Squamloonland

Nestled in my busy annual teacher’s summer vacation, there is always a sacred week when the family lake house is ours and ours alone. For the third year in a row, I’ve taken this time to set aside my BlackBerry and my laptop and disconnect from the world outside.

It just so happened that the twelfth fell on the first day of that week. And interestingly, even though I was cognizant of it being 12 of 12 day (my 31st consecutive!), I ended up with fewer pictures of it than I usually do. Luckily, I managed to scrounge up twelve I like.

Summer vacation for this teacher perhaps, but not for my wine-rep wife. While I was beginning my idyllic vacation-week-within-a-summer-vacation, her computer went on the fritz, she dropped her cell phone in the toilet, and her brakes froze up in the driveway as she was leaving for work.

So I told her to take my car, and asked my sister to come get me and all of the stuff I was taking to Squam for the week. It was not a good day for our driveway however, as the truck that AAA sent to take the car couldn’t make it up, and my sister’s Volvo was already so laden as to be unable to clear it either. She generously hiked the driveway three times to help bring everything down.

I have three sisters, born ten, nine, and five years before me. That was the eldest who rescued me, and this is third. They were both staying at the house next door.

My grandparents bought the Squam property in the 1930s, and they had powerboats there up until about 1972—when I was eight years old and my sisters were teenagers. Most of my parents’ generation, however, had a different mindset, and thought the lake should be experienced by sailboat, canoe, kayak, or rowboat—and once in a great while by the 7.5-horse putt-putt outboard. So for nearly 40 years, unless I’ve had a full day to paddle or putt, I really haven’t had an opportunity to fully explore the expanse of Squam’s 6800 acres.

Until now. That pretty boat at the dock, a 2003 Silverline 1705 with a 130-horse stern-drive Mercruiser, became mine at the end of June. I’ve christened her (him?) the Invictus.

Never in my life have I been happier about a purchase.

“We can go to the other side of the lake, like when we were kids!” said the middle sister over the phone when I told her the news. And indeed we can. Daily. At 40 miles per hour if we like. (By sheer coincidence, that’s both the posted speed limit on Squam and what the Invictus tops out at.)

Since Kasey and my SquamDogs haven’t yet learned to get along, mine stayed home for this ride. If you look closely, you can see my oh-so-well-trained pooches waiting for our return. Atop the the dining room table.

Prompted by a FaceBook suggestion from stepdaughter T2, I decided I really wanted to re-create the scene that my grandfather painted in 1971—a painting that hung in my childhood bedroom. I took this picture from the attic crawlspace, where I had hoped to find his easel, but didn’t. What I like about the shot, though, is that the blocks and the rocking horse were made by him, and I believe that the steamroller on the lower left was his childhood toy as well.

Since there’s no longer a mooring, it took forever for me to get the sailboat in anything close to the right position, especially given the wind direction. Grandpa’s perspective was definitely off, and he took a great deal of license on the mountains, but it’s still fun to see how level the bench used to be, and nostalgic to note the old Mouse Island boathouse.

P wouldn’t be joining me until the following night, so the SquamDogs and I had a solitary evening. We took a sunset cruise…

…and I grilled up some pre-packaged ribs and read some more of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

I finished the day with a swim beneath the stars, and thanked my parents’ parents for the ten thousandth time for the choices they made nearly 80 years ago.

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