There is a place everyone holds close to their hearts, and with all their power will never let go. Whether it is the house you grew up in, a beach you got proposed on, or even an alley way between block 57 and 58. For whatever reason it draws you in, and each visit is different and more comforting than the last. For me, my special place is along a road bordered by giants of trees and tranquility of waters. The Adirondacks: My Uncle’s Lake House.
Labor day weekend, that Sunday morning we took the 5 hour drive up to the house. We normally would have left Friday afternoon, after school (yes, I start school before labor day), but I had work Saturday night, so that complicated things up a bit. But no worries, we left at 5am to get there, actually less than 5 hours, at 9:30am. The day was cloudy and muggy. Clouds showered on us, not forgetting the sudden tantrum they had for about an hour when it poured. The weather had no effect, however. I swam in the rain/lake water, and sat outside under their newly built deck, for the whole length of the day. All I was was smiles. Bliss. My cousin, Andrew, came later that night, 12 hours after our arrival, and we spent that night doing our traditional play the guitar and sing by the campfire jazz. Some Beatles, Crosby Stills & Nash, even Adele popped up.
That fire was special. It’s called the Ring of Fire. Every year, the Sunday night before labor day (The stereotypical end of summer), everyone on the lake lights a fire to celebrate another summer past and gone. It was amazing. Mom in the paddle boat, and my Aunt and I gliding over the lake in kayaks yelling, “Look over there! Another fire! Did you see those fireworks? It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” It was perfect.
I took pictures on my iPhone 5, I regretfully must inform you that I forgot my camera. I know, I know. I beat myself up about it when I got there.
(In the last photo of the fire, the white dots in the back are others in the ring.)
My family basically had to drag me to the car Monday afternoon to return home.