What lake?

"Damn it, lost another one in the edge of the boat", I shouted, out of a dead sleep. Scaring the daylights out of my wife. She shook me as I was still in a dream state.

"Wake up, honey!"

Suddenly sitting up as if I was jolted in the butt by lightening, "what? Grab the oars."

"Oh my, where am I?"

Cathy put her arms around me, and her delicate, soft voice reassured me I was home in my bed. I shook my head as if to be sure it was still attached. What an incredible, real dream!

"What did we have for dinner last night?" I asked sheepishly.

She looked at me with a questioning glance, slowly getting out of bed. " We had popcorn and a glass of that new charnaye you brought home," she said.

Now standing, pulling her side of the covers up to the headboard, my eyes had cleared enough to see my beautiful naked wife still looking at me with a concerned countenance.

"Not now, bubba. You'll be late for the university." She had read my eyesight perfectly. She turned and walked into the bathroom, gently closing the door as she wiggled her lush fanny at me and laughed.

As I drove to work, the details of the dream came back to me as if I were standing on the shore of the radiant blue lake, watching the trout jump into the morning sun. I'm not sure why I had this kind of thought. Shucks, I didn't even own a fishing rod, and more importantly, I never learned how to swim. These thoughts sent my mind traveling down several tunnels of unrelated thoughts, attempting to figure it all out.

"HONK, HONK, HONK!"...tires screeching, and the air suddenly full of people yelling all kinds of obscenities. Now, what happened? It seemed I daydreamed in front of traffic and was blessed that there wasn't a catastrophic wreck. I turned into faculty parking, found my spot, bolted out of the car, grabbed my briefcase from the side seat, and sprinted to the building where my first class was.

The good thing about today is that it's Friday, and I have the weekend to recover from teaching the neanderthals of undergraduate worlds and get with my pleinair group for a planned trip to the mountains to paint landscapes.

I love painting.

The day is done, and on my way home, Cathy calls and asks me if I have had any flashbacks from this morning's event.

"What event?" I asked her with genuine concern, as I didn't remember anything unusual about this morning.

"You don't remember the lake?" she asked very reluctantly.

"No, babe. Hey, another topic. How about I pick up some Charley burgers and fries, then stop by the Magnificent and get some of that Akimen beer? What do you say?"

There was a pause that almost became deafening when she said,

"That sounds great. I have a blueberry pie in the freezer and will put it in the oven right now, love you. Stay safe and see you in thirty".

It was a great evening as we talked about the weekend away with the pleinair group. She had bonded with several of the "non-artist" spouses and started a book reading that had really taken off. Where the painters met once a month, the book club met every two weeks. As we packed, Cathy asked what the subject of the painting was this month. It was my turn to select the location and subject. I told her that I had heard, couldn't remember who told me, that there was this great lake with crystal clear blue waters just fifty miles east out of Longview in the upper Cascades, just south of Coldwater Lake.

"That sounds interesting".

"You'll love it. There is a great little resort with several cabins and a main meeting hall with a fireplace and lots of leisure chairs for you bookworms."

She laughed, pulled out the clothing list, and suggested I head to the studio for the art "stuff," as she called it. Bless my beautiful bride's heart, she can't draw stick figures. But she can write, and her novels helped make our lives wonderfully secure.

This was going to be a relaxing, wonderful time.

The alarm went off on time at 4:30 a.m. We were packed, and the car had been loaded last night. The Grand Waggoneer had both gas tanks topped off. The trailer and double ATVs were secure, and the extra gas that someone always forgets to bring. We were totally prepared. Tom and I had purchased the ATVs and the single trailer together several years ago. Having him and Nancy ride with us on these trips was nice. Tom was one of the abstract thinkers in Cathy's book club. And Nancy is an award-winning watercolorist. Being this prepared, I think for the first time in all the years we've been doing this, will shock them.

Having such a close-knit group that enjoys the same participation is really rewarding. We all have different skill levels and approaches to painting. Every style from my super realism to Jack's total abstract, and Betty's monochrome Broka.

Cathy's group is just as diverse. As mentioned above, Tom always came up with strange interpretations and took the group down rabbit holes. Through the years, the book club learned to ride with the flow and enjoy all the laughter.

We all met at the Walmart in Longview and caravaned to the different locations. Everyone checked everyone else for gas and snacks for the trip. We learned years ago that we needed each other to fill in the gaps. The month's "leader" had to be in charge. We had purchased some military walky-talkies from a friend of John's (no questions asked) for each vehicle. The leader had the responsibility of keeping them and distributing them on the day of the adventure.

Here is a fact: at first, it was hard to reach a group agreement. No kids allowed on these adventures. Ten years ago, on our first outing, we all brought our kids (that is, the ones who wanted to come, which were mostly small ones). We didn't have any sulking teenagers, fortunately. It was a disaster, as 90% of the time, we were scrambling to find a lost kid or worse, trying to calm a tantrum. Did you ever notice that when one three-year-old starts crying, the rest of the pack starts? Somehow, by the grace of God, we collectively determined that this would be an adult outing. Two and a half or three to four days with just grown-ups. Through the years did we have issues, yes. But all were resolved before we left for home. This created a very familial bond.

Tom and I were up front, and Cathy and Nancy were in the back seat as usual, when we got a squawk from Albert and Cindy that they had a flat on the trailer. So, we stopped and turned the front group around, returning to our friends needing assistance. It wasn't much of a problem, except we had to empty the trailer of all the gear and ATVs, as both inside tires had picked up nails. Tom suggested that we look at all our tires. We found that every tire had nails in them. Fortunately, the vehicles had mountain tires for off-roading, which was not an issue. Al had not changed out the tires as he knew we would be on paved roads the entire trip. Jack called the highway patrol and reported the nails, which apparently were picked up about twenty miles outside Longview. As we reloaded the trailer, after preparing the tires, the highway patrol drove up. The young officer thanked us for calling, as we had passed through a truck spill that had gone off the road and slid down the side of the mountain, and no one could see his need for help, which turned out to be medical, as he had a broken leg.

It was now 10:00 a.m., and we had decided to stop in Marys Corner to use the restroom and stretch our legs, as it was another half hour to Glenoma. The Chevron had a nice selection of local memorabilia and various local foods. The group had made a point not to eat local small-town mystery food, as in our third year, we all came down with a very nasty stomach issue. It was so bad that Albert and Cindy sold their Tahoe, even after having all the seats recovered.

Cathy and Betrice found an old map on one of the card stands that spoke about the beautiful and mysterious, crystal clear blue lake. She bought the old pamphlet and put it in her backpack to read later.

The drive was smooth and the view was beautiful. Cindy wanted to stop every five minutes to take pictures as the subjects to paint were everywhere. After the second stop, we stopped her and made it to Glenoma just after 1:00p.m.

The cabins were located in Taidnapam Park, a state-controlled park run by a local family. The cabins and main meeting hall were better than the brochure. In fact, the park was less than three years old, and we were the second group to stay there. The Johnsons were the proprietors and handled themselves very professionally in a manner that Cathy called robotic. At the time, I was not sure what she meant.

Cabins were assigned, and the gang spent the next few hours unpacking and getting accustomed to the altitude of 6500 feet.

Cathy put all our clothes in the cabinet drawers while I selected the paints, brushes, and canvas sizes for painting this afternoon.

"Mike, this cabin is exceptional. How did you know it would be this grand?"

"Honey, my sixth sense just came alive and..." smacking in the back of my shoulders from a pillow she had thrown, laughing at my typical quippy responses, she jumped on the bed as if it were a trampoline. I turned and watched her slowly take her t-shirt off and throw it at me. I can sort my paints later.

We had decided to regather at 4:00p.m. in the main hall and collectively decide on our three-day schedule. It took us about an hour to organize the painting spots, leaving the lake for the last morning. The book club decided on several places to settle each morning and afternoon for their readings and discussions, with free time to critique the artist's work.

I secretly brought first through fifth place ribbons for the group to vote on the artist winner of the weekend. Everyone would vote. We had voiced winners in the past years, but now it was time for our eclectic group to judge.

As we concluded our meeting, the Johnsons announced a dinner that would be served at 5:30. This was a surprise, as I thought the contract said bed and breakfast only. The light meal was a feast of local salad ingredients and wild game prepared in a West Texas bar-b-que style.

"WOW," Tom shouted. We all clapped and complimented the Johnsons as they came in and cleaned up. It was odd that they did not recognize the praise or change expression. Mr. Johnson recommended we proceed to our painting location, as only two and a half good hours of sunlight remain.

Each group chattered amongst themselves as they left to get books and art easels for the first adventure.

As Cathy and I left the cabin, heading to our different spots in our little paradise, she commented,

"Now tell me, wasn't the lack of response from the Johnsons a bit odd?"

"You're right, dearest."

"Right about what?"

"They do appear to be very robotic. I was thinking they were from a different country. Maybe one of the old Baltic Republics where personalities are stoic. But that doesn't fit as they have no accent."

"Honey, they don't have any accent, very odd."

Albert yelled, "Come on, youse guys, daylights wasting".

Cathy led her group down a path the camp map indicated was a nice sitting area with a great view of the mountains. I led, well, Andy dragged us through the overgrowth to a slight clearing that looked back on the trail. Sunlight cascaded through the trees, making shadows a fantasy illustrator could go wacky with. As a landscape painter, the interplay of different hues and values was exactly the subject for the first day.

We set up our easels and begin painting our interpretations of the scene in front of us. It was magical how the acrylic paint flowed off my brushes, and each mix I selected was almost perfect. I was painting with a skill I didn't know I had. Nancy had chosen pastel on a beige colored pastel pad. She and all of us were lost in our painting. The atmosphere was ethereal as not a word was spoken as we worked. The only sound was from the forest and the movement of pigment on the canvases. I would later reflect on this with Cathy. Normally, we would be chattering and critiquing each other's work as we progressed through the scene.

A bell sounded in the distance, bringing us back to reality.

Joyce voiced in her high-pitched delivery, "This has been the best beginning I've ever had to plein air painting."

"Look at this," Nancy pointed to her pastel. Have you ever seen me interpret shadows and sunlight in this fashion?" We were all surprised at the piece she had created.

We slowly walked back to the cabin, stunned at the work each of us had painted. The most starling was Jack's, as he had never shown any skill in art. He just enjoyed trying to develop a skill close to the rest of us. He had included an owl in a composition that would pass for Howard Terpin or Andrew Wyeth. Part of me was on the verge of being frightened, but I suppressed it.

Our group was quiet as we parted. Each couple headed back to their cabins for the night. Pinned to each cabin door was a breakfast item list. It read like a cruise line menu, with everything from eggs Benedict to tacos. We were to highlight the item we wanted and leave it on the door.

Cathy came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel with a quizzical expression.

"Mike, the most unusual thing occurred in our book club this afternoon."

"Same here, at painting."

"Honey", she had placed her hands on her hips in a matter-of-fact way, "We had an in-depth spiritual discussion about the chapter we've never had before?"

"What do you mean?" I looked back at her as I was heading for my turn in the shower, but I needed to hear more.

"Tom never said a word. He just intently listened as Bernie provided a word picture of the chapter as if we were actually in the book, or rather, the story. It was spooky."

I turned and walked back to my easel and pulled out my painting. Holding it up for her, "Have you ever seen me paint with this skill before?"

Her towel dropped as she stared at the art. Her expression was one of complete awe at the work.

"This is beyond good. We now have a new source of income, and you can quit that job you secretly loathe".

"How did you know I 'loath' working at the university?"

"You've, carassed your paint supplies like you do me, and push aside the aircraft models you once seemed proud of."

The following two days were more of the same for all of us. We finally talked about it as a group on the third night in the main cabin. It was another experience of delight, as the Johnsons had prepared evening snacks and hot drinks for us. We were all re-awakening in our lives. It was a spiritual mystery. No one, not even Tom, voiced an opinion on what was happening in this obscure little state park. We all stayed away from discussing the Johnsons.

"What a beautiful morning. Honey, do you want to ride up to the lake with us for our final paint session?"

Cathy yawned and sleepily answered, "The book club discussed it yesterday and agreed, I think, we all would enjoy being together."

We unloaded the ATVs and packed them for the mile trip to the lake. At least that's what the map indicated. The art supplies, folding chairs for the book club, cameras, and a surprise lunch provided by the Johnsons. As we climbed into the ATV, Mr. Johnson said the last hundred yards would be over rough terrain and conclude with a steep incline of almost 45 degrees. He continued that the path through the Aspens would be tight and suddenly open onto the lake. "Be prepared to stop quickly as you clear the forest". He then disappeared into the main cabin.

The trip was strikingly beautiful with old and new growth Aspen and firs. The sound of birds singing and wildlife moving in the valley was intoxicating. Suddenly, the undergrowth vanished, and the incline was in front of us. Mr. Johnson's description of how the Aspens' density would be an issue came to life as I led us up the trail in a single file. The view was obscured by the trees, and Cathy noticed there seemed to be a heavy fog above them. The next ten yards took us nearly twenty minutes to get to the top as the trail became very rocky. The trees hugged the trail's edge so much that we scratched paint off the ATVs getting through. Suddenly, I hard-braked the ATV, which resulted in Tom rear-ending me rather hard.

Cathy screamed! There was nothing in front of us. No lake and no ground.