Lake Dunmore

Day 13

Rosie and I walked over the hill from the “overflow” cottage John and his brother-in-law purchased a couple of years ago. Repeating the same ritual we have performed for decades, my brother John and I sat on his front porch, hiding from the north wind as much as possible, drinking our morning coffee.

“It’s cold Dad. I am a Cuban dog. I like it warm, not cold,” said Rosie.

“Just wait a few minutes, Rose. The sun will rise over the mountains behind us and then you can go lay in the sun on the dock.”

“How do you know the sun will rise again today, Dad?”

“Well, I cannot be absolutely sure, of course, but it has been rising every day for 4.5 billion years. If I were a betting Dad I would take the bet that it will rise today,” I replied somewhat smugly.

“Oh, I see. Just like you have been using a hammer for 60 years and you know you will hit your thumb with it.”

“I don’t hit my thumb very often, Rose. I am good with a hammer,” I said defensively.

“Didn’t you just buy that 48 oz hammer and hit your thumb with it with the first swing.”

“Oh look! We’re there. Let’s go see John.”

I sat down next to my brother and looked out at the lake scattered with whitecaps formed by a strong north wind. His cottage faces west but is exposed to the length of the lake to the north. South winds are buffered by a slip of land projecting into the lake providing some protection from southern winds.

We sat in identical Adirondack chairs, facing the lake. First, a few definitions: “this lake” means Lake Dunmore, named by and for the Earl of Dunmore, governor of the region, appointed by George III. The “camp” is not a camp like a sleep away or day camp. It is what the cottage is called. So, when we are at the camp on the lake we have designated a very specific place. The porch is attached to the camp and is screened in. The deck is outside the porch and lies mostly between the porch and the lake. Clear now that is. Of it sure am I.