EB White Once more to thelake.docx

EB White Once more to thelake.docx

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EBWhiteOncemoretothelake

E.B.White

OnceMoretotheLake（1941）

Onesummer,alongabout1904,myfatherrentedacamponalakeinMaineandtookusallthereforthemonthofAugust.WeallgotringwormfromsomekittensandhadtorubPond'sExtractonourarmsandlegsnightandmorning,andmyfatherrolledoverinacanoewithallhisclotheson;butoutsideofthatthevacationwasasuccessandfromthenonnoneofuseverthoughttherewasanyplaceintheworldlikethatlakeinMaine.Wereturnedsummeraftersummer--alwaysonAugust1stforonemonth.Ihavesincebecomeasalt-waterman,butsometimesinsummertherearedayswhentherestlessnessofthetidesandthefearfulcoldoftheseawaterandtheincessantwindwhichblowsacrosstheafternoonandintotheeveningmakemewishfortheplacidityofalakeinthewoods.AfewweeksagothisfeelinggotsostrongIboughtmyselfacoupleofbasshooksandaspinnerandreturnedtothelakewhereweusedtogo,foraweek'sfishingandtorevisitoldhaunts.

Itookalongmyson,whohadneverhadanyfreshwateruphisnoseandwhohadseenlilypadsonlyfromtrainwindows.OnthejourneyovertothelakeIbegantowonderwhatitwouldbelike.Iwonderedhowtimewouldhavemarredthisunique,thisholyspot--thecovesandstreams,thehillsthatthesunsetbehind,thecampsandthepathsbehindthecamps.IwassurethatthetarredroadwouldhavefounditoutandIwonderedinwhatotherwaysitwouldbedesolated.Itisstrangehowmuchyoucanrememberaboutplaceslikethatonceyouallowyourmindtoreturnintothegrooveswhichleadback.Yourememberonething,andthatsuddenlyremindsyouofanotherthing.IguessIrememberedclearestofalltheearlymornings,whenthelakewascoolandmotionless,rememberedhowthebedroomsmelledofthelumberitwasmadeofandofthewetwoodswhosescententeredthroughthescreen.Thepartitionsinthecampwerethinanddidnotextendcleartothetopoftherooms,andasIwasalwaysthefirstupIwoulddresssoftlysoasnottowaketheothers,andsneakoutintothesweetoutdoorsandstartoutinthecanoe,keepingclosealongtheshoreinthelongshadowsofthepines.Irememberedbeingverycarefulnevertorubmypaddleagainstthegunwaleforfearofdisturbingthestillnessofthecathedral.

Thelakehadneverbeenwhatyouwouldcallawildlake.Therewerecottagessprinkledaroundtheshores,anditwasinfarmingalthoughtheshoresofthelakewerequiteheavilywooded.Someofthecottageswereownedbynearbyfarmers,andyouwouldliveattheshoreandeatyourmealsatthefarmhouse.That'swhatourfamilydid.Butalthoughitwasn'twild,itwasafairlylargeandundisturbedlakeandtherewereplacesinitwhich,toachildatleast,seemedinfinitelyremoteandprimeval.

Iwasrightaboutthetar:

itledtowithinhalfamileoftheshore.ButwhenIgotbackthere,withmyboy,andwesettledintoacampnearafarmhouseandintothekindofsummertimeIhadknown,Icouldtellthatitwasgoingtobeprettymuchthesameasithadbeenbefore--Iknewit,lyinginbedthefirstmorning,smellingthebedroom,andhearingtheboysneakquietlyoutandgooffalongtheshoreinaboat.IbegantosustaintheillusionthathewasI,andtherefore,bysimpletransposition,thatIwasmyfather.Thissensationpersisted,keptcroppingupallthetimewewerethere.Itwasnotanentirelynewfeeling,butinthissettingitgrewmuchstronger.Iseemedtobelivingadualexistence.Iwouldbeinthemiddleofsomesimpleact,Iwouldbepickingupabaitboxorlayingdownatablefork,orIwouldbesayingsomething,andsuddenlyitwouldbenotIbutmyfatherwhowassayingthewordsormakingthegesture.Itgavemeacreepysensation.

Wewentfishingthefirstmorning.Ifeltthesamedampmosscoveringthewormsinthebaitcan,andsawthedragonflyalightonthetipofmyrodasithoveredafewinchesfromthesurfaceofthewater.Itwasthearrivalofthisflythatconvincedmebeyondanydoubtthateverythingwasasitalwayshadbeen,thattheyearswereamirageandtherehadbeennoyears.Thesmallwaveswerethesame,chuckingtherowboatunderthechinaswefishedatanchor,andtheboatwasthesameboat,thesamecolorgreenandtheribsbrokeninthesameplaces,andunderthefloor-boardsthesamefreshwaterleavingsanddebris--thedeadhelgramite,thewispsofmoss,therustydiscardedfishhook,thedriedbloodfromyesterday'scatch.Westaredsilentlyatthetipsofourrods,atthedragonfliesthatcameandwells.Iloweredthetipofmineintothewater,tentatively,pensivelydislodgingthefly,whichdartedtwofeetaway,poised,dartedtwofeetback,andcametorestagainalittlefartheruptherod.Therehadbeennoyearsbetweentheduckingofthisdragonflyandtheotherone--theonethatwaspartofmemory.Ilookedattheboy,whowassilentlywatchinghisfly,anditwasmyhandsthatheldhisrod,myeyeswatching.Ifeltdizzyanddidn'tknowwhichrodIwasattheendof.

Wecaughttwobass,haulingtheminbrisklyasthoughtheyweremackerel,pullingthemoverthesideoftheboatinabusinesslikemannerwithoutanylandingnet,andstunningthemwithablowonthebackofthehead.Whenwegotbackforaswimbeforelunch,thelakewasexactlywherewehadleftit,thesamenumberofinchesfromthedock,andtherewasonlythemerestsuggestionofabreeze.Thisseemedanutterlyenchantedsea,thislakeyoucouldleavetoitsowndevicesforafewhoursandcomebackto,andfindthatithadnotstirred,thisconstantandtrustworthybodyofwater.Intheshallows,thedark,water-soakedsticksandtwigs,smoothandold,wereundulatinginclustersonthebottomagainstthecleanribbedsand,andthetrackofthemusselwasplain.Aschoolofminnowsswamby,eachminnowwithitssmall,individualshadow,doublingtheattendance,soclearandsharpinthesunlight.Someoftheothercamperswereinswimming,alongtheshore,oneofthemwithacakeofsoap,andthewaterfeltthinandclearandinsubstantial.Overtheyearstherehadbeenthispersonwiththecakeofsoap,thiscultist,andherehewas.Therehadbeennoyears.

Uptothefarmhousetodinnerthroughtheteeming,dustyfield,theroadunderoursneakerswasonlyatwo-trackroad.Themiddletrackwasmissing,theonewiththemarksofthehoovesandthesplotchesofdried,flakymanure.Therehadalwaysbeenthreetrackstochoosefrominchoosingwhichtracktowalkin;nowthechoicewasnarroweddowntotwo.ForamomentImissedterriblythemiddlealternative.Butthewayledpastthetenniscourt,andsomethingaboutthewayitlaythereinthesunreassuredme;thetapehadloosenedalongthebackline,thealleysweregreenwithplantainsandotherweeds,andthenet（installedinJuneandremovedinSeptember）saggedinthedrynoon,andthewholeplacesteamedwithmiddayheatandhungerandemptiness.Therewasachoiceofpiefordessert,andonewasblueberryandonewasapple,andthewaitresseswerethesamecountrygirls,therehavingbeennopassageoftime,onlytheillusionofitasinadroppedcurtain--thewaitresseswerestillfifteen;theirhairhadbeenwashed,thatwastheonlydifference--theyhadbeentothemoviesandseentheprettygirlswiththecleanhair.

Summertime,ohsummertime,patternoflifeindelible,thefadeprooflake,thewoodsunshatterable,thepasturewiththesweetfernandthejuniperforeverandever,summerwithoutend;thiswasthebackground,andthelifealongtheshorewasthedesign,thecottageswiththeirinnocentandtranquildesign,theirtinydockswiththeflagpoleandtheAmericanflagfloatingagainstthewhitecloudsinthebluesky,thelittlepathsovertherootsofthetreesleadingfromcamptocampandthepathsleadingbacktotheouthousesandthecanoflimeforsprinkling,andatthesouvenircountersatthestoretheminiaturebirch-barkcanoesandthepostcardsthatshowedthingslookingalittlebetterthantheylooked.ThiswastheAmericanfamilyatplay,escapingthecityheat,wonderingwhetherthenewcomersatthecampattheheadofthecovewere"common"or"nice,"wonderingwhetheritwastruethatthepeoplewhodroveupforSundaydinneratthefarmhousewereturnedawaybecausetherewasn'tenoughchicken.

Itseemedtome,asIkeptrememberingallthis,thatthosetimesandthosesummershadbeeninfinitelypreciousandworthsaving.Therehadbeenjollityandpeaceandgoodness.Thearriving（atthebeginningofAugust）hadbeensobigabusinessinitself,attherailwaystationthefarmwagondrawnup,thefirstsmellofthepine-ladenair,thefirstglimpseofthesmilingfarmer,andthegreatimportanceofthetrunksandyourfather'senormousauthorityinsuchmatters,andthefeelofthewagonunderyouforthelongten-milehaul,andatthetopofthelastlonghillcatchingthefirstviewofthelakeafterelevenmonthsofnotseeingthischerishedbodyofwater.Theshoutsandcriesoftheothercamperswhentheysawyou,andthetrunkstobeunpacked,togiveuptheirrichburden.（Arrivingwaslessexcitingnowadays,whenyousneakedupinyourcarandparkeditunderatreenearthecampandtookoutthebagsandinfiveminutesitwasallover,nofuss,noloudwonderfulfussabouttrunks.）

Peaceandgoodnessandjollity.Theonlythingthatwaswrongnow,really,wasthesoundoftheplace,anunfamiliarnervoussoundoftheoutboardmotors.Thiswasthenotethatjarred,theonethingthatwouldsometimesbreaktheillusionandsettheyearsmoving.Inthoseothersummertimes,allmotorswereinboard;andwhentheywereatalittledistance,thenoisetheymadewasasedative,aningredientofsummersleep.Theywereone-cylinder