Loss and The Lake

When I go home to Conneaut, I find myself in the same ritual. I visit St. Joe’s and Glenwood Cemeteries to thank my parents and honor my grandmother, aunt and uncle for all that they did, for all that they were.

I know now.

I know that growing in a family of good people in a town filled with good people is an enviable advantage in life. We learned how to be in the world–responsible, honest and fair. Trying to be anything less than that is very uncomfortable. Trust me, I know.

After the cemeteries, I usually drive my gratitude and sadness to the bluff at Township Park. As I put my car in park, I smile at the universal fact of life in our town–nearly every teenager learns something of love and angst in a car parked at this very spot!

The vast expanse of blue green water and sand is a comfort. Despite all that I have lost, this town and this lake remain the same. The eighty-year-old swings below are a tribute to all the mothers and fathers who, like mine, did their best to raise good human beings for our world.

Standing on the bluff I know that I have a “leg up” in life because of this place and its people.

It was almost forty years ago when I moved away from the lake for the first time in my life. I had a new job just fifty miles inland, but it might just as well have been in the middle of a desert. Surrounded by land, I could not get my geographical bearings. Which way was north? It took many months before I could feel Lake Erie again, to know for sure which way was north.

True North.

I would love to hear your thoughts.

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Lake Erie's Children

Is there anything better for childhood summers than a port town? Like Conneaut, Ohio?

I was born in Cleveland, a city on Lake Erie. I was born to parents from Ashtabula, another city on Lake Erie and then adopted by a mother and father who were born, raised and living on the lake, also in Conneaut.

In the 1960’s, Mom took us to the beach nearly every day after our chores were done. My brother, sister and I followed behind her with blankets and towels sometimes hopping in the too hot sand shouting, “ouch, ouch!” After an hour of sunlight and rhythmic waves, Mom’s mood would brighten, her Scandinavian skin would turn a golden color and she would slip into the water while the three of us sat on our blanket, watching. Her freestyle stroke was a thing of beauty and her Deadman’s float was, forgive the expression, to die for, because she could float so long and effortlessly.

The lake fed us. It literally put food on the table because of Dad’s job at the P&C Dock Company, not to mention the walleye or Lake Erie perch he fried in the back yard after fishing.

The lake taught us about life. We learned the effect of throwing sand near our food and the futility of building a sandcastle too close to the water. We quickly realized that the huge iron ore boats weren’t on the lake just for us to marvel at. They brought jobs for our dads who help unload them on our docks.

Lake Erie adults preached learning to swim or at least, “tread water so that you can save yourself if you have to, for God’s sake!”

It took some of us many years into adulthood before we finally realized that no camera could quite capture the beauty of a sunset over our great lake.

I am one of Lake Erie’s Children. Are you? Feel free to leave your thoughts.

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