Dear Teal Lake,

I couldn’t tell just how much you had changed. All I have are some brief memories of standing in your waters and boating with my father over your glassy surface during annual vacations from sixty years ago. That was before anyone knew just how sick he was. Lung cancer claimed my dad shortly after I turned eight-years-old. I had no clue what the ramifications of losing my father would be. Looking back, I see them all too clearly now.

He would have been the magnetic north I needed for my life’s compass to work properly. Without my father, I was all over the map. No guidance. Questionable choices. Poor decisions. General unhappiness. Culminating in hitting rock bottom. With the support of friends, I started over. My wife took a chance on me as a reclamation project. I’ve done my best to validate her decision.

My mother never took me back for a Teal Lake vacation. She was even more lost than I was without my father. My mom was either unwilling to make the six-hour drive back to you or afraid of the memories awaiting her. Perhaps both.

But I never forgot about you and longed to return to your shores, maybe to glimpse ghosts from my past. Over the decades apart, your popularity waxed and then waned. Today, your resort business is just a shell of what it once was. They filled in the pool with dirt rather than water. Nature has reclaimed the golf course. The barn with the mounted skull of the 24-inch Northern Pike that I caught as a boy collapsed long ago. But you were still there, awaiting my return. My wife and youngest child indulged my flight of fancy and agreed to a vacation in one of the few rental cabins left on Teal Lake.

No ghosts and few memories greeted me as we explored the property along your shore. The best option seemed to be to make some fresh memories, and so we did. The property exuded tranquility. Sunsets were glorious. Your water inviting to slide into or glide across by boat.

There was one special moment after an hour swim out to Raspberry and Bird Islands and back that I’ll never forget. Exhaustion and exhilaration consumed me as I laid back in your waters and floated. I stared at the clouds overhead as they seemed to come closer. Were they were coming down to envelop me, or was I was rising toward them? I sensed definite movement, and a rendezvous with the clouds seemed very real and imminent.

It’s funny how your senses can deceive you. I decided against being swallowed by the clouds and perhaps being magically transported to a parallel universe, an alternate timeline, heaven, or a rural pig farm — my idea of hell. After I blinked and looked away, I found myself still on my back in your water with those mischievous clouds far up in the sky. I felt content to be right where I was with chapters, or at least pages, still to write in my book of life. With new memories of Teal Lake to complement the old, faded ones.

Fondly,