LAKE WAWASEE
By Duncan
The Indiana weather was hot and humid but not uncomfortable. I waited for the stoplight to turn green. I then pulled out on the main thoroughfare to the Interstate highway, trying to remember where Lake Wawasee was located.
Of Course, with all my years living in Indiana, I don’t think I have ever been to Lake Wawasee. What do I know about the place before I decide to go there?
I pulled “Mean Yellow” over on the shoulder of the Interstate entrance ramp. I was hesitant to head to a place suggested to me by a guy in a Mexican Restaurant wearing a long-sleeve flannel shirt in the middle of summer, whom I don’t know. Sure, does this sound like a great idea?
I checked to see if my vehicle would be in harm's way. I didn’t want to get rear-ended by a big semi-tractor-trailer truck, so I asked Google, “Where is Lake Wawasee?”
I realized Lake Wawasee is “north-ish.” Lake Wawasee is between Fort Wayne and South Bend. I didn’t realize there was a Syracuse, Indiana. The only Syracuse that came to my mind was Syracuse, New York.
Of Course, Google offers more information. The Lake has twenty-five miles (25 miles) of shoreline. Three thousand (3,000) residents are full-time, and thirty-five thousand (35,000) are seasonal. One thousand four hundred (1,400) homes face the lake. The lake is seventy-five feet deep (75 Feet) in the middle and is the largest natural lake in Indiana.
This place sounds like a weekend retreat for outdoor activities: Google promised lots of fishing, boating, hiking, biking, and water activities. I assume that means people swim, intertube, and ski in the lake, too. This magnificent body of mine was not built for “strenuous outdoor activities.”
I remember a female friend inviting me to her weekend cabin on a lake in northern Indiana. I honestly don’t remember the lake's name. I was thrilled with the invitation. I anticipated a quiet few moments overlooking a lake with abundant food and plenty of liquid refreshment.
I was told that the other draw would be the women attending. They would be modeling skimpy swimming suit attire. My host had all the toys. Her biggest toy was her speedboat, parked at the dock just down the path from the front porch.
She pleaded with me to come and enjoy the fun of a boat ride up and down the lake. After a couple of adult beverages to relax my reluctance, I walked down the hill to the boat dock. Of course, this required me to overlook the slimy lime-green algae in the water around the dock. If I made a misstep on the wet, slick boat dock, I would end up in the water, which I assume was only waist-deep. I had zero desire to be in a natural lake with lime-green algae. And who knows what else is swimming around in the water beside me? To say I was hesitant would be an understatement.
As I approached the boat dock, the women were trying their best to make the long-legged reach from the boat dock to the inside of the speedboat with sufficient grace. This reality allowed my eyes to see more than I had anticipated in the way of the female form. The trend for women was to wear the latest fashion that exposed most of their bodies. It was a pleasant few moments for me standing on a wet, slick boat dock. It was then my turn to attempt to gain style points traversing the long-legged move from the boat dock to the inside of a speedboat. I was able to make the long stretch without embarrassment.
The purpose of a speedboat is to go as fast as possible from one end of the lake to the other, then turn around and go the other way. The wind and the constant pounding of the boat's hull on the water made me aware that I had kidneys. It was all I could do to maintain my civility and accept my fate of being a prisoner in this open-air death trap.
The ride was over, and we moved close to the boat dock. Others jumped out of the boat, grabbed the lines, and pulled the boat close to the dock. Excited and jubilant at the experience, most expressed their enthusiasm. I waited my turn, and when my feet touched solid ground, I was relieved to be back on God’s terra firma. I replenished my cocktail glass to steady my nerves and interred myself to a large wicker deck chair on the front porch.
“How much fun was that, Duncan?”
I smiled and took a sip of my Scotch. I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I smiled and nodded to the comment. My host noticed my reluctance to offer a grandiose endorsement.
As the day became almost evening, the food and drink were plentiful. My female host approached me and asked if I enjoyed the boat ride. We were somewhat alone. The others were inside the cabin laughing and enjoying the evening. I was placid about my expression on the boat ride around the lake.
“Duncan, if you were me, and I realized you’re not. But, if you owned this place, what would you consider an acceptable boat ride? I get the feeling it was not your most pleasurable experience.”
“If I owned this place, I would change nothing about the cabin. It’s lovely and comfortable, and the lake view from this porch deck is more than I could have hoped for. But I guess I’m not an outdoor kind of guy.”
“Well, you haven’t answered my question.”
“What do you want to know? What kind of boat would I own?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know anything about boats. Look, you and the other women are walking around half-naked. I can’t complain about the scenery. I can’t tell you what fun it is to see you gals strut your stuff. The cocktails are wonderful, and the food is great.
How about bringing the food and cocktails on board a pontoon-type boat with a canopy to shield the sun and move slowly around the lake? You have magnificent homes facing the water. Each one is a masterpiece of opulence and grandeur. I would call puttering around the lake with a cocktail in hand “My Style.” But this is your place, your special hideaway, not mine. I’m a guest here. And I thank you for inviting me.”
My host and I have reminded friends for years. The following year, I was invited back to the cabin. And lo and behold, there was a pontoon boat with a canopy sitting by the boat dock. The alcohol, soft drinks, and food were moved to the boat. She even bought a brand-new bikini.
“Will this work for you, Duncan?”
We boated around the lake slowly, looking at the multi-million dollar homes, eating and drinking, and enjoying all the views a man could ever want.
Thinking back to the “good old days,” I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to Lake Wawasee. What would I find there? Certainly not an invitation to join someone in their million-dollar home. Was it going to be worth the trip? I realized I was doing something I shouldn’t do.
I was already deciding I wouldn’t have a good time if I went to the Lake, and I chastised myself. This is not how I find adventure. I’ve always believed you walk through the doors of life without any expectations. It’s been proven to me that I will find something new that I have never experienced before.
People will be open if I’m open. It’s just been my modus operandi. But, like everyone, I sometimes question what I’m about to do. Which I have been known not to do. And it has led, on occasion, to disappointment. But I try to balance the “walk through the door” as opposed to thinking too much about the negative side of life.
I pointed the “Mean Yellow” toward Lake Wawasee. I won’t know if I will like the place. If I don’t go, then I will never know. It took a couple of hours to get to the lake area. I looked at the street map on my cell phone and decided to drive around the lake. It was uneventful. Most of the homes had the same floor plan. The homes have elegant driveways to the garage doors. The houses are designed to complement the lake views. The living is on the lakeside. The world is shut out on the nonlake view side of the home.
I found an interesting restaurant and decided to have a late lunch.
Frog Tavern has been in business since 1932. It started as a warming house for ice fishermen. I’m not sure what a “Warming House” is, but I can only assume with the tavern being on the water, men ice fishing on frozen Lake Wawasee, more than likely said to themselves,
“What the hell am I doing out here when it’s warm in there? Maybe I could have a few beers, too.”
The tavern has undergone several renovations, including one in the mid-1990s that made it a popular weekend destination for young people. The “Frog” can be accessed by car, boat, or on foot.
I decided to move down the road. Again, I didn’t have a strong vibration for the area. I’m sure Lake Wawasee is loved by many, and people love water activities. Was I disappointed? Yes and no.
I realize people all over the world are living their lives the way they want to live them. Then, I pause.
Are we really? Do we live “our lives” or how “others” expect us to live? Some call it peer pressure.
In the first twenty years, you perform to the cadence of your parents.
The next twenty years consist of education, work environments, family, church, and politics, leading you to the next twenty years.
At this point, man is halfway there. Some realize they need to make changes. The next twenty years will be a little more relaxed.
Now it’s time to retire or think about retiring. You buy that weekend cottage on the lake. And you coast to the sounds of family, neighbors, and friends who have accepted you for who you are. Hopefully. And just who are we are we at this age?
I truly enjoy being close to the water's edge and listening to the waves pulsate the plant’s heartbeat. The waves never stop; they keep moving in and out. I have been known to sit by the sea for hours, thinking the waves will stop shortly. I place my imaginary stethoscope on the water and listen to the rhythmic pounding of the water.
I want to believe the waves are talking to me; if only I could interpret the message, much like a doctor who listens to my heart to determine if I’m well. I realize I have yet to receive Earth’s warnings of my demise.
That fatal message might be revealed to me on my last dying breath. Then again, will death be nothing more than an on-off switch where the computer screen goes dark?
I need not focus on my last breath. I need to live. That’s why I’m on the road. I need/want big water. At this point in my road trip, the closest big water is Lake Michigan. I point “Mean Yellow” in that direction.
