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Front Porch: Priest Lake holds memories of younger days, small children, huckleberries

On a Saturday toward the end of August, I sat on a dock at Priest Lake as my husband was doing a job at a lake home nearby. I had gone along with him that day, well, just because.

Sitting there watching the water and the mountains and the little waves as they brushed the shore, I was reminded of so many similar moments across the decades at this very lake. As our traditional summer – those last few days before Labor Day – was ending, I took that mental journey that we older people sometimes do, happily recalling sunny days of the past and glorious experiences with our families as we played in the water and under the sun.

Bruce and I began going to Priest Lake early in our marriage, pre-children, spending a day or two swimming and hiking the lakeside trails. As children arrived in the family, these ventures were more complicated, but still much anticipated.

When our boys were still in diapers we rented a cabin with another couple, also with two toddlers, and we squeezed ourselves into a space designed for not nearly so many people. No matter, as we were outdoors most of the time. Pepper, our friends’ dog, threw up each night. We never did get all the sand off ourselves and the kids, and food often found itself sprinkled with a smattering of gritty outdoors stuff. Again, no matter.

Some friends who were camping across the lake came over by boat, so we did some water skiing. We roasted marshmallows over the fire at night and read stories to the kids. We fell asleep tired and happy.

As time moved on we’d rent a cabin on our own. I played Lake Monster for the boys, roaring and chasing them from my position in knee-deep water in a feigned effort to keep them out of the lake. We all coughed up water as I’d fail miserably at my monster task as I was overwhelmed by squealing and giggling sons.

Friends would come by for shared meals and laughter. We rented a Hobie Cat day sailor once and, in breezy conditions, got it up on one pontoon. Scary-fun. Friends loaned us their 16-foot motorboat one summer, so we explored the lake fully, including taking the thoroughfare to Upper Priest Lake – primitive and beautiful.

And, of course, huckleberry picking, walks in the woods, reading stories to the boys by the fireplace at night until they fell asleep. Teeth weren’t always brushed before bed, hair wasn’t always combed in the morning, dinner was often a weenie on a stick cooked over an outdoors fire and followed by gooey marshmallows.

There were also splinters in a foot or finger, a wasp sting or two, the requisite mosquito bites, bumps and bruises and occasional indigestion. But it all blended into a wonderful singular gauzy and sweet memory as I sat on the dock on that sunny August day at Priest Lake.

Annie, the huckleberry lady, drove by the house where Bruce was working and stopped to ask if we wanted some huckleberries. Bruce said he didn’t think so, but then, remembering who he is married to, called around to me, still down by the lake, to ask if maybe I did.

Well, of course I did, though I hadn’t originally planned to get any this year. These were clean and fresh, not frozen, and right there in front of me – so I bought a gallon. Huckleberry pancakes for breakfast the next day. Priest Lake is a place that keeps giving and giving.

After Bruce was done with his work, we went into Coolin and sat on benches by the marina and ate the picnic lunch that I brought along – sandwiches, but, sadly, no marshmallows. We watched as families came and went in their boats, often with children and dogs, off for a day’s worth of all that the lake has to offer on a hot sunny day in the waning season that is summer.

We are still lake people, these days on a sailboat on Lake Coeur d’Alene, also a grand place to spend lazy hours on the water. And because it’s closer to Spokane, it’s easier to run out for just an afternoon, if that’s all the time we have, to metabolize the therapeutic benefits of the lake. And we can sail spring, summer and fall, so our lake season is longer than most.

But Priest Lake is the lake of my early adulthood days, those days when I was young and limber, better able and delighted to chase and be chased by small children all day long. Being there again was wonderful for the day I was having and for the days I was remembering.

There on the dock, I’m pretty sure I was smiling.

Voices correspondent Stefanie Pettit can be reached by email at upwindsailor@comcast. net.

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