Getting There.

I can't believe how long it's been since I wrote in this blog. Chrissy and Melisa were here over the weekend and convinced me to get back to it. I don't know where the time went, but I have truly neglected my writing.
Spring is here and that means summer is close behind. Summer means so many things to me. At this time in my life it means boating on Long Island Sound with my husband John and our many friends. We spend countless hours cruising the many interesting and beautiful ports up and down the Connecticut and Long Island coasts. I love being on the water and being there always takes me back to my childhood summers at Luna Pier on Lake Erie.
As I wrote earlier, the day after school was out in June, we packed the cars with everything and headed to "the lake". It was only a fifteen mile drive from our home in Toledo, but to me it seemed very far away indeed. In my earliest memories, we drove up on the Dixie Highway. This was a two lane road that crossed from Ohio into Michigan and the flat farmland. Almost as soon as we drove out of the Toledo city limits, we were in Michigan and the countryside. Gone were the industrial buildings and factories of Northwestern Ohio as we came upon farm after farm. As a child I loved this transformation. It seemed so exotic to see groups of cows and horses grazing and staring at the traffic as it passed. There were lots of corn fields and tomato patches and an occasional farmer wearing a large straw hat, and denim overalls, riding his tractor on the road. We also passed a section of road that had been hit by a tornado a few years earlier. There were two homes that had been badly damaged, and they sat untouched and empty. One had it's roof blown off and the other had it's front porch crushed by a fallen tree. As we passed, my mother would drive very slowly and we all would stare, wide eyed, at the ghostly sight of wind blowing through the shattered windows with torn and frayed curtains billowing about. Thinking about it even now sends a chill through me.
We eventually came to an intersection and turned right onto Luna Pier RD toward the lake.
Another two lane byway and more into the country than the last. This one was all farms, each one neat as a pin with its trimmed , lush lawn and perfectly plowed fields. Along with the usual barns and outbuildings, there was always a large farm house and often a small produce stand where the farmer and his wife would sell flowers and vegetables which were grown in the rich midwestern soil..
Pretty soon we would cross the railroad tracks and that meant we were nearly there. In those days there were no gates that came down when a train was near to protect cars from disaster, so my mother would ask us to watch out for an oncoming train. It became sort of a game for my sister and me. As soon as we got near the tracks, mom would say"Anything coming girls?" And in unison Emilie and I would begin looking right to left, calling out "nothing coming, nothing coming, nothing coming. . ." over and over. We would move our heads back and forth so fast that we saw nothing. I think we even closed our eyes.
We finally reached Luna Pier and could see the lake at the end of the road. Back in the 1920s and 1930s when my parents were young, there was an actual pier out onto the lake. Big bands, such as Guy Lombardo were brought in and couples could dance under the stars during the summer. The pier is no longer there, but the thought of all that beautiful music and dancing conjures up some lovely and romantic images.
The car turned left and we started the drive to the cottage along the lake. I can still see the gulls in the sky and the rickety docks in front of the small, modest homes. There were many wooden water craft sitting silently in the water, waiting to be taken for a spin. Just as many boats of all sizes and shapes sat in front and back yards hoping to get a fresh coat of paint for the season before being launched. The twisty, crazy eight road was not paved, but all gravel and full of holes. We passed all the familiar houses with our windows down (no AC) waving to friends we hadn't seen since September. Most of these people lived there all year and for them it must have been a sure sign that summer was here when the Wenzlers arrived. At last we could see our house and we would all let out a big cheer, very happy to be at the lake. Finally away from the routine of daily Mass, school, homework, paper routes, and Brownie meetings. These were the few precious months of lazy, hazy days, sleeping late, playing checkers, cards, Scrabble, hours of swimming, catching fireflies, and going barefoot.