Lakeside

I had a dream the other night.

I dreamt of Maine, of the camp where I would be working. I imagined that the setting would be completely idyllic--a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains, all quaint log cabins set alongside the water. I dreamt of sunrises and sunsets, of hard work in the woods and hearty meals. I dreamt of retiring in the evening to my own little cabin with a view of the pond.

Even in the midst of my dream, I checked my thoughts, aware that reality is so often a betrayal of such hopeful imaginings. I prepared myself mentally for a bed in an alcove, for tedious work, for a muddy pond in a boring environment.

Never would I have thought that everything would turn out just as I wished, but it has.

My lodging is a log cabin from which I could conceivably spit into the lake. The sun rises over the lake in the morning, and the moose come to drink from the still waters of the 125 acre pond. The pond is ringed with mountains that slowly slope down to the water's edge, gently lightening until the ground is no longer ground, but rather marsh grass and pine trees rising from the shallow water.



I woke this morning with the sun and stepped outside to look around the place, as I had arrived late last night and had been unable to see anything. The morning fog was curled up atop the water, and the grass was wet with dew. The air and water glowed with the sunlight, and at the water's edge stood a moose, gulping water and splashing about. I walked around the rest of the camp, looking at all of the other cabins, most of them between fifty and one hundred year's old. I said hello to the camp's dogs and stepped into the kitchen, where I met Eric's mother (Eric is the owner of the camp), already at work brewing coffee and frying bacon, preparing the day's breakfast.

At 7:30 the kitchen bell rang loudly and the few guests walked into the dining room. I stayed in the kitchen, drinking coffee with the others that work here, planning out the week's work, which is to include cleaning cabins, waiting on tables, cutting firewood, and building a wood shed.

The rest of the morning passed quickly, as I was trained in the art of cleaning cabins, learning how to make a bed with hospital corners, sweeping off the wide wooden boards of the floors, clearing cobwebs from the window frames. The cabins are truly beautiful--built by Eric's family over the years, and made with materials from the surrounding woods. They are well made, and the wood-burning stoves in each of them keep them warm at nights and on cold days.

In the afternoon, I jumped right into the dining room, waiting on tables. I delivered steaming plates of lasagna, glasses of ice tea and lemonade, cups of coffee and pieces of homemade coffee cake. I have yet to spill anything. After the customers had eaten, we all sat down to eat before working to clean the place and do a few more chores.



As soon as I had finished my work, I headed out onto the pond in a canoe and explored the hidden nooks formed by the irregular shores. I pretended that I was a Native American and tried to paddle incredibly quietly. I raced against the wind and myriad imaginary foes until my arms and shoulders ached.

Below are a few photos of my new home. More to come soon.