Summer House Part III

I pulled into the driveway at Summer House and stared. The three story home stood as a slightly crooked makeshift tribute to my ancestry which was probably fitting.

With the exception of a coat of paint in the 1970's, the house had not changed at all since my childhood. Although it had been modified significantly over years previous to make room for children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, the original structure was still easily identifiable. It was almost comical and haphazard the way the house had been altered by various generations. I felt a passing moment of regret that there was no family archivist to chart each modification and the events which prompted them.

The most notable features of Summer House withstood almost all change. The wraparound porch where family members had watched their children grow, and where children had watched their parents grow old, also provided an unobscured view of the alternately roiling tumult and passive allure that was Lake Erie. The only porch modifications had been screens to give the May flies some place to die in the summer and shutters which attempted to seal the home against freeze and fury in the winter.

Outside the front room on the third floor was a small landing, or Widow's walk. That room had traditionally been claimed by the reigning family patriarch and his bride. The landing provided a place to pace when loved ones were still fishing or sailing the lake's waters perhaps unable to see the storm clouds rising. The height provided a better view, but never any real comfort.







I eventually emerged from my wistful thoughts and my car long enough to stroll around back to grab the door key from inside the clapboard storage shed, built long ago by relatives who never considered installing a lock...they didn't have anything worth stealing. In the decades since, although jaded by city life, no one in our family ever dared to put a lock on that shed out of an unspoken fear such a move would signal something akin to surrender. I suppose it's the same reason we had no telephone or TV. Summer House was a haven. Time and progress were intruders.

As I opened the storage shed door I was at once engulfed by musky recollections - meals being prepared for a virtual multitude, bicycle tires that needed repair, and a cacophony of carefree children at play. Water's Edge was the only place on earth where I could actually breathe those memories. Why had I been away so long?

I immediately knew the answer to that question. I wish I didn't, but that's why I was here. I had been called by memories deep and the hauntings which had wrestled me nightly for several years now.

I would either mediate a truce with my demons or submit to them. There was no turning back...I could feel the winter winds.