My mother often joked that I must’ve been a fish in a past life, because for the life of her she couldn’t get me out of the water at Grandma’s lake house on Nagawicka lake.
Grandma’s doll house, that’s what we call it. A little periwinkle home sandwiched between the other large estates. To the right is a massive home where Al Capone used to stay and in front, there’s a sunset sinking into the water.
A summer’s morning brings calm glassy waters for the kayak to glide across gracefully like a swan. The island in the middle of the lake awaits with its shores spotted with its colored pebbles resembling marbles.
A brisk winter’s day brings a day of hard work shoveling, but then a fun afternoon of skating and sledding on the frozen waves. Dad catches dinner through the ice and we dry by the fire drinking hot coco with the smell of burning oak and peppermint lulling us to sleep.
My life’s little wonder. After all we are known as the lake country. Swimming, sailing, skiing, sledding, skating. A true treasure. And my mother still jokes that I must’ve been a fish in a past life, because for the life of her she can’t get me away from Grandma’s dollhouse in the Lake Country.