|me and the sisters: pond mermaids|
Then there is This cabin. The one where I returned to live full time in June 1977 with my husband Jay and 3 month old Phoebe. So many long walks in those woods with Doodah the bloodhound and sometimes Porker the pig, Phoebe slung snugly against me. There were no paths; we would
|phoebe on moving day|
Soon after we moved out of the cabin, my dad sold the cabin to the people who owned the neighboring cabins.
I wanted so much to find it but I couldn't remember how to get there. I stared at the Penn Run area on mapquest for a long time before I drove out there yesterday; one of those remarkable breezy, perfectly sunny August mornings. I realized there weren't that many roads around Penn Run, and if I just drove around a bit, something would feel familiar. I did remember some things: a stretch of road with pine trees growing at perfectly spaced intervals. I remember thinking as I drove past it so many times, that, with the sunlight just right, an epileptic would probably have a seizure because of the strobe effect of the resulting pattern of sunlight and shadow. And I remembered there was an unmarked intersection. Arriving in Penn Run, I first drove nearly all the way to Clymer before realizing no, this wasn't right, and turned around. After a few more rather aimless tries, something started clicking. I thought I found the trees, and wasn't sure until, yep, there was the intersection. As I drove on, it looked different enough to make me doubt myself again: the road seemed more narrow, because all the trees are so much bigger. There are a few new homes there, I think mostly weekenders. Then I remembered to also look for fishing creeks, and all of a sudden it was all in front of me: that beautiful little creek, and my lane. "Cool Waters: established 1966" The sign is still there. I had forgotten about that until I saw it today. I drove up the lane very slowly, wanting it to unroll so my mind could absorb as many details as possible. There's a new home on the right, close to the road. They might live there full-time; there were cars parked. The A-frame is still there where a nice older man used to stay. I visited with him a few times and talked about wildflowers and what wild animal had been heard the night before; I think he felt sorry for me because I was often alone out there. Anyway, the other cabins are still there too... And then there it was. I actually saw the pond first, because it was so sparkling.
When I got out of the car I ran right over to the pond.... I was feeling so many emotions that I practically felt dizzy. For some reason, Loss was the big one. Loss of what? Being that young girl swimming lazily in the pond? The teenager who brought her first boyfriend out here? Or the young mama with her baby or, realizing that the man you shared it with is no longer on the Earth, although you were lost from each other long before that? I don't know, but it was there. At the same time, I felt happy, too, seeing that the land was well taken care of. I walked up the muddy lane to the stream, remembering how, in the spring, hundreds of little peepers emerge all at once, crossing the lane into the woods. I got a rock from the stream to take home with me.
|that is not a snake! it's a hose fyi|
I decided to leave a note saying "Hey, I used to live here, and thanks for taking care of this place " on the door. And got back in my car and drove back down that lane, slowly.