A Trip Back to Lazy Lake

This is Lazy Lake.. well part of it anyway. You can see why I loved the North Woods. Lazy is a private lake. Grandpa owned all the land that touched it. It was a quiet place, a lake that remains crystal clear and spring fed. The land around the lake is soft and spongy, mossy, and filled to capacity with frogs and things that little boys find fascinating.

The "pier" was five or six tall birch trees laid side by side from bog out into the water. It floated and moved as you walked on it, and as a child I was afraid that I would fall right through if I wasn't careful. This is where I learned to fish... with a cane pole, a bobber and the worms my Grandpa and I had dug out of the garden. I caught quite a stringer full. There is pictorial evidence of that. My recollection of that day is pretty much limited to that picture.. I was only 4. You could haul bluegills and sunfish out of that lake with the worst of worms.. Of course.. Grandpa could woo them out of the water and straight into the pan.. with just a wink and a nod.

Back in those days you had to cross the road from the main house, and find a little path.. back though the woods to find this piece of heaven. I remember the light filtering through the tall, swaying Birches, I can still smell the scent of the evergreens, the smell of the forest, and the sounds of the toads, frogs, and insects that called that place home. It was so quiet there.. compared to what we live with assaulting out ears today.. when you walked out on the pier you could hear the water lapping.. The bobber slapping on the water.. and that rush creating sound of that bobber getting pulled under..

Yes Sir.. those were wonderful days. It is a million miles from where I am today.. and another million from where I will be in another 40 years. But today.. for an instant.. I was there again, enjoying the day.. on a Lazy Lake.. Fishing.. with my Grandpa.

Today is the first day...

The first day of the rest of my life. So the saying goes. It is not the first day that I have looked back in that changing mist of memories of the days we had in the north woods.

The weather turned cooler here this week, and it took me back to the days in the north woods. If you have ever visited you know that beauty has its price. In the north woods the currency is heat. :)

Summer is a wonderful time up there, but cool mornings and a slight breeze are the signature of a beautiful summer day in the north woods. Summer gives way to fall and soon the leaves will turn from green to beautiful splashes of colors.

Mother Nature will pull out her pallete and spash the horizon as far as can be seen with Sugar Maple, Birch, Elm and a hundred more varieties of tree-borne leaf colors. In a few weeks it will begin, and progress to peak color before the canvas begins to thin, and temporarily, for a fleeting moment the canvas moves from treeline to forest floor. For those that take the time to search out and drink in the colors and visions of this annual art show, a memory is born. A comparitive history is created, and the search is on for that perfect combination of colors and scents.

Comments ring out.. "Last year the color here was so bright and crisp... this year its pretty.. but LOOK OVER THERE ! OH !! How Beautiful!" So the search goes for the one mental image that will be the comparitive baseline for next years search, and this years colors are added to the collage of our memories.

Take the time, on this the first day of the rest of your life, to take a visual bite of the world around you. Drink in the colors and the wonder of the ever changing world around us.

How long can True Love Survive?

How long can one of a pair, half of a duo, survive without the love of their life? Appearantly 8 months.. to the day. Today my Grandmother went home to be with my Grandpa, her husband, her one true love, and just in time for their anniversary. This entry is for her, for them. God Speed, We love you and miss you.


8 Months ago, my grandfather did the unthinkable. He left the side of his true love. He left behind friends, family and his beloved North woods as well. Monday His true love, Jean Dollard, joined him, home in time for their Anniversary. She loved chocolate ice cream, her children and grandchildren, all without question. Sometimes stern, always loving she buffered the always chattering young boy, and his wonderful GrandDad. She lifted my spirits with wonderful gestures of attempting to press a spoon through pursed lips when I was chastised with "Close your mouth and eat!". She is the inventor of Turtle Pancakes, The scolder of Grackles and squirrels, the nurse to injured birds and lost hummingbirds, Frugal Chef, teacher, church secretary, and a most loved Grandmother. To tell you all the memories I have would require hours and tears that we simply don't have.

I will tell you this though, She loved my Grandfather, and more even than I did. I never heard them speak harshly of one another. She knew humility, kindness, and the importance of knowledge, of learning new things, and she loved music. She had the ability to listen to me pound away on her piano, and even once let me play her Wurlitzer organ, a cherished instrument. To this day I marvel at her ability to listen to my "songs", and her ability to encourage me to continue, to extend my love of music, instead of crush my spirit

I set out to say a few words, to convey my love of my grandparents. I found myself longing for the days lost, of my childhood, and praying that they felt the love they gave in every moment was reflected back in my eyes.

Turtle Pancakes

To this day I do not know if Turtle pancakes were a mistake or a wonderful invention of my Grandmother's. My Grandma makes simply the best pancakes. Somewhere I have the recipe, and one day I will try to duplicate that piece of heaven from my childhood. I think a large part of the "secret" to her pancakes is that they were fried up in a cast iron skillet as I recall, and quite literally swimming in bacon drippings. Bacon was a staple for my Grandpa, or maybe a staple in Grandma's cooking, but in either case there was always a jar of bacon grease available to season the dish Du jour.

Pancakes were not an everyday occurrence, but I know that I had plenty of them at the Lazy Lodge. When you pour pancake batter into a hot skillet that has bacon drippings in it, the edges get crisp and crunchy, caramelized and absolutely tasty! They setup into the shape rather quickly, and if you just pour a pancake in the standard manner, you get a circle. If however, you pour the main pancake, then pour mini-pancakes right at the edge of the circle, just inside the main circle, well.. you can create art... or Turtles... Grandma had a talent with the technique and could create not only circles, but other shapes as well. A trained eye such as mine could see the well formed "head" of a box turtle in many of those pancakes. Pouring them is only half the battle as anyone knows that has made pancakes, turtle or otherwise. Flipping pancakes can be challenging, but Turtle pancakes, it takes a loving wrist to manage that! Now I know I was special, not only because my Grandma went to the effort of creating these Turtle pancakes for me, but Grandpa's were just round. I shared my special pancakes with him from time to time, and on occasion some of the turtles had "broken" legs. I can almost smell them now as my mind takes me on a trip back in time. I see myself sitting at the table in front of their bay window, watching the birds and the Chipmunks, and talking endlessly about Lord only knows what, but that is another story...

Every Summer started....

With a haircut. No matter how I got there, Rain or Shine, Day or Night, the first order of business was a trip to the chair. Haircuts were always admisitered in the garage, which was much more like an office. It was never dirty, nothing was out of place. It was swept and orderly, and stocked with coffee cans and little jars with all manner of screws, bolts, tacks, nails and such. Smack in the middle of the garage, center stage for the haircut, Grandpa would place a big green wooden chair with arms on it. A box placed on the seat would raise me up to the perfect height. Then out would come the sheet. I remember the hair standing up on the back of my neck as Grandpa secured the sheet with a safety pin.

Grandpa knew one cut and one cut only. It was easy to maintain, and incredibly short. The clatter and buzz of the clippers would set to the task of creating the worlds shortest crewcuts. Grandpa was a perfectionist, and no hair was longer than another. The haircut didn't take anytime at all. My hair would fall silently, slipping down the sheet to the concrete floor below. As quick as it began it would be over. Grandpa would use one of those long-bristle brushes to knock away the clippings off my neck, just like a real Barber. Off would come the sheet, and Grandpa would lift me out of the chair and clear of the hair on the floor. The hair was swept up, the sheet shaken out in the drive, and the chair, box and sheet were returned to their proper locations.

This ritual occured each and every time I visited until I was nearly a teenager. Oh that I could sit in that chair again, hear the clatter and feel the buzz of those clippers against my scalp, as my hair fell to the ground, at the hands of my Grandpa.

Welcome to the Lazy Lodge

Join me on a trip through the memories of my childhood spent in the North Woods of Wisconsin. A beautiful place in the woods, on a lake, with my grandparents. What more could a boy ask for!?

With any luck my memory will hold up long enough to get the stories to paper, and maybe give you a glimpse into my endless summers filled with work and love.