Go ahead and fish; I'll knit.

I did not accompany my Parents on their vacation during the first summer after I was born. I was too small to travel, and I suspect my Parents wanted to get away from their daily routine.

I did join them the following two years on month-long vacations to Canada and to Michigan's Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. But I have little memory of those trips. The latter vacation sets off some glimmers of familiarity because my Dad bought a pink, satin tiara for me there as a souvenir. I also remember the Sleeping Bear Dunes rental cottage. It was small, and its exterior had been painted in a peculiar, mint-green shade.

The first vacation about which I have clear memories is the trip we made to Lac du Flambeau, Wisconsin. I was disappointed that there wasn't a "real" beach on the lake. Our cottage stood on a small bluff. To reach the water, we had to climb down steep stairs and then walk along a narrow dock. The lake bottom was muddy and unpleasant. Every time I stepped out of the water, leeches covered my toes. The blood sent me into a panic. But our cottage sat near a lodge owned by a lovely, older couple. They had a Springer Spaniel, and they permitted me to play with the dog. The lake had beautiful waterlilies. When we took a ride in our rental dinghy, my Mom allowed me to clip the flowers from the water and put them in my hair. I also took my first airplane ride during that vacation; my Parents treated us to a sightseeing flight over the lake and surrounding forests.

Lac du Flambeau also is the place where I first learned to fish.

Lac du Flambeau, Wisconsin, July 1962. I have caught a "pan fish." Do you like my striped trousers?

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Lac du Flambeau, Wisconsin, July 1962. Mom knits on the dock.