Memories of Oakland Lake
For many years Peter and I would rise up early in the morning, get dressed, and go for a walk by our little magical lake. We would stop on the way to buy coffee and a pastry. We would then drive to the lake. If it was winter, we would sit in the car having our little breakfast. If it was not, we sat on a bench looking out at the lake. Around us tiny little birds would wait in the hope that we would share some of our goodies, which we did. We would also on occasion bring stale bread or bird seeds to scatter for them. Then we would get a flock of the various birds that lived by the lake. Their chatter would rise to a crescendo as they rushed to catch a morsel. Some of the birds were aggressive and caught almost everything we tossed. Peter and I would try to aim the food towards the shy and slow ones.
I remember sitting under the shade of the weeping willow on a weekend, thinking how utterly blissful it all was. The breeze through the trees, the chirping of the birds, the frogs singing their discordant tunes, the sound of the children laughing in delight at each new discovery they made. It was all so idyllic.
At that period of time we had our dog Maximillian von Clearview. We called him Max for short. Someone had thrown him off onto the highway. He managed to get down to the underpass where Peter found him one beautiful May evening as he went cycling after work. He wanted to call him Auschwitz because he was so skinny. I thought he was a noble dog and deserving of a noble name. Maximillian was a substantial name for him; von hinted at his nobility and Clearview was the highway where he lived until Peter found him. Thus, he became Maximillian von Clearview. Max was our companion and the sharer of our little morning meal.
For many years we walked around the lake each morning. We formed friendships and acquaintances. There was the lady who walked two or three times a week with her dachshund and her pet duck. The dog had found the duck in the corner of their garden. The two became inseparable. They even slept next to each other. There was a group of cheerful old men who were holocaust survivors. I admired their upbeat attitude. By contrast, there was another man who walked around the lake, always alone and wearing a scowl on his face. Peter, being the good-humored happy man that he was, insisted on bidding him a cheery good morning. He always hoped to get a smile from him. The man, without fail, growled at us instead. I nicknamed him Mr. Uncongeniality. These were basically the regulars.
In spring and autumn, volunteers would get together to plant and clean up. We all felt as if the park and lake belonged to us and we belonged to it.
One spring, we noticed the female swan was nesting. Every day, we eagerly peered into the rushes in the corner of the lake to see if the cygnets had arrived. Every morning we were disappointed. The male swan would stand guarding Mama Swan and providing her with sustenance. Finally, one Sunday morning, when we got out of the car, we noticed a big group of people clustered around the lake. Max seemed to know of the exciting event as soon as we parked, for he almost dragged us to the edge of the lake through the banks of glorious daffodils. He finally stopped, with a wagging tail, to admire the new additions to the Swan Family. Mama Swan proudly led the procession, followed by the three little cygnets and then Papa Swan.
Unfortunately, their story did not end happily. A few weeks later, when the park keeper arrived in the morning, he discovered Papa Swan murdered! Some sick and evil person had shot him with a bow and arrow in the neck. He lay there, on the side of the lake, with his head flung back and an arrow piercing through his neck, his blood pooling on the grass. After that, our Oakland Lake did not feel happy anymore. An evil ogre had tainted it, taking away all the joy and innocence that existed there.
We hadn’t gone there in many years when Peter took us there that last time. It was the last day of May 2015, a Sunday. It was the day before my Peter passed away. We sat in the car talking because Oakland Lake Park was closed for renovations. I did not realize it then, but we were declaring our love for each other for the last time and saying our final farewells. I have not gone back there since.