Memories - the meadow, the wife, the lake.

The Meadow.
Many years ago I lived and worked in the high Sierra’s. I lived in a one bedroom apartment that overlooked a small meadow. I remember the meadow. The little meadow with the babbling brook and the ducks would land to rest there in the mornings and evenings. In the morning I would get up and shower and shave and grab my hot chocolate to sit on my porch and watch the ducks. I would sit there for hours, waiting for the sun to hit the porch as an indication that I would need to go to work.

The Wife.
I loved that apartment. I had a lot of memories there. My wife and I first entertained our friends there. We served dinner on a rickety old table that I inherited from my parents. I remember my wife washing dishes in the kitchen. I heard her crying. I went to see what had happened. She was washing the dishes and had broken one and she started crying softly, hoping that I would not hear. I asked her what happened, what was the matter. The dishes were my grandmother’s and she was afraid that I would be upset. I grabbed her in my arms and told her that it was just a dish and she had gotten them from a gas station.

I remember when she moved in. I had old wine crates for bookcases and an old Bok Choy crate for a coffee table. She was even critical of my sofa – a wonderfully comfortable hide-a-bed that friends and relatives used when they visited. She said the orange yellow green plaid pattern clashed with the carpet. I thought that it went well together. She was right.

The Lake.
I remember hiking with a friend. Staying at his cabin built in the 1920s and waking up in the morning and watching the mist rise on the lake. We began our hike that morning. Backpacking into the mountains for four days. We hiked until mid afternoon and then set up camp by a clear, mountain lake. Pete went to take a nap but I was too excited to sleep.

I went to the lake. I saw the eagles and birds flying overhead. I heard rocks on the other side of the lake tumble from the talus slopes down to the lakeshore. I saw the marmots run from rock to rock. I sat down on a rock by the lake, fished and ate a delicious apple. With each bite I felt more like Adam in the Garden of Eden, so at peace in paradise. I would bait my hook, cast out to the lake and slowly reel in my bait as I waited for the fish to bite. The lake water was so clear I could see the fish come up to the surface and checking out the man sitting there. I played this little game with them for awhile. In some way I was communicating with the fish. I was at one with the world. It was truly one of the most beautiful days of my life. I will never forget it.