Why we stay
We’ve wondered lately how long it makes sense to make our home in the North, with its attendant hardships like long winters, isolation from family and long-time friends, absence of urban amenities, and 63 steps from our lower deck down to the lake. Then they came to visit us and celebrate the New Year: Daughter Sonya, husband Chad, and our two grandsons. The boys are adolescents now – Tucker 13, Perrin 12. We’ve worried that they’ll lose interest in the lake and woods as their attention turns to sports, band, music, girls.
Judging from their four-day visit, the worry is misplaced. On the first morning I took the boys sledding on section of our plowed private road that slopes steeply downhill from our property. I stayed with them for half an hour, even taking a couple of rides down myself. They kept at it for an hour after I went back inside. The next morning they fetched flattened cardboard boxes from the garage and rode them down the hill beside the house. In the afternoon we went for a walk on the frozen lake, Sonya and Chad on snowshoes, the boys and me in our insulated boots. Gramma stayed home to prep for dinner and keep things cozy.
Perrin’s painting
Between times outdoors the boys enjoyed their usual pastimes in the house. Perrin dipped into the art supplies Gramma keeps on hand and painted a square canvas with a scene of pastel sunset over dark water. Tucker, who plays electric, acoustic and bass guitar, found and picked away at Gramma’s balalaika. Of course, both boys spent time on their phones and tablets, playing games remotely with friends and watching YouTube videos. That’s just what kids their age do.
On the final afternoon of their stay, I invited the boys to go ice fishing, Perrin preferred to stay inside; Tucker was willing. After we trudged out to one of my favored spots, I helped him make a hole with the electric auger. The drill bored down through more than a foot of ice, making a circular pile shavings on the snow. I baited a tungsten jig with a waxworm and let Tucker sit down on a cooler to work the hole with a jigging rod. He still had the touch he’d developed in previous winters; he caught several bluegills and rock bass with no help from me. I unhooked each one and dropped it back down the hole.
The temperature was right around my usual lower limit for fishing, in the high teens. After an hour or so, Tucker got cold and wanted to go back up to the house. I didn’t argue. In the morning, when the family was to leave, Tucker rose early and joined me in the living room. We had a long conversation beside the fireplace, at the end of which I asked him, “So, what will you do when you get home?” He replied, “Feel bad that I’m not here.” That’s enough to make this Grampa want to stick around for more years.