The Boys of Summer

The Boys of Summer 1

The dock below the tidy Adirondack cabin

Is down two long flights of wooden steps,

Past the screened-in porch ,

Past the middle deck.

Bright blue chairs litter its surface

Draped with colorful towels.

The fishing tackle box sits open mid-dock,

The rods recline on the posts.

The two boys of twelve years

With face masks, flippers, and long handled nets

Launch themselves off the dock

Into the crystal clear Lake George water.

The hunt is on for the small mouth bass,

Found a plenty here in Bass Bay.

Their large green pail

Perched hopefully at the edge of the dock

Filled with lake water – ready to receive their catch.

They snorkel their way around, flippers flapping

To the double crib docks of the house next door.

And soon return – triumphantly – with their first catch.

They carefully transfer the frightened five incher into the waiting bucket.

The young friends decide they do better with the nets

Leave the fishing rods idle

They go off again in search of hapless prey.

Not an easy task today –

The high nineties temperature

drives the fish down into colder water.

The young friends are undaunted –

They possess the abundant enthusiasm of youth.

In an hour, six small fish are caught

They thoughtfully consider their precious cargo,

Nervously skittering about in the pail.

They consult their fishermen’s handbook.

There is no doubt.

Too small to keep,

Too small to cook.

They haul their prizes up the steps

To the higher cabin to show their folks

Before returning the fortunate fish

To their watery home.

The Boys of Summer 2

The sailboat – moored temptingly at its ease,

Invites a water-born flight across the choppy lake.

White caps decorating the surface inform the need to reef the sails.

A ride not for the feint of heart.

The boys ask about the “Diving Rock” of Lake George

A k a “Leaping Rock”.

Across to the east side of the lake, a mile across

Somewhat north of our cabin

Sits a large ancient rock formation

An old glacier souvenir

One sheer side famous in these parts.

To the teenagers of Silver Bay, a point of pride

To make the crossing in any available conveyance,

Scramble to shore, climb the stony path to the top of the rock.

They jump, they dive, they cannonball

Into the lake from on high.

It is a rite of passage for the kids on the Lake.

How high is the rock, the boys ask.

We heard its thirty feet!, they say with awe.

Nah, not that high.   Want to check it out?

No obligation.

They mull it over in quiet consultation.

Okay. Will you take us?

Ernie launches the sailboat

With the boys and their mom aboard.

They shoot across the lake,

Negotiate around into the cove.

Approaching the rock,

The boys make their assessment.

They jump out of the boat

Swim to the shore,

Climb the path

And leap,

One at a time,

Into the refreshing water

In the cool of the evening.

They are elated with the joy of the jump

And their successful passage.

They go back up and jump again,

And again,

And again.

Tired and happy they scramble back aboard

Heads held very high!