My 90′ yr old mother-in-law Alice and I walked the lakeside road this morning in the cool mountain air of mid July. It’s the same road she walked on as a young girl, picking blueberries with her Aunt Rita, or walking to the post office with her cousin Serene.
Her long and detailed stories of growing up here at the lakeside camp her dad and his brother built back in the late’20s are endless and yet they now include my own children growing up here. We are blessed with a loving family who enjoys and honors the traditions both new and old established here at our lake home . We are aware of how rare it all is: a shared home in the family for 4 generations, a financial prescription that works without resentment, a group of siblings and cousins who adore one another, a boat, a beach and enough kept original works of art, China, antique furnishings, books and trinkets to remind us of where we came and why we are lucky enough to enjoy this gift left to us from those whose dreams came before ours.
My mother in law always complements my role as an in law who never obstructed her sons love and commitment to this place. I grew to understand its importance as my husband’s family history became the history of our children. It’s where our kids learned to camp, waterski, fish, drive the boat and light a roaring campfire. It’s where they come now to drink beer and barbecue with friends and cousins, where they plan to bring their children and even grandchildren when we are all gone. It’s where their hearts lie, and now it’s where mine lies as well.