Episode, The First
We’ve been “going up to Cheney” for thirty years. I don’t think we’ve ever missed a summer.
Cheney Lake is located in the barrens just northwest of Barnes. Google maps will take you to the lake, we found out, on the narrowest sandy trails, through the bramble and hazel bush. Elv said we were getting Cheney Lake pin stripes on the Jeep. Actually, we took the familiar trail out when we left, then.
The boys played in the water and in the sand while we grilled brats for supper.
We watched the sunset, and found jackets as dusk settled around us. I heard a woodcock nearby and got up to find it. I really wanted to watch its weird dance walking. Apparently I got too close for comfort and it flew up almost underfoot out of the brush, flapping past my ear and away up the shore line.
I always hold out about going home. “Let’s stay till the whippoorwill sings, please?”
But the little boys were getting cold and tired, so Lances decided not to wait any longer. Suddenly it was quiet and complete night fall.
We could still hear their pickup leaving down the trail when the whippoorwills began to call. I texted Kristine right away that they’d just missed it.
The evening ended perfectly. We carried the feeling all the way home an hour away. Of moonlit nightfall, fish splashing on the lake surface, the calls of the night birds, and the soft breathing of the pines as the darkness deepened.
Stone House Scribblings 
I can feel and hear it. Good memories. We’ll have to go again when we come up. -Jenny