Best of the Cheerful Oncologist - Footsteps

[Editor's note: The C. O. is jetting off to New York for the weekend (just one week before the big ScienceBloggers get-together - so much for timely planning). To kill time he asked us to reprint this little reflection, written on July 24, 2005 while he was vacationing Up North. So while he visits some of the Big Apple's world famous attractions (without his laptop, alas) we give you this fluff.]

Five generations of my family have summered up here in the northern aspen and beech forests. Strolling around the sparse, loamy grass, or lounging by the water under the soft shade of the pines, the mind drifts and imagination begins to replay scenes from summers long forgotten. On the lake I can see men in ironed white shirts rowing wooden boats across the bay. As they pull onto shore children in shorts and suspenders rush to greet them and drag quivering bundles of fish, too heavy to lift, across the sand.

Up next to the log cabin a patch of grass conceals an ancient pit, once filled with blocks of ice cut during dim winter afternoons and buried deep under the snow until the change of seasons brings a caravan of dusty cars, straw hats and grease-smeared aprons back to the lake. I see my great-grandfather lift a hefty, steaming cube out of the earth and place it on the back of a horse-drawn wagon, wiping off sawdust with a red rag.

Sounds skim across the lake into the surrounding trees like bells ringing in a mountain valley. Distant voices radiate from the fish house at the water's edge, above the ribbon of chimney smoke twisting in the breeze, from the gnarled nets hanging on hooks outside the cabin. I hear shouts from trees cracking under the saw, squeals from cold water on young skin and best of all, rich peals of laughter.

Meandering around the shore, my footsteps press on others left long ago. As they sink into the sand they leave their own impression on the drift of memories stored here, now buried forever with those from people who came here to work and dream under the silky clouds.