Going Home

I have been feeling so grateful for family and fellowship lately.  I thought that I would post this essay.  It was for an assignment in a writing class that I had when I was attending WITC --New Richmond.  I called the essay "Going Home."  It describes another type of family -- or "sub-family", if you will.  The people in the essay were part of a little neighborhood gang we had as children.  They were some of the best friends a kid could ask for.  The best part is that several of them are still my closest friends, 40 years later. 

Going Home

            I grew up in a small town called Ashland, Wisconsin.  Ashland – at the time – had a population of just about 10,000 people.  The best thing about growing up in Ashland was the fact that the town sits on the south shore of Lake Superior – the biggest fresh water lake in the world.

            Ashland is located on a bay called Chequamagon Bay.  There are plenty of beaches situated on the bay, but when we were kids we chose to play and swim at what is known by Ashland natives as The Hot Pond.

            There is a good reason that everyone calls it that.  The Hot Pond is located right next to the power plant.  This power plant pumps all of its hot water out of the plant and through a culvert which empties into this small part of Chequamagon Bay.  It is the only part of the bay that does not freeze during the long winter months in Ashland. In the summertime this little inlet is usually 10 to 15 degrees warmer than the rest of Chequamagon Bay.  While other kids in town were swimming at Maslowski Beach, Johnson’s Beach and others, our little neighborhood gang all hung out at The Hot Pond.

            Everyday, all summer long, we would get up in the morning and gobble down our breakfast and head to The Hot Pond.  Sometimes we would even pack a lunch so that we could stay all day.  Dinnertime would arrive and our parents would call us all home.  Again we would gobble down dinner and head back and stay until it started to get dark.  Our parents would usually send one or two of the kid’s parents to drag us all home.  It was in an era when all of the parents kept an eye on everyone’s kids. I think our parents really liked us hanging out at the lake because they always knew where we were.

            There were kids with names like Jody, Arnie, Maxine, Amy, Clare, and my best friend in the whole world, Annie.  My little sister Bonnie always tagged along as I was her babysitter in the summer.

            As children we were all fans of Mark Twain’s literature.  We especially loved Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.  Lake Superior was our own Mississippi River.  We even started Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn Clubs.

            There was always so much to do at the lake.  We would build forts out of the driftwood we would find.  We would divide into two groups and have a contest to see who could build the best fort.  We could swim and play all day and never run out of energy.  I wish I had that kind of energy today.

            There was an old tugboat anchored in the bay.  We would get on inner tubes and paddle our way over to where the power plant culvert emptied into the lake.  All we had to do was get in front of it and the current from the water being pumped out would carry us “out to sea”.  If we timed things right, we would end up at the tugboat and climb aboard.  We never got in trouble for doing this.  To this day I am not sure why.

            I have returned to The Hot Pond many times as an adult.  Every time I go there it brings back so many memories of a much simpler time in my life.  I am able, even if just for an hour or two, to forget about the responsibilities of adulthood.  I walk the shoreline and still pick up driftwood and unusual looking rocks – especially the elusive Lake Superior Agate.

            I have reconnected with many of those childhood friends.  This past summer I returned to The Hot Pond with my friend Amy.  It was, by far, the best trip I have taken to Ashland.  It wasn’t because of the way it made me feel though.  What made it so wonderful was watching Amy swim in The Hot Pond for the first time in nearly 35 years.  She was 12 years old again as soon as she hit the water.

            Growing up on, and in, Lake Superior was definitely the best part of my childhood.  I cannot imagine a better place or a better group of kids to spend those long summer days with.

            Some of us remained in Ashland.  Many of us have left to create a life elsewhere.  I think that the “Big Water” calls to each and every one of us in our own way.  Thomas Wolfe said, “You can’t go home again.”  I think we all try to, and some of us come pretty close.