Tell Me a Story about … a Lane!

Let’s take a stroll down memory lane … or at least down the memories of a certain lane, the one leading from the main road to the cabin we call camp.

Dirt or grassy lanes draw me, entice me to follow them. Deer trails, hiking paths, even lawn mower tracks say, “Come see where I go!” But I know exactly where the lane to the cabin goes—my heaven on earth.

No matter how old I get, the thrill of watching as we round the 8-20-18 Bbends in the road from Galeton, PA, toward camp never lessens. I inch forward on the seat, straining against the seatbelt, picturing the final turn. There it is! The farm where the owner lives and the barn where he used to milk his cows in days gone by. (I would watch the owner’s kids bring the cows from the pasture, across the creek, and down the lane to the barn, only to repeat it the next morning in reverse.) The lane, tucked between the two buildings, never changes, except from rutted and dusty in the hottest months to rutted and muddy from recent rain showers.

8-20-18 ARounding the first corner, we come to a one-lane wooden bridge. I close my eyes and bring back the times when, as youths, my brothers or I would get out of the car to unhook and re-hook the chains across the entrance and exit of the bridge, although we could never understand why they needed a chain stretched across both ends of a one-car-length bridge. Today, no chains bar the way, but the ghosts of them clank in my mind as we cross.

I’m now almost bouncing in my seat like a toddler on a jumping horse. Another few yards and I’ll be able to see the cabin! There’s the other camp on the right which never has any vacationers, but where we once saw a bear digging in the rusty burn barrel in plain daylight. My mom had wound her window down to talk to him … until he advanced toward the car. Wow, could she ever wind up a window fast! Good thing it wasn’t one of those slow-moving automatic jobs, right?

“We’re here! We’re here!” Echoes of our joyous cries from childhood mingle with today’s yaps of our dog as he catches onto my excitement, not really understanding it, but knowing it must be something fun. And oh, how right he is. But it’s also so much more—it’s family, it’s home, it’s8-20-18 E (2) heaven—even if it’s only for a week.

We pull up in front of the porch and I push at the car door, wondering why it won’t open, then laughing at myself for not pulling on the handle first. The first gurgling of the creek hits my ears, the first musty scent from the open cabin door fills my nose and my memories, taking me back to the days of my youth, when four scrambling dogs, three wild kids, and two grateful parents poured from the side doors and back hatch of our loaded-down-and-overflowing station wagon.

We’re here! The end of the lane—but not the end of the memories, not when we make new ones each time we drive back this particular memory lane.

*** Where has a lane led you in your life? Tell us about it! Click on the words beside the date of this post. Scroll down to the box with the heading, “Leave a reply.” Thank you for sharing!

*** Next week’s post sports one of my favorite photos our photographer daughter has taken!


2 thoughts on “Tell Me a Story about … a Lane!

  1. I’ve never been sure what the differences are between lanes, roads, streets, avenues, drives, etc. But the first “street” I lived on was a “lane” Brummitt Lane. I think of lanes as being smaller and quieter, less travelled. Last night I was watching Paul McCartney driving around Liverpool with James Cordon and they stopped to take a selfie of themselves in front of the sign that said “Penny Lane”. But when you described the anticipation you felt as you drove down the lane and across the bridge, edging closer and closer to your dream cabin, a memory did flash in my mind too. It was called a lane though. It was Maroon Creek Road in Aspen, Colorado. This road leads to the Maroon Bells, three beautiful mountain peaks. I saw it first on a church bulletin and could not stop thinking about them. I wanted to see them one day. It was an impossible dream. I didn’t even know where they were or if they were even in this country! I did some research and this was before Google! I checked books out of the library on Colorado. My thought was that if they WERE in the U.S., I’d guess they might be in Colorado. I finally found them and yes, they were in Colorado! It’s a long story how I finally got there, but just 9 months later my three boys and I were on a tour bus heading down Maroon Creek Road. Seven miles of a winding road. Then it happened. We rounded one last curve of the road and boom, there they were! Larger than life. Towering over us. They were real! And we were really there!!! My heart was pounding. It was surreal. What moved me even more than getting to see the bells, was getting to see it with my kids and to make that memory with them they could hold to after I was gone. Mostly of all, though, it was knowing Who had made a way for me to come. God had planted the dream in my heart that day with the church bulletin and then He brought me there to see it. He loved me so much He did this for me when He wouldn’t have had to. I’ll always be grateful for that experience and the sweet curvy lane through the mountains that brought me there 🙂

    Thanks, as always for the memories!!

    — Leafy 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Wow, Leafy, what a testimony to God’s goodness and grace in our lives! And to your tenacity and initiative! I love that you checked out library books and researched until you found the Bells! What a way to plan and make your dreams come true! The closest I can come to that type of character is maybe from our homeschool days. I loved teaching so much and was determined to do the best job I could. I researched, also without the internet, every subject we did in our unit studies, designing my own curriculum, finding our reading materials, creating our projects, finding the materials we’d need, and implementing the study skills necessary to have the most fun with the most education. It was the very best time of my life, and I’m forever grateful to the Lord for letting me do it and guiding me every step of the way. I’m not like many homeschoolers. When they ask what I did on the bad days, I say, “What bad days?” I seriously didn’t have them. Maybe a struggle or two now and then, but easily solved by changing strategies or subjects or scenery. (Homeschool at the closest state park was a blessing to us all!) Thank you for sharing your memories, too! Blessings!


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