McCaaaahhhhhhhll

When I was in college, I wrote a piece about McCall. I just came across it today, and since I'm due for a McCall blog, here's an excerpt that sort of sums it up.

"The waters of Payette Lake in northern Idaho hold more than some old wooden docks and a lot of sucker fish; they're filled with my growing up. These secure waters among the tree's blanket cradle me like a child fitting perfectly in her mother's hold. They have always been here--at least as long as I have--and the regular rhythm of the chilly water assures me of their permanence. Like smoothing wrinkles from a cloth, the tensed muscles of everyday flow into the free moving grace of sunlight on water. "


I read somewhere that you can open your soul to a mountain and it won't fling it back at you, but will catch and hold it. I guess McCall feels about like that, and going there is purely restorative. I don't know if my dad feels this way (I suspect deep down he does, though I certainly can't imagine him waxing poetic about it), but I know all my siblings do. It's like going home to your most essential self, like stripping off all of the life that has been quietly accumulating on you like dust, and you didn't realize how very heavy that life was until you felt it drop away with the rush of the water. Really, I think I could go to McCall and stay just long enough to head down to the dock and have one good clean dive. It's like being baptized once a year. That clean.

I sometimes wonder how much of that feeling comes from the company I'm in when I go to the lake. I'll have to do a seperate post about this year's trip, but running across the old bit I wrote so long ago reminded me just how little has really changed for me about McCall. Here's a picture of Autumn and Laine that speaks where my words are failing. Because it's beautiful, isn't it?