Seams Like a Story

It was autumn of 1999 when I first met Eagle Bay. My father walked out on the deck and looked at the brilliant Indiana foliage surrounding the water.”You can look all you want, but this is the place,” he said to my mother. Soon after, my parents purchased the small condo overlooking Lake Monroe. It was to be their retirement/vacation home.

After Dad died and Mom could no longer care for the property, she deeded it to my siblings and I. Throughout the years, it has been a gathering place for my parent’s children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Each season brings its own unique personality. Memories are made.

When autumn foliage fades and drops, stark white sycamore trees reflect on icy water. Ed and I arrive from Arizona. I get the tabletop Christmas tree out of the closet and set it up in the corner of the dining room to celebrate the holidays here with our children and grandchildren. We take steaming mugs of coffee and hot chocolate out on the deck hoping to glimpse the eagle family nesting across the bay. We fill the birdfeeder and watch cardinals, bluejays, chickadees, and nuthatches feast. The new year comes and we toast with champagne before heading back to our respective homes.

In spring, gentle rains come and trees explode with baby green leaves. Deer saunter around the community, thinking the carpet of lush grass is a banquet set out just for them. The weather is fickle this time of year. Suddenly the sky darkens and fierce winds whip whitecaps on the water. Tornado sirens wail, the lights flicker, then the power goes out, but we’re safe.

Memorial Day weekend signals summer on the lake and pontoon boats fill the bay. Music blares as partygoers drop anchor and settle in for an afternoon of swimming and sunbathing. The leaves on the trees are so thick they almost block the bay from view. I take a glass of iced tea out and settle on the porch swing. We’ll fire up the grill for brats and burgers and later pour a glass of wine to watch the sunset. At dusk, the trees sparkle with fireflies, and on a clear night, a full moon sends a ripple of light across the bay.

Season after season, twenty-five years pass by. Children grow up, move away, start families of their own. Priorities shift, maintenance issues arise, cross-country travel becomes more difficult, and visits to Eagle Bay become fewer.

It’s time. We were blessed with this gift from my parents for a long time, now we release it with gratitude.

I walk out on the deck for one last picture only to find the bay has hidden itself behind a thick curtain of morning fog. I smile at its closing act. Like the fade-out scene of a really good movie, I’m left with warm feelings. I realize now, it’s not about the rooms, the porch, the water. Those were the backdrop, the setting for the love we shared and the memories we made here.

This, this is what I pack up, all of it. I lock the door then, taking Eagle Bay with me.