This week I headed north for a month, and I have Covid to thank. My daughter and her family are living in my house while they finish renovating theirs. With the grandkids back to school and day care, my daughter and I agreed it was best if we weren’t under the same roof.
I imagined my time away variously—exile, vacation, retreat, adventure. In any of those scenarios, I had plans. Plans to start another writing project. Plans to catch fish. Plans to read a lot and bike on the Paul Bunyan Trail. Plans to try my hand at water color, thanks to a friend who supplied me with all the materials and a link to an online class. Plans to cook all my meals. No wonder my car was full.
Finally, I turned off the highway, 3 miles to go. As we used to do for our retriever Indie, I opened the windows and breathed in the pine-scented air. He knew when we were close. The old excitement was there, along with the anticipation for all that this place holds.
This is the lake Chris and I vacation on for some 20 years. We discovered it one summer while at Gull Lake. Lake Hubert was more our size, and fishing was good. It became our lake, and cabin 3 our cabin.
When I called to see if I could come for a month, the resort owner told me he’d just sold the place as individual cabins. He referred me to the resort owner next door, who had a cabin I could rent for as long as I needed.

And so here I am, with a slightly off-centered view of the lake from the table where I write this. Still, a view I never tire of. In a different cabin, but no less cozy. A cold front has sent the fish deep, made them lethargic, so no fishing for awhile. The stack of books and magazines remains a stack. I don’t quite know where to start.

Old routines become, eventually, old. At first I tried to transition as if I were here for one precious week. I wanted every minute to count. But my mind resisted. I slept long and hard, then napped. I stared out the window. I let the memories of past trips surface, feeling both tender and melancholy. Finally, I gave in to the pull of this place. I would need to learn how to fall in love with Lake Hubert all over again.
It’s been 7 years since I’ve been here, and that was to scatter Chris’s ashes. It’s been 10 years since Chris and I made our last trip here together. One evening we sat at the end of the dock with our gin and tonics and he predicted he would live to age 70. I believed him.
This year he would have turned 70. So when I go to the lake, he will be there. He’ll be in the gleam of a boat caught in last light against the far shore. He’ll be in the panoramic eye of the eagle as it drafts overhead. He’ll be in the call of the loons. He’ll be in the water, where his ashes have added layer to the earth.
This lake is our wild and sacred place, reminding me of the importance of loving where we are and who we’re with.
I actually thought about Chris a couple of weeks ago when you were prepping for this trip, realizing that you would be at Lake Hubert on the 10th anniversary of his passing. That thought of course escaped me when we talked on the subsequent Sundays. Love is lasting and I’m thankful you have this time to revisit and relish old memories. I shed a few tears when reading this post. Thinking of you…. Camille
Sent from my iPhone
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Oh, Lenore, thank you for this. Reading this brought tears of loss, of joy, and ultimately peace.♡-PennySent from my Verizon, Samsung Galaxy smartphone
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Thank you! I’ve definitely felt a more complex mix of emotions than I realized.
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Beautiful and tender images you describe. And the photos capture beauty in a different way. Rest, recharge, resist the to do list and welcome what may come.
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Excellent advice from someone who knows the importance of getting away to a different, healing place.
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I loved this piece. The photo of the lake is so tranquil.
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Thank you! The lake surprises me every day, never quite the same.
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beautifully rendered reflections both by camera and from your mind through your fingers to us. All quiet out here on the W front. Leading a team of writers seeking nonpartisan voting districts in WI following this year’s census. Best to you on da lake
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I’m glad to hear you continue to be engaged in making a difference. This year, more than ever, we need to make sure change is coming!
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Beautiful! Brings me fond memories of Chris; sure do miss him…..Mark
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Yeah, I miss him too! I’m waiting for it to warm up enough for the fish to remember it’s only fall.
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Oh, Lenore, such a canoe full of feelings and memories, of the past sitting with the present and leaning into the future. I have been thinking about you in this sanctuary time for you. You have gifted your family with your home and yourself with this time.
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Thank you, dear Lenore ,
for sharing your journey
Words, pictures,places evoke memories. Time like this is precious. I am thankful that you can appreciate 🙏 ❤ BLESSINGS as you spend each day like coins/treasures. Be well
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