Deeply Rooted

Leaving here is never easy. My summers seem to begin and end at Lakeside Camp on Higgins Lake. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.  Nowhere else I want to take my kids. Nashvillians flock to the beach where it’s sticky, buggy, and humid, humid, humid as I head north each year to the lake, where my great-great-grandfather built the first structure with Chief David Shoppenagon so many years ago. It’s cool at night and in the mornings (like grab a sweater cool), the water is crystal clear, and the air is imminently breathable.

My kids are the sixth generation in my family to be called, summer after summer, year after year, to this magical place. They have the bug. They get it. There’s no place they’d rather be either.  They love the old family cottage with all its antiquities.   The “chauffer’s” room off the garage where their beloved uncle stays.  The “bell” upstairs in their great-grandmother’s bedroom that used to call the maid (believe me, no maids around these days!!  Unless her name is “Mom” . . . ).  The many pieces of art and hand-painted furniture my grandmother carefully crafted.  The photos and artwork that adorn the walls share the history of those who have loved this place . . . love it still.

It’s big but not fancy. Thoughtful but not over-the-top.  Full of character and imperfections that are a hundred years in the making.  There are occasional mice and spiders.  We still make ice in trays.  The hot water takes forever to come through the pipes.  I don’t think the kitchen’s been updated since the cottage was built in 1928. And there’s the dreaded swimmer’s itch (which I like because perhaps it keeps the tourists away!). For me, every bit of this is part of the charm.

When you come here, you step back in time.  Nothing changes. And we like it that way.  It’s a place to return to.  To relive old memories. To create new ones.  To share with your family and kids. To dream about sharing with your grandkids.  It’s a place where technology is not tantamount (though our internet connection is working just fine, sometimes much to my chagrin as I walk in and see my son on his iPad checking baseball scores) and a walk on the Front Path or on one of the fire trails can recharge your batteries more profoundly than any Facebook status update you might read. 

It’s a place where the eagles fly high and you can see the tree from which they perch to oversee their domain.  It’s a place where chipmunks run rampant and eat peanuts straight out of your hand.  It’s a place where young and old alike hang out together at a cocktail party or the ball field to simply visit, sharing stories and sharing lives. Last summer on more than one occasion my then 11-year-old son would say, “I’m going down to Cousin Lucy’s!”  She happens to be 93, but she loves the Chicago Cubs as much as Taggart, so there they were - two peas in a pod - cheering on their beloved Cubs. 

This week, after the cousins left, and the cottage quieted down to my little family’s slower pace, I took Taggart’s iPad away so that he could actually BE here and experience his time in a deeper way than if he was constantly connecting to his virtual world.  And though he might have groused a bit that first day about withdrawal pains, by the second day, he told me he was glad I had taken it away.  Because he actually enjoys himself more without the constant flirtation and shallow connections his iPad quite often provides.  

Getting quiet and listening to the wind, the waves, the birds (damn crows wake us up early every morning!); paying real attention to my kids and playing games together (Uno anyone?); actually talking and spending time in this extraordinary place . . . it means more to me than any fancy, polished, shiny vacation filled with a busy-ness that can often be unfulfilling and does nothing to restore my sense of wonder. 

No, I’m about filling up my and my kids’ love tanks with the stuff that will serve them long into their futures – that will keep them fulfilled and happy and full of the right stuff for years to come. That I get to do that while on “vacation” in my favorite place in the world: priceless.

The following quote by Christopher Morley has floated around camp for as long as I remember; many cottages have it framed (in my mom’s handsome calligraphy no less!) as a reminder of what this place means to so many of us:

To be deeply rooted in a place that has meaning is perhaps the best gift a child can have.  If that place has beauty and a feeling of permanence, it may suggest to him unawares that sense of identity with this physical earth which is the humblest and happiest of life’s intuitions.

This special place, this small dot on the northern shores of Higgins Lake chosen by my ancestors over a hundred years ago as a place to hunt and fish and spend time with family, it means different things to each of us.  But the two constants we might all agree on are its beauty and its sense of permanence.

I get it. My kids get it. And I will always be grateful for that. 

Truly - to be deeply rooted in a place that has meaning - there’s no better gift.