It began, I suppose, many years ago when we first lived in Michigan and Uncle John and I -- and occasionally a somewhat puzzled and puzzling Peter Moll, would spend quality time in the large garden where I searched out the best -- the smallest -- of cucumbers to make my dill pickles. But even after we moved out East, every time we would visit Grand Rapids a trip to Clear Lake was always on our to-do list. We didn't always get there but just knowing it was there was somehow soothing.
In those final few years in Rhode Island, Clear Lake became a refuge from the noise, dirt and grit of Providence, a place to spend time not just losing oneself in that wonderful green ribbon around a lake that was truly made of clear water; it was also a place to reconnect with family who have become good friends over these many years.
And it's not just family but old neighbors from Giddings Street or friends of family who are always welcome out at "the lake." And so it was this past Fourth of July holiday. . .
|Susie's mom Bernice|
|the French Tarte herself|
|a visitor from Philadelphia|
|Uncle John and Susie|
|Grandfather and granddaughter|
|a day at the lake|