Eagle River Dreams
Submitted to Wisconsin Regional Writers' Association's Al P. Nelson Feature Writing Contest. Placed third.
I’ve always dreamed of moving to Eagle River – buying a house, filling it with cats and living my life alone. This particular dream (usually preceded by a bad relationship) has gotten me through many difficult times. Planning for my big move always calmed my nerves, made me feel powerful, and distracted me from my problems.
My family has vacationed in the small town of Eagle River for two decades and it seemed safer, friendlier, and happier than the big city. It’s the whole white picket fence, unlocked doors, living on a lake fantasy. I planned on growing flowers and vegetables. No one would ever be able to hurt me again. Every day in the Great North Woods (of which Eagle River is a part) is like being on vacation. Not even rain can ruin the day because everyone needs a day once in a while to lie back on the sofa and listen to raindrops pounding on the roof.
I would make my living as a freelance writer, dependent only on myself with no one dependent on me. Well, except for the cats, but all they require is food, water and a warm lap. Cats are rarely manic-depressive, they never blacken your eye, and hardly ever cheat on you. Every time something bad happened in my real world, Eagle River was always a magical place in my mind to which I could retreat.
Would I still feel that way if I lived there? I’m pretty sure working in my bathrobe, sitting at a desk in my spare bedroom with a cat on my lap, would be heaven. I am awed by the sheer wonder of seeing loons, eagles, and ducks right outside my back door. Even rumors of fox and bear only add to the town’s mysteriousness. There’s just something soothing about surrounding yourself with nature. You have no choice but to live in harmony with twelve feet of snow, deer eating from your garden, and sand flies hovering on the side of the road. Beautiful sunsets glittering over the lakes are a breathtaking way to end the day. How many sunsets do city dwellers see? Do they really see the dramatic contrast of black, leafless trees against the purple, red, orange and pinks spread across the horizon?
And how can you compare a long, winding, single lane road nestled securely in the middle of the forest with bumper-to-bumper traffic on an asphalted, 6-lane expressway? The country road holds the pleasures of sunshine streaming through the trees. If you’re especially lucky, you’ll see a deer silently watching you pass. The expressway holds the depression of a century old city in varying stages of decay and rejuvenation. Smoke billows up into the sky on one side and a jackhammer assaults the concrete on the other.
My grandmother, who has lived in Eagle River with my grandfather for fifteen years, sometimes misses the beauty. In the beginning she saw it, but now she sees what’s lacking from the big city. While small towns have family doctors, specialists are often a road trip away. There aren’t any malls and only one large department store. Prices skyrocket during tourist season, making Grandma irritable about spending ridiculous amounts of her fixed income for things like milk and toilet paper.
They live far enough back in the woods that when the snow hits, it can take two or three days for the plows to get around to digging them out. Grandpa is always puttering around with something, but there’s only so much baking Grandma can bear to do. She would prefer to be free to drive around visiting the family and friends she left behind. It pains her to be away from us as we plan weddings, battle loneliness caused by difficult break-ups, purchase homes, and graduate from colleges. She wishes she could be here to watch her great-grandchildren grow up.
The deterioration in her health screams at me whenever I see her. It seems like overnight this woman I had never believed would age, now looks all of her 78 years. They say you’re only as old as you feel — I think Grandma is feeling her age. Some people may say her behavior is normal for a woman in her 70’s, but I’m not convinced. How much of it is her health and how much of it is the isolation of The Great North Woods pushing her down the other side of the hill? Something has stolen the skip from her step. Her grandchildren and great-grandchildren are too far away to keep her feeling young and vibrant. It’s painful and frightening to watch. She and Grandpa talked about moving back to the city to be near us, but the thought of moving is scary and exhausting for them. What started out as a beautiful retirement spot has rotted away into a cave from which grandma’s screams can’t always be heard.
I appreciate how Grandma feels. I spent six months living in Florida, away from my family and friends; everything I knew. While I was gone, one of my friends had a baby, one got engaged, and one turned 21. I came back home. Maybe that makes Grandma stronger than me. Maybe not.
Whenever my dreams take me to my cat filled house in Eagle River, I think about Grandma. I always end up deciding it’s probably a better place to visit than to live. It was Grandpa’s dream to live on a lake and I wonder if it was a dream better left in the cloudy mist of the mind. It’s part of what keeps me from making good on my own dream.
It always seemed to me people move more slowly in small towns. Everyone knows and cares about the others. They seem more relaxed and happier than their city dwelling counterparts. But then again, maybe I’m only seeing what I want to see.
Maybe it’s not about getting away from the city, but finding the small town inside the city. How many city folk notice the cattails swaying in the breeze alongside the on-ramp to the expressway? How many notice the Cardinal sitting in a tree outside their office window?
Maybe it’s time we start.
