Lately, my drinking water from the tap has tasted like a
lake. I have two beverages of choice in life: coffee and water. Both require
water which I generally get from my tap. It’s been a challenge to hydrate
myself lately. I want to avoid the water, both for the taste and the memories
it brings unbidden.
Lake water will always bring me back to southern Minnesota –
Lake Jefferson. Every summer when I was young, my step-father’s family would rent
rustic cabins on the lake. Oliver (my step-father), had vacationed there with
his family since he was a kid. It was our only true vacation in youth. I did
not appreciate it at the time.
The cabins were without air conditioning or restrooms. There
were toilets in a separate outbuilding and two standalone shower stalls. The
water smelled like it came directly from the lake. You had to wear flip flops
even in the shower. It was guaranteed that a bevy of mosquitos and spiders
would join you in both the bathroom and shower. I was always afraid to shampoo
my hair – I wanted to keep my eyes open at all times. I’d shake out my towel
before drying off. Inevitably something would crawl into it while I showered.
The lake was filled with bullheads and sunfish. There were a
few fishing boats. We would go out at least once a day to catch fish. The rest
of the time we spent trying to balance while standing on inner tubes on the
lake, fishing from the dock, and reading books. As I got older, my older
cousins and I would share coming of age tales.
Every night, one of the families was in charge of cooking
the meal for everyone. We’d have at least one big fish fry during the stay. We’d
all do various activities throughout the day, but gather together at dinner to
share stories and big fish tales.
We’d go with Oliver’s parents, his sister and brother (and their
spouses / children). As I type this, I feel like it should have been fun for
me. We were incredibly poor when I was young, so having a vacation of any kind
should have been a treat. There were other kids to play with. There was a lake
to frolic in. I enjoyed fishing. I have always loved a boat ride. Bird
watching. Picking wild flowers.
There were grandparents there – and family of any sort was
rare after my parent’s divorced. We moved across the state and left my dad, all
remaining grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, et al, behind. I became an
island at 6.
Oliver’s parents were always kind to me. They inherited me
when I was just a little first grader and we moved from McGregor to Cedar Falls.
We stayed in a tiny home next to theirs while my step-father finished Methodist
seminary. We were there six months before being assigned churches in Pomeroy.
They had ice cream treats in their freezer for us, made us fritters (a fried
type of pancake) with drizzles of brown sugar and syrup on top, and always had
a hug. Grandpa wore those old school striped overalls every single day. Grandma
always had a warm smile. They were good to me. Very good.
I guess sometimes even a parent can stand in the shadow of
their child’s darkness. I did not have a good relationship with my step-father.
I suspect the Lake Jefferson trips were so awful emotionally because it meant
investing in Oliver’s family (and my heart never could open to them). It would
have been an act of trust. Anything associated with Oliver was not allotted
trust. Even tiny hearts can create constructs to protect themselves from pain.
Today, I’m going out to buy gallons of water to tide me over
until our water treatment plant can correct whatever issue is occurring. I miss
drinking water and coffee without feeling haunted by such sad memories.
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