Thinking About A Lake
Well, it's not only a lake, it holds memories. Memories from generations of sawmill workers, fishermen and leisure boating. The lake I spent all my childhood summers by: Storsjön in Bergsjö, Sweden. It was there that I wanted to do the same thing as my cousin did one time when we were approaching the dock coming back from a boating trip with the family. She pretended that she had dropped a little reed boat she had made and then she reached down and quickly picked it up from the water. I tried to do the same and ... fell into the water head first. I was only four years old at the most and had not yet learned how to swim - but was wearing a floatation device. The strong arms of an adult pulled me up from the water faster than you could say Jack Robinson, but I was embarrassed. It didn't help much when the next door neighbor saw me and jokingly said "Kriztina, I didn't know that you went swimming with your clothes on". That same dock by that lake also saw me sitting on the dock just watching the waves at times, listening to the water hitting the rocks on the shoreline. That lake saw me when my dad put me in a boat when I was seven years old and he showed me how to run the motor and away he sent me. I did not go very far that first time, but the circles on the lake became wider and wider until I could go from one end of the shore to the other and back again without hitting any grounds or under-the-surface-rocks. My dad showed me where all those were and how to avoid them. My dad turned 80 years old a week ago, so, I am thinking about a lake.