Page 1 of Summer Camp with the Mountain Man

ONE

Cade

After twenty long years, breathing in the mountain air blowing across the water solidifies what I’ve always known; Cedar Spring Lake is home.

The sound of cicadas buzzing incessantly is almost loud enough to overpower the jet skis and speedboats zipping across the lake. Its surface glimmers in the sunlight, diamond encrusted waves lapping at the rocky shore. When I think of summer, this is what I picture.

Okay how long can that cicada go? Doesn’t he need to stop to breathe? No one’s answering him so I’m guessing the lady cicadas find his song just as annoying. Unless, is he hitting on the jet ski zigging and zagging its way across the lake. Good for him if its working but man would those be some funny looking children.

Is it wrong of me to hope the heavily advertised lake monster’s diet consists of nothing but noisy insects? I’ve seen that thing’s likeness all over town. When we used to come here as a family, Springy was something locals whispered about, now he’s got a hot dog named after him. A hot dog so delicious I’m standing in line again before the copious amount of bbq sauce that dribbled on my shirt has had a chance to dry.

The pier is exactly how I remember, like my dreams somehow accurately preserved a hazy childhood memory. I haven’t been here since I was ten but I swear nothing’s changed, and I couldn’t be happier.

Whenever I’m lucky enough to work on a lake, I always pretend it’s this one. Not that any of them are all that different. Same shoreside towns powered by tourists, full of gift shops and ice cream parlors. Is it me or are the souvenirs all the same with a different lake name printed on?

Something about this specific lake has always felt like home to me, despite only being here two weeks out of the year. I can’t quite see the little island my father’s family owns but I’m hoping to paddle out to it sometime soon.

The other half of me is wondering if coming to Cedar Spring Lake was a mistake. What if he’s out there with some new family, one he won’t abandon like they never existed? Would a birthday card be too much to ask for?

I take a seat at the furthest bench, Springy Dog in hand, as far out as the pier reaches, but still no luck. The island is just out of view.

“Trying to see if the mermaids are out sunbathing?”

The soft voice startles me, I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone out here. Except, I am alone. This has always been the quiet part of the dock, away from the pop-up shops and food stands that draw the crowds. There’s no one here but me.

“Springy?” I ask cautiously, checking the gaps between boards for a lake monster below.

For a mythological aquatic creature, it sure does have a pretty laugh.

An auburn head of hair with the most beautiful face beneath it pops up from the edge of the dock, giving me a little wave. Her eyes could be straight out of the sketchbook of a Disney artist, glistening in the sun like chestnuts coated in a thin layer of ice.

A small spattering of the faintest freckles decorate the bridge of her nose like they were intentionally placed there. I bet sunglasses fight to the death over who gets to call that exact location home. I’m considering stepping into the coliseum myself for a chance to be that close to her face. How hard could it be to kick a bunch of sunglasses asses?

“Sorry to disappoint, just a gal and her French fries,” she says with a sigh aimed at the cardboard tray in her hand. “Wishing they were another Springy Dog. I always get carried away and finish it first. Don’t get me wrong, the fries are good but not last bite of the meal good. You want my spot? I should really get back to work.”

“No thanks. You’re either standing on a paddle board or walking on water, neither of which I’m talented enough to do. At least not while eating. Am I crazy or did you say you were watching mermaids sunbathe? What kind of magic did they put in this lake?”

“Not real mermaids, not with Springy here. This lake ain’t big enough for the both of them,” she drawls like a cowboy, adjusting her imaginary hat before spitting a mouthful of chew at a passing tumbleweed. “The mythical girls on the island. Sorry, I thought you were a local which would have made my joke funnier. Tourists don’t usually venture this far out on the pier, too far from the nearest giftshop.”

“Tell me about it, I wanted to stand over there but that’d put me too far from the closest souvenir so I had to settle for this bench. I can feel the gravitational pull tugging me back though. Must. buy. Cedar Spring Lake. wave board. with palm tree on it.”

“Sir, are you implying there are no palm trees in the mountains of New Hampshire, and that a wave board could somehow be mass produced with different tourist destinations printed on it?”

“You’re right, that seems unlikely. I’m sure there’s a palm tree on one of these peninsulas. I’m honored you thought I was a local.”

“You should be. It’s not often I’m fooled. All this time away must have me losing my touch. Or worse, if I’m only here during the summer, does that make me… a tourist?” she asks, gagging on the word like it might shred her tongue.

“Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it sounds. We’ve always got room on our team for one more. Though, looking at that crowd back there, we might have a full roster.”

“Luckily, you might not need to make room on the bench for me. I’ve got a feeling I won’t have a job come September and I’ll be back here for good, home sweet home.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry,” I say, shuffling to the edge of the dock where it turns out she’s sitting on a small platform just above the water, not floating on it like I assumed. “Hey, at least there’s worse places to come home to. Your job getting replaced by robots?”

“Not yet. But if they consolidate these schools much more, they’re gonna need to start teaching kids in old shopping malls. I’m figuring the robots will have replaced us by then though. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind coming back to Cedar Spring and running the family business, had my parents not run it into the ground. Speak of the devil,” she says, checking her phone.

It’s not like me to wish a conversation wasn’t ending. Normally, I can’t get away from people fast enough. I deal with my crew all day, when I’m not instructing them what to do on site, I’d rather not be speaking to anyone.

I almost faked a reason not to show up at the family reunion. Why’d I mention Cedar Spring when our original campground in the Adirondacks fell through? I can’t fake a work emergency out of town when this is the town I’m currently working in. I should have let the whole thing fall through and enjoyed my sanity.