This thanksgiving has been very... tearful. Since moving here, I have never felt as though I were missing out or felt homesick at all. Today was really hard. Not because it is thanksgiving necessarily, but because today I had to say goodbye to a huge part of my childhood. As many of you may know, my dad and his brother bought their childhood home on Sproat Lake when my grandmother no longer could manage it. It has been the greatest adventure, and provided some of the brightest most sunlight memories for me, my siblings, cousins, and all the dear friends who got to spend time there with us. I can't speak for them, I can hardly speak for myself, but I need to try and write down some of what I'm feeling today.
At the end of August we received an offer on the lakehouse, and it was accepted a month ago.
Gratitude is a hard thing. We have known this was coming for years, but now that it is here, I still find myself unprepared. I really feel like the lake house was one of the last substantial things tethering me to childhood. Most of my favourite memories are based in and around that place. So today, on thanksgivings day, I am grateful for cousins and siblings becoming my heroes and best friends. My brother Craig said it best "The house was sticks and stones. But it also provided a framework for our relationships" We did all the magical things of childhood here, spent sunlit hours playing cards, swimming, exploring and getting into mischief. These memories are mine, and they're precious, I will guard them fiercely... but I am grateful that they are not only mine. They are mine, and my sister's and my brother's. They are my parents and my cousins. They are private and communal, and there is strength in numbers. Memory is too fickle not to share. And in our memories the lake house is always there. Always the fog is on the lake in the morning, and the stiff wind in late afternoon. The cards are always ready, and depending on the season, the fire is lit or the lake awaiting.