The anchor clangs against pontoon ballast.
Woo-woosh-ing water falls off onto placid lake.
Hands in rhythm flow one over the other to grab more rope.
The anchor now sits in boat, to be used again when closer to fish.
Clouds cover the sky. Mist touches glasses. It is to be this way all week.
No matter. We are Up North. Up where a majestic lake house welcomes us each day.
Bungalow! Bungalow! Bungalow!
Relax. Relax. Relax.
Lucky. Lucky.... Well you get the picture.
We are in our favorite area. Not far from Eagle River. Not far from Minocqua.
We are close to the ice cream store in the pines; The store our kids grew up with.
We are close to the bike trails.
On a small quiet road to use as a trail.
At a lake with fish for catching.
Near our other favorite swimming lake; The one with uninterrupted sandy beach.
This same area we first came to with hand-me-down pop-up camper.
With camper pulled by rusty car.
And hauling most of the food from home to save on expenses.
Now we are older. We fish from pontoon.
And eat out by choice. When we desire.
We take the lake house. To have comfort. So all can fit in one place.
We use the BBQ gas grill. Choose the steaks over burgers.
But we still hold to sacred past pleasures.
A campfire at night to roast sandwiches and sweets.
To watch. To chat around. To sit under moon and in nightime nature.
And we walk down country roads. Or bicycle when we please.
We make a puzzle when it rains.
Take daily breakfast and coffee as others wake.
The elders (me) read local papers. Listen on the weather, past and present.
We bring along favorite books to read. To soak up on the couch. And on back porch. Or under the pines.
We do not work. That is so far away.
Some time later we are rested.
It then becomes the last night.
Fish fry at family supper. Those fish we kept to make one meal.
Then sleep comes fast on this last day.
And the sun is again waiting when we rise. For the days in late June are long.
The house is emptied. Good byes are said.
No sad eyes here.
We will taste vacation until driveway is out of sight.
And forests become farm fields.
Our ride home takes but a few hours.
So why not make this journey more often?
Perhaps so not to spoil our special week.
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