For over 20 years beginning in 1987, my wife and I and our children enjoyed vacationing at Moffitt Beach, near Speculator, New York, in the Adirondack Mountains. We created wonderful memories during our annual 1-2 week stays on Sacandaga Lake, and often were joined by my grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters and cousins while there. My grandparents actually started the family tradition of vacationing at Moffitt Beach before I was born.
It's been four years since we were last at Moffitt Beach, but summer days still sometimes find me thinking back to the pleasant times spent in such a rustic and beautiful part of the eastern United States. Following is a poem I wrote on July 10, 1998, during one of our family vacations there.
On a Moffitt's Day
On a beautiful Moffitt's evening the full orange moon
was caressed with the soft edges of adoring clouds.
Lightning drills were confined
to the inside of a white cloud in the distance.
And silence fell early and swiftly
as boats and cars turned in for the night.
With the aroma of a Cohiba and citronella candles,
the scene drew my family out and kept the mosquitos away,
But only for so long.
Nature always stakes its territory,
forcing us inside to old Tom Waits songs
and the view of flickering campfires in the darkening night.
In my sleep and in cities hundreds of miles away,
leather shoes and basketballs pound the pavement
and immigrants drink from America and the World Cup.
I think of the beach, the clear lake, the mountains,
all in view with a cafe con leche in the morning.
I dream of walks around the sites and rides on jet skis.
On a beautiful Moffitt's morning the clouds and sun
have their daily joust for supremacy,
the clouds with speed and mass on their side,
and the sun with patience and light to boast.
The sun will win today, for the clouds have already done so
too many other days this week, and we're on vacation.
A fisherman checks his nets and launches his boat
with the hope of catching dinner for family and friends.
He, too, will win today, for there are plenty of fish
and they are hungry, just like the campers
and other vacationers in Moffitt's with appetites
for the simple and good things in life.
--Charley Bruns, 7/10/98
