People around Lake of the Sky called him a crazy old man, but his name was Henry Addison. Folks said that he was crazy, because he had wasted his life on an impossible quest, when he could have been making a place for himself in the world. They said that his explanation, about why he kept watch on a certain parcel of property near the lake, was another indication that he was crazy.
Most people never took the time or put in the effort to get to know Henry, if they had they might have had seen him in a different light. If you ask me, Henry was no crazier than you or I. Oh, his story was strange, you might even say it was weird, but from the day I first heard it, I've held a deep down conviction that it actually happened. Strange are the workings of this universe, and that which is impossible one day, turns out to be accepted fact the next. When all is said and done, modern man's knowledge, of the some things in this world, is very limited, and when those things manifest themselves, we tend to deny the facts. Henry Addison was not one to deny the facts, however strange they were. Then again, he had good reason not to deny them.
Whenever the winter wind blows wild, shaking the windows with powerful gusts and filling all the sky with snow, I think back to the last time I saw Henry. I remember the look on his face. Watching the snow, I think about his story and his lifelong quest. For I last saw Henry Addison, on a stormy winter night at Lake of the Sky, and when I left him my mind was filled with amazement, and my heart was filled with joy.
It was over a year ago, when I first met the man. I had sought out sanctuary at Lake of the Sky, from the wounds of a painful divorce. The provisions of the divorce called for the equal division of all the assets, which my wife and I jointly owned. Luckily, we had no children, so the issue concerned our house, our business, and our savings. In the end, I was left without a wife, but with a fair amount of money.
After the divorce was final I managed to discover another business, which I was interested in buying, but found out that the owner didn't want to sell until the start of the spring. I agreed with the owner's terms, and we sealed the deal, which left me with an autumn and winter to kill before I could take over the business, which was just as well, because I was still stinging from the divorce and wanted to get away for awhile. A friend of mine told me about Lake of the Sky, a resort area about eighty miles east of the city where I lived. My friend's family owned a cabin there, which he said they would be willing to rent to me through the winter. The money that they wanted for rent was very reasonable, and after my friend took me up to the lake one weekend, I decided that it was the perfect place to lick my wounds.
Lake of the Sky is located in a small valley surrounded by mountains. It is reached by traveling over a thirty-one mile long winding dirt road, which wiggles its way up the sides of various mountains, until it reaches the south shore of the lake. The first thing that one sees, after coming around the last corner of the road up the mountains, is a small store, cafe, and a post office, which sit at the edge of the lake, where the road forks to the left and right, on its way around the valley. A high, craggy, mountain of granite dominates the scenery at the north end of the lake. The other mountains, which surround the lake aren't quite as high, but are thickly covered with pine trees. The lake is high enough up in the mountains to get snow during the winter; however, most years the snow rarely gets over a couple of feet deep and doesn't stick to the ground for more than a few weeks. The surrounding mountains receive a greater amount of snow, and their peaks remain covered until late spring. The weather usually turns could enough to freeze the surface of the lake around the shoreline, but the deeper waters of the lake remain free of ice.
The lake is mainly a summer resort area, having a large campground on the lake's eastern side and many cabins, which dot the shore. However, a small population of year around residents makes the area their home and they send their children down the mountain to school. To supply the residents, the store, post office, and the cafe stay open throughout the year.
I had made the acquaintance of the owner, of the store and cafe, when I first came up to the lake earlier in the year. He had a pamphlet that he made available to tourists for free, which told a little about the history of the area. The pamphlet explained that the name of the lake was a loose translation of what the original Native American's called the place. It seems that the Native Americans considered the lake and the valley to be sacred land. The tall, granite mountain north of the lake, was named Storm Mountain, and it was known for the unusual amount of lightning strikes, which struck it during summer storms. The phenomenon was not lost upon the Native Americans, who saw the lightning on the mountain, to be an indication that the spirits of the dead were restless. They believed that the valley was a special place, where the spirit realm, would at times, intrude upon the world of the living. Unfortunately, most of the Native Americans died from a smallpox epidemic, and the valley fell under the control of the white man.
During the late eighteen hundreds, despite the long and difficult journey to reach it, the area began to attract campers during the summer. At the start of the 20th century, the first permanent cabins, which housed year around inhabitants, began to be built. However, it wasn't until after the Second World War, that real estate in the area began to boom and cabins began being built all around the lake. The original camping area was improved and summer tourism increased dramatically. During the first years of the 21st century, the price of real estate at the lake sky rocketed, when it could be purchased at all.
In preparation for winter, I made several trips to and from the lake, to ensure that I would be well prepared, for any contingency, which might arise during the winter. While I was assured that travel was usually possible throughout the winter, I didn't want to take the chance of being caught unprepared. I laid in a good supply of food and made sure that I had a plenty to drink, in case something happed to stop the flow of water from the well. I had been warned that often the electricity to the area would be cut for anywhere from a few hours to a week, or longer; therefore, I stocked up on a supply of lanterns, wood, kerosene heaters, and kerosene to last me until the spring.
It was still early fall, when I completed all my preparations, and I was able to relax. The evenings were still fairly warm, and I loved to sit on the porch of the cabin enjoying the grandeur of the scenery. I would watch the gentile waves, of the lake, lap at the shore, not more than one hundred feet from my cabin. I would watch as daylight would fail, and the sky would slowly pass from deep blue to almost purple, while the western peak of Storm Mountain would glow, with the last rays of the setting sun. The frogs were still out, and their croaking voices filled the night. Whenever I stepped out of the cabin, I could smell the clean, fresh odor of the water of the lake.
About a week after I had made my last trip down to the lower lands, I started noticing an old man walking along the shore during the early mornings and evenings. What his exact age was I could not guess. While he walked with a noticeable limp, his body was otherwise unbowed from age. His hair was completely white; he had a strong chin, a wide mouth, and stood just less than six feet tall. I would watch him come from the trees, in one direction and enter the trees further down the shore, in the other direction; then, a little over an hour later he would make the return journey. Often times, in the morning, I would be sitting out on the porch, when the man would make his first trip of the day, and I would nod to him. After a couple of days, I started to wish him good morning as he passed. He would smile and wave and bid me cheerful good morning in reply.
One day as I watched the man make his morning trip I called to him. "How about coming in and having some coffee? I've got plenty."
The fellow smiled as he walked toward me. "Say, that doesn't sound half bad. Guess I had better introduce myself. My name is Henry Addison, and I live back over through those trees a few hundred yards."
I rose and shook the man's hand "Henry, my name is Russell Todd, and I'm planning on spending the winter here at the lake. I take it that you live here."
"Yup, for over fifty years, it is a great place. Mind you, it's not as wild as it was, but it sure beats the hassle of the city. I don't think I could take living in a city; I'm just too used to being out here where a feller can have a little privacy."
I nodded my head in agreement, as I led him into the cabin. In a few minutes I had a fresh cup of coffee sitting before him, on the table of my small kitchen. "That's what I'm looking forward to, peace, quiet, and some time to think. I needed to get away for awhile to get my thoughts focused. I needed some time to think. You know, ponder the meaning of life and that sort of thing."
