History thoughts began with my morning drive to a Bible study. Starting to drive over our hill to the lake ‘cabins’ below the hill. Nice road, paved a number of decades ago. Before the pavement, the drive was quiet and the lake had about 500 feet or more between each cabin. First was the WWII surplus Quonset hut that had snapping turtle shells arranged on the garage. A garland of them. Nice folks with an artesian spring who’s outlet went under the road, down to the lake shore and kept a stock tank going all year filled with healthy fishing minnows.

The next cabin down the road was old and had a little outhouse next to it. There wasn’t anything for hundreds of feet until just before the bridge there was an old Ma and Pa ‘resort’ with four red cabins. Another few hundred feet down was an old farmhouse on a hill with butternut trees. Butternut hill. A ways down was another small cabin and that was about it.

The snapping turtle folks had a dock and the resort had one too. Things have changed a bit in the last half century or so. Another dozen homes and as many docks are there and along with it a lot of chained gates on the driveways. Another new road to the east and one going south to the public landing with about twenty more homes.

The two lakes, big and little Trade, connected with the bridge, were pretty decent fishing lakes and the water was clear. Today the smaller lake is surrounded with new houses, some of them with multiple chimneys and three new roads.

The flat bottom boats or the ‘newer’ aluminum V hulls with small motors have been replaced with pontoons and 500 horsepower Japanese engines on low gunnel bass boats. There are still some fish here and there and the water is all green and weedy. It seems that all those incredibly powerful motors churn up the bottom of the lake. Something about releasing phosphorus that hangs out at the bottom for a while.

There is also a fascinating invention called a Jet-Ski that holds one person, goes incredibly fast and all the loons and fish are a bit disturbed about it. Very loud they are. Sort of sounds like a 57 Chevy with a hot engine and straight exhaust pipes. Going around and around an old flat bottom fishing boat with gaiety and huge waves. The boat attempts to surf much like I did in California with storm surf.

At least there are no dangers of jelly fish although the boat could ‘pearl’ (that’s when the front end of your board goes under the wave a bit) I did that once and a jelly fish slid under my surprised jump and went off behind me. Their boat now could take on a bit of water and cause the the gunnels to get a bit closer to the surface.

The noise on the weekends gives the impression that a small highway is just over the hill and the evening fireworks are competing with thunder from huge pickups towing boats. A lot of the new folks are pretty friendly and know our outfit on the fringe of the lake. They buy eggs from us now and then. One of them remarked about our old style home with the blue fan wood sunrise trim above the gables and porch. A few upgrades over the last 30 years or so. One comment was intriguing. “It’s too bad it’s not closer to the road so you could see it!” One fifth of a mile is close enough for us.

Everyone knows these things. It’s the illusion of progress. The dodge em’ cars are fast and some are electric. Go fast, pass everyone and get ahead for some reason. An anachronism song from my past comes to mind as I drive our old Ford Ranger and I sing, “Forty miles an hour is a good speed to go” Besides that, if I go any faster, the now empty garbage can in the bed will fly out. Just a trip to the village recycling and home again to our flashy old home that inspires somehow. Nice place, some wish it were theirs to own and be seen.

As an old friend once said on his radio show: “That’s all the news from Lake Wobegon” It’s pretty good. Jack