Passing the Lakie Torch

Labor Day weekend is a bittersweet time for those of us claiming “lakie” heritage. (For those who don’t know, my own fabricated dictionary says that word, lakie, is pronounced lake-ie – not lack-ie - and is defined as “one who loves and frequents lake environments.”)

When I was a young child, the cicada-whirring auditory end-of-summer cue tolled a death knell in my mind. (I can’t hear it anymore, but I do remember, oh so well.) Dread increased as Labor Day crept closer on the calendar, and each day magnified resistance. Labor Day was the annual turning point, the time to close up the lake cottage - turn off water, cover the furniture with sheets, and pull blinds on the windows - and return to public life and properness: shoes, real clothes, bedtimes, school. It was also a time to re-confront the stress levels and emotional volatility my parents assumed whenever we were NOT at the lake.

But…back to the present Labor Day weekend. Although we’ve had an unusually cool summer this year, yesterday’s weather was perfect, if a bit late - one of the most summery days of the last several months, and optimal from a lakie’s point of view. Clear blue skies stood over calm, sun-sparkled water as we dragged out the slalom skis (two sizes), wakeboard and skylon, and the kid-friendly tube with the recessed “seat” – all this STUFF for those who dared to be dragged behind the Moomba (our little sportscar of a ski boat). We ate some of the usual summery fare outside at the round deck table for lunch and dinner – various dips, dippers and sandwiches for lunch, plus the full-meal-deal for dinner: charcoal-grilled meat (this time pork loin) with plenty of side fixins.

Grampa and Troy (who is now feeling fine, if you’ve followed his recent hospitalization story) took the fishing boat out after dinner and landed half a dozen fish, mostly crappie with a warmouth and bluegill, I think. Right now I can’t help but also review the previous evening when Grampa caught an enormous dogfish from the end of the pier, and effectively wow-ed everyone with stories about catching this “prehistoric” fish some weeks earlier. He re-told how he fought him all the way to the net both times, and decided on this later catch to end his life since he was a “trash fish” that ate “good fish” from the top of the food chain. It was a bit dramatic. The carcass was carted to the middle of the lake in the fishing boat where it was dumped overboard – a candidate for Davy Jones’ locker. But at least that old dog-of-a-fish wasn’t around to scare away Troy’s catch last night.

Hopefully the little grandkids (those in attendance, ages 1-5) grew some ground-roots lake memories of their own yesterday, and a few more will show up today and tomorrow…critical to the passing of the familial lakie torch. Someday we’ll be gone, and our lakie identity will belong to them.