Journey to the Lake - Entry for 1111 contest by @hartfloe

The long car ride never bothered me. My young eyes looked out the windows and watched as small hills grew into mountains. When we reached the notch between them, I put my face closer to the glass, taking in the beauty revealed by glaciers thousands of years ago.

Up and down more mountains, through small towns, and we eventually smelled our next landmark. Back then, paper mills provided jobs, but also an exhaust reminiscent of rotting cabbage.

We were so close then, just past the mill we turned right. After thirteen miles of winding, narrow dirt road the air smelled clean again. I peeked at the water through the trees. Finally, we turned to go down a steep driveway. We barely stopped before I'd rush out of the car and out onto the dock.

The lake, surrounded by mountains, welcomed me back. I would smile, and let the essence of it fill me up. The mountains said hello too, and I acknowledged them in their majesty. For just two weeks each summer I basked in the serenity of the place. Yet it always stayed with me. I can go there in my heart and mind instantly when I close my eyes, as I did just now.

I wrote this entry for @hartfloe's 1111 contest - you can enter yourself here - late last night right before I fell asleep. Today I edited it for character count and clarity.

This is a true tale. Every summer we would travel to my father's longest and best friend's camp in northern New Hampshire. During the two weeks we stayed there I connected with nature in a way I didn't anywhere else, but I think it was a seed that has sprouted now later in life when I'm not so busy being busy. While it is still one of my most favorite places in the world, I see the beauty in nature everywhere I look.

The memory I stirred up writing this is even more meaningful as the man who owned the camp, my father's friend John, died unexpectedly this week. He gave me my first fly rod during one of those stays - a handmade bamboo rod that I cherish to this day. Just last week I came across a critique he had done on one of my stories when I was in high school - he was an English professor. He passed before I could remind him of it. I think that wherever he is now, he is happy to know how much it meant to me that he opened his home to us, and he would approve of my entry.

I spent much of the day trying to find good pictures of our time there. I don't remember the camera I had but it wasn't very good. The image of the road is courtesy of : Ken Gallager at English Wikipedia

This dirt road is 13 miles long, and bumpy. Once I sat in the back of a pickup truck in a plastic lawn chair the whole way...don't ask and I don't recommend you ever try it!

This one is from my old print photos. And yes, that is the very dock I ran out on. ; ]

Someday I plan to buy a house or camp on this lake (it's very rural so camps are more the norm). But for now I enjoyed remembering, and writing about it.

And thank you @hartfloe for creating the contest. In the past week or two I've seen lots of 111 or 1111s around so when I saw your contest I knew I had to enter! The universe is telling me something good so I'm listening. ; )