CROSSLAKE

                                                          

I, in my travels, have on more than one occasion run into complete strangers in other states who said. “So you’re from Crosslake Minnesota. They would say,” I once stayed there for a summer,”or “my uncle had a cabin there and we used to go visit him. But one lady in New Mexico told me something I never forgot. “The thing I remember the most about staying in Crosslake,” she said. “Is for me it was an escape from the harshness and realities of life. It was like this little place in the middle of nowhere that seemed to shut out all of the outside interference in your life. It brought you back to your roots and made a nine year old kid out of everybody.” I am seldom at a loss for words but I was that day. I wanted to turn around and go home.

As summer draws to a close my mind drifts back to the all of the things that have taken place here this year. It seems to begin on St Patrick’s Day when the deserted winter streets, often still piled high with snow, fill with hundreds and even thousands of people. An Irish town you say? I hardly think so. It’s more like a town that has been suppressed indoor’s; way to long by winter and St Pats is just an excuse to have a party. So party they do and have for a long time. That day begins a litany of events and celebrations that make those who live here and visit here, build memories that won’t let you forget Crosslake-- even when you live in New Mexico.

I have often wondered how many people, not only fell in love with Crosslake while they were here but also actually fell in love, in Crosslake. Something in the air makes the heart more receptive here. Her or him, whomever they may be, might have always been somewhere in the plans but a summer in Crosslake was just the last piece of the puzzle. The impetus you might say that made it all happen. Maybe it was a time when you were young and beautiful and you seem to not have a worry in the world. Life was free and easy and you knew what was lying out there waiting for you when you left. I firmly believe that in everyone’s life there is a love you will never forget and a summer when it first began.

Then one day the falling leaves and shorter days signaled the beginning of the end. Crisp mornings and fog over the lakes. Restless waterfowl, booming guns and docks pulled up on shore. Abandoned flowerbeds and wilting vegetable gardens lay littered with the spoils of the crop. No more waiting at the intersections in town, just signal and turn. No more waiting in line at the grocery or café. You cross out 2013 on the things to do list and optimistically write 2014.

So now the beaches are deserted and the toys are all put away. Woodpiles are growing in size and motor homes, freshly dusted off and gassed up, piloted by old silver heads, turn their noses south like the birds of the air. It’s a retreat of sorts to a warmer place for old aching bones; driven by people that know in their hearts they will be back. The door that summer opened in Crosslake is slowly closing for now. It was like the ultimate one night stand. Over before you knew it and now just a memory but your grateful just the same. Celia Thaxter said and I quote.. “There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart.” She must have visited Crosslake.