blessed thank yous.