Dreams of the Secluded Lake

Story by Allen Wills
Photo by Allen Wills
TA: Valerie Mosley

Going to the lake means traveling home. To most this may mean the Lake of the Ozarks, Truman or another mass of water. The “lake” pictured in my mind is the lake I created and built. The row of million dollar boats and party cove do not interest me. My lake is secluded. Deer and turkey often visit, while ducks and geese call it their home. Frogs croak and crickets chirp along the bank. In the distance, tractors rumble.

This lake is the destination of choice for me and a few close friends. Lined with small newly-planted trees, every feature here has a meaning or memory. All the grass was hand planted by me. All the trees I placed strategically. The homemade dock still in need of repair provides structure for the numerous fish I have stocked. Most of these I transplanted myself in the hopes of producing monsters. No one is allowed to pull fish out of this lake. They are mine, and mine to let grow for another year or two. I am thrilled to see what this two year old lake will be like in another two years. Across the dam I see the side of a future cabin. If only I was through with college.

Some day the cabin will come, the trees will be mature, and at this lake I will be. No crowds. No yachts. Only myself and happiness.