Memorial Day weekend. The lake was usually chilly. Sometimes downright cold. That first plunge into summer, breathtaking.
Was the water level high or low? That was an important question. We studied the shoreline while waiting for the ferry.
The answer affected our hot dog roast.
Even when the lake swallowed all but the tallest trees of our sandy island, we tied the boat to a willow branch and floated on rafts above white sand. New rafts that took forever to inflate.
The sand was still down there. We could see it through clear water.
One time (or several times) the water lapped the top of the concrete picnic tables. We used them as jumping platforms instead of eating spots. A different sort of fun. But even when our island was hidden, we never missed a hot dog roast. Momma anchored to a rocky edge of shoreline, not quite flat but almost, and built a fire, soldiering on without sand.
Happy Memorial Day Weekend!
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Musical Pairing:
Pontoon – Little Big Town
