paper chain - grace grits and gardening

Me.
Lake Norfork, Arkansas
Bathing Beauty

I’m ready to start counting down the days – only about 160 more sleeps. I may even make one of those paper chains – the kind my sister and I made in December, when we were kids counting down the days to Santa Claus. Only this time I’ll make it from coordinating cool scrapbooking paper and recycled gift wrap, with a bit of vintage card stock thrown in. I’ll weave it tastefully down the stair railing like my red berry Christmas garland, removing one link a day. Naturally, I’ll snap a picture of it for my Facebook timeline. It will be clever and crafty and someone will ‘Pin It’ to one of their style boards. Only 160 days until THE LAKE!

My grandparents started going to Lake Norfork when my mother was a kid, so our tradition runs deep. My parents honeymooned there. I was 6 months old the first time I crossed on the ferry. This summer will be my 50th year at Lake Norfork. I’ve missed a couple of years here and there for some bad reason, but when I did, my heart hurt. It’s what we do.

As kids, my sister and I absolutely pestered my mother to death, “When are we going to the lake?” AllSummerLong. I’m surprised she didn’t find someone there to take us in, for the entire summer break, just to get us out of her hair. It’s where we wanted to be. We were fish. We were one with the lake. The anticipation of the lake was a close second to Christmas morning excitement. Throwing all our shorts and bathing suits into the car, we had no trouble waking up super early for that loooong drive to Mountain Home. The journey was 4+ hours, if you hit the ferry just right. It took much longer behind a rock hauler. There was no sense of urgency up in those mountains, and sometimes impossible to pass. This was before all the smooth, new multi-lane highways were built, efficiently bypassing drivers around all the cute little towns and scenic lookouts along the way.

The drive was part of the adventure. We usually stopped for lunch in Lake City, just past the cool old bridge. We held our breath while crossing that bridge. We always held our breath crossing bridges – our favorite was the ‘old’ Memphis bridge that spanned the Mississippi River. I have no idea why we did this – our mother probably trained us as toddlers to allow herself a few seconds of much needed peace and quiet while wondering, “How did my life come to this??” I’ve heard the old superstition – you should hold your breath while crossing a bridge to keep from breathing in the spirits of men who died while building it… I don’t know about that but it probably wasn’t very smart. If we suddenly plunged in to the water below for whatever reason – accident, earthquake, weak infrastructure – we would be wishing to have that breath back as we tried to untangle ourselves from all the junk in the car, underwater. I always got a butterscotch malt at a little diner in Lake City, just like Uncle Rex.

Once we left the flat delta farmland and entered into the Ozark Mountains, we started looking for the lake. I’m sure my mother was looking for more bridges…The first person to see the lake ‘won’. No trophy or anything, just the honor of that first sighting which was big. We had waited the entire long cold winter for that moment. As the cars in the opposite lane began to pass us spaced more closely together, we could barely contain ourselves. When four or five cars passed us practically tailing each other – it only meant one thing! The ferry had just unloaded! We were almost to the ferry. At last.

Ferry @ Lake Norfork

Sometimes we cued up in line to board the ferry only to watch it pull away from the shore. When this happened, Staci and I would escape from the hot car and run to the edge of the water for that first magical toe dip as we waited for the ferry to return for us. On holiday weekends, we sometimes waited hours to cross. Once on the ferry, we stood along the rail and watched the entire crossing unfold. We were headed back to our favorite place.

We spent many a day out on that beautiful lake, in our groovy bright orange Cheetah ski boat, late ’70s vintage, with Johnny Rodriguez and Linda Ronstadt blasting on the 8 track player. (The Cheetah was christened the “Miss Stalya” the year my grandfather bought it. Very original… Sometimes our aunts and cousins were with us, sometimes girlfriends, and later boyfriends. Sometimes my parents took a very odd assortment of misfits, as if Daddy just dragged the last person he saw in Etowah the night before. One year when we arrived at the cabin, we found Lulu from Hee Haw sitting on the front porch with her tiny little husband. Daddy had apparently invited them, and they were so enthusiastic about going, they beat us there. Pretty impressive, considering our cabin was waaaay off the beaten path on gravel roads with limited signage. This large lady purported to be a former playboy bunny… She sat on the porch for a week and ate that squirty cheese from a can on Triscuits. Now, even at the ripe old age of 12, I didn’t buy that playboy bunny story for one second. I was, however, fascinated by that silly string cheese. To this day, I think of that woman when I see Triscuits at the grocery store. After that trip, we never saw that playgirl again.

One summer Daddy brought his friend, Thomas Harrington. Ugh. That man laughed like a freakin hyena. And you know how sound travels over water…. Now we take our husbands and children. And we STILL have that same groovy Cheetah ski boat. If you’ve been anywhere around Lake Norfork in the past 30 years, you’ve seen us. We were those crazy people stranded in every cove and towed all over the lake. Miss Stalya was totaled by Farm Bureau years ago after a storm that smashed the bow into the dock. There’s a big hole in the front that detracts a bit from her natural beauty. We don’t care – we still love her. And we prefer to travel like the Clampetts. There’s less pressure to look good in a bathing suit.

Tate driving Miss Stalya
(and channeling Thomas Tate)

As kids, we jumped off the cliffs every summer, all day long – this continues to be a necessary initiation ritual for any lake newbie who wants to hang with us. We think Kelsey has found her soulmate, but we really won’t know until Andy takes that plunge. Strangely, he avoided us last summer. I’m sure he’s nervous, John barely made the cut preferring to hide out in the cabin, golf and grill. And that’s fine – the only rule at the lake is “There are No Rules”.

Bluffs

One of our favorite places on the lake is “The Island”. Near Jordan Marina, it has white sugary sand like the beaches of the Gulf Coast. It’s a glorious spot on this Earth. We always pick one day during our week to spend on the island – usually toward the end of our stay when we are good and sunburned. We load up the Miss Stalya with floats and chips and coolers of iced down water and wine coolers and head out. It’s on the other side of the lake and takes Miss Stalya a while to get there. (This is the only time and place we EVER drink wine coolers. It just fits. Our favorite is the Berry, but in a pinch we will drink those Smirnoff ones that sorta taste like colonoscopy prep. Everything tastes better on the lake.) Tate, our resident Eagle Scout and certified lifeguard, is charged with building the fire for our annual hot dog roast. Actually, Tate is in charge of everything now – driving, hauling Nana in and out of the boat, anchoring the boat, retrieving the boat when it floats off, and making sure no one drowns. It’s good to have an Eagle Scout. The island hot dogs are perfection – unevenly charred, juicy and fat, smothered in yellow French’s mustard – none of that fancy brown spicy stuff on the island. Oh and they have that perfect sprinkling of obligatory sandy grit that only comes from authentic island grilling. Delish!

The early morning lake sounds are peaceful, a cup of coffee on the dock with the mist coming off the lake, and the water like glass. The dock creaks rhymically. An occasional fish jumps and ripples the water. I have a favorite hammock at the lake – it’s the perfect spot for listening to the mourning doves. And napping. I’ve rearranged my life on that hammock. And at the late night lake is amazing as well. The water is black as ink. Spiders spin silver webs in every corner of the dock. The stars are incredible – millions of stars, shooting stars, falling stars. Lots of wishes made there. It’s my happy place.

Lake Norfork

We recently discovered that our mother has never jumped off those cliffs. We figure she’s grandfathered at this point, plus she wants her ashes sprinkled off that cliff someday – the ultimate jump. We’ll have to modify our plans. We were already planning a viking funeral for her in the Miss Stalya.

talya

musical pairing:

Johnny Rodriguez, “That’s the Way Love Goes”
Linda Ronstadt, “You’re No Good”