Bring in the boats and the oars

When I was a little boy, my Aunt Louise and her husband, Uncle Al, were partners in a resort on Bangs Lake, northwest of the City of Chicago.  My sister and I were lucky enough to spend most of the Summer at Shady Crest, in exchange for doing chores around the place; cleaning seaweed off the beach every morning, setting the oars out for the boats and setting the boats out in the water, tied to the pier.  Once done with morning chores, we were free to roam and run - by the end of the Summer I was brown as a nut and my hair had been bleached white by the sun.

The Summers SEEMED endless but they all did, eventually, come to and end.

At Labor Day.

That weekend - that last weekend of the Summer Season - the cabins would all be full, the last barbecues would be held, and that last Monday morning we would drag the boats up to the storage shed and stack them against the wall and lock them away for the coming Winter. 

That day, we'd go home in Aunt Louise's Jeep.  School would start soon after, but it took a long time for the memories and the tan to fade.

Time to bring in the boats and oars.

Ndinombethe.