Don't Duck

It happened at the Bud Zone. The duck just disappeared. The Bud Zone is our little cabin built out over the water on Lake Jacksonville and the Farmer family’s favorite hang out. It was while James and I were sitting on the deck basking in our grandparent role. We were just relaxing as our kids chased their kids and had to deal with the constant anxiety of trying to keep them all fed, happy, and safe. The ice cream freezer was straining and almost ready for attention, the grandkids were feeding the multitude of ducks, and the smell of grilled hamburgers was still lingering in the air. Then, one of the ducks vanished right before our eyes. We blinked, all wondering if we were seeing things. A moment later Bud’s head popped up and so did a mad, quacking, feather flailing duck. After quietly entering the lake by the shoreline, Bud swam under the duck, grabbed its feet and plucked it under water proving to his cousin that it was indeed possible to catch a duck. I can’t think of the story without shaking my head and laughing out loud. I ready myself for the onslaught of memories that occur when I think of the lake. The memories fill my brain so rapidly that it is almost hard to decipher that they stem not just from my life with James and my kids, but extend back to include my own childhood as well. All of the memories, past and present, seem to be the feel good kind. The most magical part of my marriage must have its roots at the lake, for it is there that I feel closest to James and the memories are still so real. The only place James ever built and would not sell was the Bud Zone. Did he know that we would need it as our family refuge? It is still a major part of our lives today. It houses memories of ducks and kids and food and fun. Although I miss James more when I am on the lake and in the Zone than anywhere else in the world, it is there where I find the most peace. Because it is difficult for any negative emotions to take root when I am by the water, I am certain that the Bud Zone is a sure catalyst for happiness. As I lay there alone at night it is easy to focus on the beautiful woodwork in the little cabin and think of the happy times in my life. As the light of the moon spills through the perfectly placed windows, it is evident that James left his family a safe harbor. We can come here and feel whole again as we continue our lives without him. It is a safe place for me and for my kids and their families. It is a place where our Sunday lunches feel good. It is a place for our friends, who come from all different walks of life, to feel comfortable. It is a place for new life to thrive and tired minds to recharge and broken hearts to mend. It is a safe place to grow stronger. The only ones that may be in peril at the Bud Zone, it seems, are the ducks.

It is not just ducks that trigger these memories of life on Lake Jacksonville. My brother Pat came to take me to lunch a few weeks back. As he picked me up, he waited to see my reaction as I noticed his shoes. I don’t think I disappointed him. When I saw his navy blue deck shoes, my immediate reaction was a huge smile and a clear picture of Papa at the lake wearing the very same type of shoes. The memories came faster and faster during our lunch. Most prominent were the memories of the barge that Papa loved. We would spend the weekend at the lake and rarely would any of that time be spent indoors. The barge had 8 barrels that served as pontoons and a top deck to help accommodate our vast numbers. The five younger Swansons would sit at the front of the barge. Our legs would be pushed through the square holes in the fencing that encased the entire boat. We could let our legs drag in the water and cause splashes to spray the other passengers on board. Behind the barge, several kids would be on inner tubes as they tried to out-do one another with dare devils feats. Some of the older kids and their friends were usually on the top deck of the barge just being teenagers. Life was good as Papa grilled hamburgers while we slowly cruised around the lake. What a great way to have everyone rounded up and corralled for a time. Papa would come home from work, put on those deck shoes, and off we would go! I am sure that we were quite a sight, though I did not think about it at the time. I just thought that this was the norm. Twenty to twenty five people on a homemade pontoon boat, slowly puttering around the lake; complete with orange life jackets, food, friends, and a freezer of ice cream.

It was on this lake that Randy met his future wife Mary Claudia at her lake cabin. It was on these waters that I learned to ski. It was here, too, that my sister Sallie learned to ski behind James’ old fishing boat. I can still hear him telling her, “feet together, knees bent, don’t pull back!” If he said it once, he said it 500 times. Just last year, Sallie brought her kids to Randy and Mary Claudia’s lake house to learn to ski as the cycle continued. The world righted just a little as I heard her issue to her kids the constant mantra of “feet together, knees bent, don’t pull back!” It wasn’t the first time that we all clapped and carried on as another child was pulled around the little lake. Bud had been wakeboarding behind jet skis and other people’s boats for a long time. After school one day, Bud and I arrived home to find a note that James left us on the counter instructing us to come out to the Bud Zone. Bud’s excitement grew as we neared the lake. He was almost certain that his dad had a boat waiting. Thinking that there was not much chance of that being in our budget, I kept trying to prepare him that the likelihood of that being the surprise was not very great. We drove up and there was the blue boat. James was already on a pedestal for his son, but the platform was raised just a little at this sight. Did James know that time was short? How grateful I am that those two became best buddies on the lake. What a picture the two of them made as they manipulated and welded and became MacGyvers in their constant mission to transform the blue boat into a wakeboarding machine. They inspired each other and formed a bond on the water that I am not sure many people experience in their lifetime. Bud took skiing just a step farther as he continued to gain momentum on the wakeboard. People on the lake follow him around as he performs acrobatics that seem to defy gravity. Even today he stays on the water on a daily basis and I am certain that as he flies through the air, he feels an extra pair of wings.

When my family moved from Navasota, Texas, to Jacksonville, Texas, we lived on the lake in a one bedroom house for a while. From the wall of bunk beds on the screened porch, it was comforting to watch the moon rise as its rays glistened on the water. The night sounds, familiar only to a lake, lulled the herd of people to sleep. That, or we were just plain exhausted from the activities of the day. By day, there were places to explore, grapevines to swing on, and people to visit. Mr. Arnett was always out fishing on the pier beside our house and I wonder now how he ever caught a thing with our constant interruptions. If we weren’t plaguing him with questions about the worms on the hook, then we were careening down the trolley that went from our house at the top of the hill all the way down to the lake. Our “dropping point” was in the water right beside the Arnett pier. Besides swimming, we built log cabins out of the pine trees and scoured the creeks that fed the lake for the Indians of Cherokee County. My brothers loved to go fishing and although I could not stand to see the minnows and worms serve as bait for the fish, I loved to go with Papa to Brinkley’s Bait shop. Even during the fall and winter months, the lake was fun. I know that Jiffy Pop pop corn must have tasted better at the lake as we shook it to cook it over the fire in the fireplace. I am certain that campfires just had to burn brighter by the water. I always heard others talking about the colors that exploded from the trees surrounding Lake Jacksonville in the fall. Was it not until I had my own kids that I fully understood the true beauty of these colors? It seemed only natural that the first home James ever built for us was on this lake. My kids all grew up knowing the same pleasures of the smell of pine trees, put together barges, and the stereo sounds of firecrackers on the Fourth of July. I hope that they have now reached the age where all of the colors have come into focus. As they learn to appreciate all of the beauty that surrounds them, it will be then that they will want to keep passing it along.

I moved to Austin a little over a year ago. Each time that I head back home to see my kids I grow a little anxious and without fail my eyes start their incessant leakage when I see the lake. I know it is coming and I am powerless, it seems, to make them stop. I have tried to analyze the reasons why the tears are so free when I am there. It is thinking of inner tubes and helicopters hovering over the water. It is a blue boat, and a make shift barge and Bud teaching his dad to wakeboard. It is homemade ice cream and orange life jackets. It is Alyssa being plucked out of the water. It is James Farmer homes surrounding the lake. It is seeing the look on my grandson’s face as he catches his first fish. It is watching the next generation learn to swim. It is happy memories and an aching for the need to make more. I am anticipating my next trip home tomorrow and the lake is already calling my name. The water is healing. Since James’ death I have visited many bodies of water. The beauty of Kauai is beyond words and the power of the water is overwhelming. There is magic in the hidden waterfalls and scenery at Austin’s Lake Travis. I have walked along Laguna Beach in California and felt small as I consider the vastness that extends beyond my sight. The Zilker Hike and Bike Trails in Austin would not be nearly so compelling without being able to watch the canoes and kayaks as you make your way around Town Lake. But, when I am around these masses of water, I do not cry. It is not just the water that holds the potential to heal. When the duck disappeared at the Bud Zone many years ago, he came up fighting and mad and wanting to find his peace again. When James vanished just as suddenly as that duck seemed to do, I felt as though I disappeared along with him. It is on Lake Jacksonville where I find myself trying to surface, my feathers flapping and my spirit fighting. I am hanging on to the memories there for, though they are painful at times, they give me the power to hold up my head and try to breathe. It took a while for the duck to settle down and for his world to feel right again. But, the duck did settle down. And he felt good as he started swimming again. It was then that we were all able to smile.