I have traveled to many places in the USA and around the world. I’ve seen the soft heather-covered highlands of Scotland, and the splendid golden Palace of Versailles; the immense structure of the Eiffel Tower, and the lights of Piccadilly Circus. I’ve seen the tranquil turquoise water of Cancun on the Caribbean Sea, and the startling beauty of a sunset over vast open spaces in south Texas. I’ve experienced the bustling city of Brussels in Belgium, and meandered along the peaceful St. John River in New Brunswick. I’ve dug my toes into white sand on the south shore of Prince Edward Island and into red sand on the north shore. I’ve traveled to or through twenty-two different states, but the most beautiful place on earth to me is a certain paint-worn camp in a cove on Messalonskee Lake in Oakland, Maine.
Built by my great-grandfather about 1927 it is surrounded by ancient pines that tower 70’ over the camp buildings. The beauty of this place is found in the charming drape of memories of years past: Mom sitting outside at the picnic table tole painting a wastebasket or a lamp shade, two pre-teen friends sitting on a rock on the point that juts out from one side of the cove, singing their lungs out to the music pulsing from the public beach juke box across the pond, siblings racing each other down the packed dirt camp road to the train tracks at the first sound of a train whistle to wave to the man in the caboose, the whole family in PJ’s curled up in various rattan or wooden rocking chairs listening to Mom read Around the World in 80 Days, a 4” thick carpet of rusty colored pine needles, wild blueberries, early morning dips while the mist rose off the surface of the crystal-smooth lake.
New memories add richness and texture to the drape: a grandson playing in the water with blue and green foam noodles, solitary loon calls echoing off the rocky shores, showing old movies on a sheet tacked up to a beam on the porch, laughing over my son-in-law’s fall from grace as he collapses in an old pink chaise lounge chair onto the dock, catching 3” sunfish and 12” pickerel, a large family of ducks skirting the edge of the pond looking for the best place to stop and bob for a snack, voices traveling across the lake by the light of a full moon, a lone bald eagle perched high up on the tip of a pine scouting for his next meal.
You can have the world, but give me Cozy Cove Camp; it’s the most beautiful place in the world.
Day 3 of the Twelve Days of Writing prompt: Describe the most beautiful place in the world.
12/14/11 446 words
