It is one of those perfect August days—sunny and warm with a light layer of clouds to keep the heat from being too hot on the skin. I woke up late; and currently, I am at my house on the southern point of Forest Bay. I am sitting on a deck with Lake George at three and nine o'clock, and the houses I have lived in every summer for my whole life to my front and back. When I look around, I can't help but see memories, people, and interactions that I have encountered in this area of the world over my years. I even see the people whose faces I know from photographs of them sitting in these chairs. They were on this porch, holding cocktails, when the love and laughter was created. Chit-chat and gossip with cousins and neighbors, all about each other—I love that I am a part of this, and I know that we will have this place to return to each other for all the rest of our days.
To be twenty-one, a Senior in college, and almost living on my own, the experiences with my best friends and family take place less often. We used to see each other every day from the moments we woke up until as late as we could pass out. Whether it was curfews reeling us in at twelve in the evening or the booze knocking us out just after the sun rose, I have seen and lived the most beautiful things in life at this place. I am grateful for the ever present rumble of a speedboat in the distance, laughter from children across the bay, and waves splashing against the rocks. These are the sensory experiences that let me know that I am safe, at home.
This is a place I know; it is a place I love.
