My mom and her sister spent many childhood summers at a small rustic cabin deep in the woods next to a pristine lake. They hiked, fished, read books, and played lots of board games.
Those summer memories lasted their lifetimes.
And they helped give me memories in the same place.
I remember one summer when my aunt latched together three small logs, covered them with leftover plywood, and made me a raft to explore the lake shoreline. I had a big stick to push myself along and spent hours on the water.
That was nearly sixty years ago, and I can still recall the glittering sand and pebbles as I peered over the edge of the raft. I can feel the stick in my hand and the sun on my face. That’s the power of summer memories.
Each generation can pass along summer memories.
When my nine-year-old grandson was visiting, I found a piece of driftwood that would float in the creek. I gave him a large stick to propel himself, and he was soon barefoot pushing himself along.
More recently, my granddaughter took a handmade boat with a leaf-sail and navigated the gentle flow of the creek to see if it could reach the sea.
The power of summer memories isn’t in the money we spend, but in the time we share. The lasting memories remain with us even when those we love are gone.
To my grandparents, mom, and aunt, thanks for the indelible summer memories at Priest Lake.
