Labor Day at the Lake Cabin

For nearly 50 years, the Anderson clan and associated families and friends have gathered at the Lake Cabin on Labor Day. Two years ago, the wildfires around Possum Kingdom came within scant feet of derailing that tradition, but thanks to timely intervention of some volunteer firemen, we continue to gather, and did so again this past Labor Day weekend.

We brought our children when they were babies; they grew up and married and brought their own babies; now those children and their spouses bring their babies. This is Cora, my great-grandniece, the most recent member of the family - at least for a few more weeks - and the fifth generation of Labor Day attendees.

Cora really, really wanted my ID bracelet.

It's a pretty simple tradition. You come as early in the weekend as you can so you can claim a good bed (though seniority does count for something); you bring enough food for a small army; you sit on the porch and visit; and if there is water (and you are young) you spend some time getting wet, or trying to avoid doing so. There are always one or more jig-saw puzzles underway, and the conversation goes late into the evening, sometimes beside the fire pit. Did I mention food? The table with desserts is known as the "Table of Good and Evil."

It may be, however, that we will have to start calling the place something besides the Lake Cabin, because there is no lake evident. The cabin itself is on a small creek that joins a larger creek at the edge of the lake proper, and it is not unusual for that small creek to dry up. Sometimes the larger creek also slows to a trickle. Today, if you stand on the eastern edge of the property and look off into the far distance, you can just see water. Holly and her family drove a number of miles simply to find a place to put a boat in the water.

Here's a picture taken by Rozanne to illustrate the current lack of water. This is the new dock; the old one was lost to the fire.

Sleeping at the Lake Cabin is always an adventure. No, there is plenty of room - there's a big room full of beds. And that's the problem. Fill that room with slumbering, snoring, up three-times-a-night for bathroom break folks, add in the baby, and the prospect for a good night's sleep is slim. If one has trouble sleeping in one's own bed in one's own home... you get the picture. So Barb and I made an end-run this year - the community of Graham is about 30 minutes up the road, and there are some really nice motels there. It may diminish the opportunity for fellowship just a tad, but sometimes there is such a thing as too much togetherness.

There are other businesses besides motels in Graham. You're on your on to figure this combination out.

As a side note, Graham plays a part in the family history as well. This town was my father's first relocation as a telephone man. Married exactly a year, he and Mother moved to Graham in 1929, at the tail-end of the local oil boom; wooden derricks were abundant and some exploration for new wells was still underway. Oil was cheap, less than $1 per barrel, but there were no houses for rent.

Mom and Pops moved to a furnished apartment and lived there about three months before a small house in someone's backyard became available for rent. It had two rooms and a path to an out-house. They had some furniture, but had to cobble up a kitchen cabinet from orange crates, stacked with a board across the top. My sister and brother were both born in Graham during that not-quite 5-year stay. It is interesting to think about the small triangle of Graham, Breckenridge and the Lake Cabin as a locus for much of our family's life.