Story #10: Vacationland

Vacationland

According to MapQuest, it takes fifty-two minutes to drive from Gilford, NH, to Moultonborough, NH. While it looks like Point A and Point B are mere inches from each other, it takes almost an entire hour to drive halfway around the lake. For the Wernig Family, it takes one boat and five cars to transport all passengers and luggage to the opposite side of Lake Winnipesaukee. Dad drives the truck with Michael sitting shotgun, they drive Papa to the boat marina, Grammy drives the Buick (with kayak), Mom drives the minivan (with kayak #2), while Emily and I take our beat-up Jetta – the classiest of high school junkers. Auntie Diane, Uncle Chris, Nicholas and Daniel drive from the opposite corner of NH to meet us there.

Emily and I wait our turn – we always have to pull out of the driveway last.

“Does Mom always pump the breaks like that? Oh gosh she’s like driving all over the road.”

“C’mon, Dad! It’s right on red! Right on red!”

“Look at her! What the heck, Mom. Why is she braking on the hill?” The fifty-two minute caravan to the lake house, or as we call it – “camp” – takes all of our patience and then some. Full of shortcuts through the woods and strange moments of Mom slamming on the brakes, we finally arrive at the old, rented cabin and begin the best, most fattening week of the summer.  Grammy cooks for weeks and we hustle back and forth from the cars to the refrigerator, unloading the homemade whoopee-pies, cakes, meatballs, and casseroles.

Friends from home make the drive over during the week. Some stay for the day, some just stay for an afternoon. A quick visit is always enjoyable but they don’t completely understand why we think the lake house, “camp,” is what we consider the most luxurious weeklong oasis. But doesn’t everyone want to eat bagel sandwiches for lunch, play cribbage with Papa, and go to the store across the lake to get donuts for breakfast and worms for fishing? Now this is vacation! Even our favorite games: snorkeling in the sandbar and collecting mussels, only to throw them back before we doggie-paddle on back to the beach. Catfish-hunting, minnow-hunting, and more.

Relaxing on the docked boat after a long day of activities, I squint harder in the sunlight, my sunburned cheeks facing upward as I try to balance my book above me while still laying on my back. The problem is the combination of the bright summer sun, my arms get tired from holding my book above my head, and it’s hard to flip pages when they all start falling down when I lose my grip on the left side of the book.

The boat rocks back and forth, back and forth as the midday waves of the cove woosh woosh woosh against the side of the boat. I sit, or lay, on the back, skin upturned toward the glaringly bright sky, lightly covered in a sad amount of sunscreen—something my mom would most certainly shake her head at.

“Megaaaaaaan!” Oh no. Here she comes. My mom ambles out of the tiny lake house that surprisingly holds eleven people.

“Mom I can’t hear you… these waves are too loud…”

“Put this on. Your cheeks are already on fire.” She tosses a greasy bottle of Banana Boat down to me and it hits the floor of the boat and the cap pops open. Grumbling, I shake a little bit of the sliminess on my arms, careful not to get it on my new bikini. Rolling myself back over to my book, I grin and resume the cheap love story that has consumed me for the majority of the afternoon. I’m reminded of tomorrow afternoon’s drive back home to pick up a few more beach chairs, to feed the cat, and to babysit for a few hours.

What was once a full week of Sunday through Saturday adventures has slowly turned into a Sunday through Monday, Tuesday through Wednesday, Thursday-but-not-Friday, week of vacation. The fifty-two minute drive becomes more frequent during the week Emily and I drive back and forth to summer jobs. High-paying babysitting jobs (for families vacationing in Gilford for the summer) bring us back for afternoons and we stay in Gilford for the night, waking up early for work the next morning. We wonder what we miss for “Grammy-dinner” that night and make sure to lock all the doors twice before falling asleep in our empty house.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Emily wonders aloud as we shut the blinds and turn the lights off. I can see them all, sitting in the living room. Auntie Diane reading her magazine, Uncle Chris convincing Daniel to go to bed, Michael and Nicholas playing another round of cards. Mom, Grammy, and Papa – they’re all reading under bright lights on side tables.

I can hear them, too. Grammy closes her book and gazes out through the floor-length glass windows. The lake, the lawn, the sky – all black.

“Shhhh, do you hear that?” I image them setting their books down as Papa puts his glasses on. A loon. Listen. Michael and Nicholas hush as Grammy moves closer to the screen door and they all hold their breath.

“There it is, there he is,” she whispers. Mom turns off some of the lights and they listen to the loons calling across the lake. The calls echo from Alton to Meredith, from Moultonborough to Gilford, from our house to the camp, resting only for a moment until they reach the center of the lake and move outward again.