Thursday, July 3, 2014

Lost Lake

I have pictures that could go with the title of this blog - like this one:


The lake of my childhood - Lake Binder. My older brother learned to swim here when there was still a humongous (in the eyes of a little sister) diving tower.
It is also the lake of my teen years where couples would go to park and car loads of their 'friends' would go to bushwhack them.
That same older brother told me of taking girls out there and scaring them by shining his spotlight on the remaining gravestones of the old Queen City Cemetery all the while telling ghost stories. He said there was one corner around the lake where a spotlight could be shone just right and it looked for all the world like ghosts shimmering. Timing the ghost story with the ghostly glimmers was certain to result in scads of screams.

Lake Binder isn't lost - the lake is still there.


As is this lake from our North Shore trip in the 90's. I like the moodiness of this picture with the lighthouse in the distance. I don't think of Lake Superior as being a lost lake, but I do think of all the ships lost on the lake - like the famous Edmund Fitzgerald. Gordon Lightfoot's song heard here will be one I'll always relate to this lake.


Hamilton Pool in the Hill Country of Texas isn't a lost lake but we thought ourselves lost before finally getting there. The fact that we had the place to ourselves that day did make it easy to imagine it as the private pool of the Tonkawa and Lipan Apaches it once was.

This is the Lost Lake of my post title:

Sarah Addison Allen's sixth novel and probably her best so far. I love all her books. In some ways they are fairy tales for adults. They are magical, mysterious, enchanting, haunting. This book is so beautiful it made me cry. Then I learned that the author wrote it during the time she was fighting breast cancer. She says she is now two years cancer free. Thank goodness. I want her to keep writing books forever so that I may keep reading them. She understands the power of the connections that bind us forever. Put Lost Lake on your summer reading list. You won't be sorry.

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