I was turning sixteen that summer. My dad had sold our little home. He put our furniture in storage and we moved to my grandparents cottage at the lake while waiting to take possession of our new home on Main St….the brick house where George and I were married three summers later.
It was a magical summer, being at the lake. Waking up to the sound of the wind in the willows and the water lapping the shore. We had cookouts and picnic dinners, card games and naps on the porch. Walks down the lane to pick black caps for jam and pies. Being sixteen, full of dreams.
The quiet of being at the lake….an occasional motorboat, the sound of kids down on the beach at play, the occasional call of crows and blue jays. There was a phone on the kitchen wall, but it was a party line. I had a little radio to keep up with the Top 40 hits. And in the livingroom was a little black and white TV with a grainy picture and rabbit-ear antennas. There was always so much to do so it was rarely turned on.
But I remember this date 40 years ago…..sitting on the couch at the cottage, adjusting and readjusting the antenna so that we could get the best picture as we watched the lunar landing. I remember my grandfather watching along with me, hearing “the Eagle has landed”…..and knowing it was a phenomenal day.
For the remainder of the summer, as I looked out at the moon over the water, I tried to imagine a man walking there….tried to imagine a U.S. flag still flying there.
It was a summer like no other…..perfect for a sixteen year old, full of dreams.