Whispering Pines

Imagine you are going on a week- long vacation in a different state nine hours away. Yet, this place does not seem to only be in another state it seems that you enter into a completely different world. A world where time does not exist, except for the rising and setting of the sun. Here you are oblivious to all other life except that of those with whom you share this same place. The anticipation of arriving there is barely manageable.
The journey begins with getting up entirely too early in the morning. Dad finishes loading all of our suitcases and then sits in the truck drinking his morning Pepsi, waiting for everyone else. Once we finally get all five members of my family into the truck we take off. Even though I have been going to Whispering Pines Lodge in Wisconsin for over ten years, I still get the same feeling of excitement.
We drive to meet our cousins in Dubuque where I switch vehicles so I can be with my cousin Spencer. Then we cross the Mississippi on a bridge that seems to take miles because we are holding our breath. We’ve always had the tradition of holding our breath while crossing the bridge. I don’t remember how it ever started. We finally enter the wonderful state of Wisconsin and breathe again. You wouldn’t really know you were in a different state unless you saw the sign that says, “Welcome to Wisconsin.” The land is still kind of hilly like Dubuque and there are cornfields and farms tucked back away from the road yet still visible. Spencer and I usually pass the first hour or two talking about our year and the exciting things that have happened. We only get to see each other once a year so it is kind of a catch up on each other’s lives time. When we get tired of talking we put a movie in and the towns of Southern Wisconsin whisk past us.
Normally someone in our party has to go to the bathroom after a good four or five hours so we stop at a Culvers Restaurant, get a bite to eat and use the bathroom. When we were really little we stopped at Culvers and Papa Bud bought us the most enormous cookies I have ever seen. It is tradition to stop there to eat now. Once everyone has gotten something in their stomach, we pile back into our vehicles and start off again. We travel what seems like an eternity and the anticipation grows stronger as the miles pass. Every once in a while I stop watching our movie and look out the window to check for signs that we are making progress. I get a chill of excitement when I look out the window now. I can’t remember the first time I ever noticed, but the gravel on the shoulder of the highway goes from white to this yellowish color. When this happens it means we are getting closer. A couple more hours down the road I begin to look at the trees. There is a certain type of tree that grows in Northern Wisconsin that has a skinny trunk at the bottom and no branches until the very top part of the tree. We call these “Wisconsin trees.” It is a sign that we are getting closer yet to our special place.
We stop at a cheese factory called “Mullin’s Cheese.” They have remodeled this factory since we started coming here for vacation. There used to be a window where you could watch as they squeezed all the cheese curds together. Then they would go on a belt to a huge tub. Spencer and I used to love to watch the process. The cheese factory is the last big landmark signifying the closeness of our destination. After another hour passes we cross Eagle River. It is the last town we have to go through until we are finally at the resort!
The road begins to wind and curve. My stomach begins to flip-flop because I know we are so close. The road suddenly seems to become encased by tall pine trees. The sun flashes in thin bars on the road as it squeezes through what trees it can. Finally we come to the sign that says, “Whispering Pines,” with an arrow pointing in the right direction. Your eyes follow the sign down a shady paved road completely drowning in pine trees. Now I can hardly wait to see that first glimpse of the lodge, and the calmness of the lake. The road turns and narrows and then the sign for the lodge appears. It reads, “Welcome to Whispering Pine Lodge.”
The first sight of the lodge is the most exhilarating feeling. It is a huge log cabin with dark forest green shutters that frame all of the little windows and the big one downstairs. A big stone chimney peaks from the top of the roof. This lodge used to be an old logging camp that the lumberjacks would stay in during the winter months. It is such a neat building. I can hardly wait to jump out and run inside the lodge. As I step out of the car the little red gravel beneath my feet makes a crunching noise as it supports my weight. Inside of the lodge there is a huge living room when you first walk in the door. There is a doorway which leads to the kitchen and dining room. I lug my bags up the curving stairs and into my room. Each room has a name printed on a piece of driftwood above the door. Spencer and I always share the room called, Fisherman’s Pier.
After we throw our suitcases into our room, Spencer and I run for the lake. It is the most breathtaking and relaxing view after a whole year’s time. I take a deep breath in and smell the lake water and pine tree smell. The lake is surrounded by evergreen and birch trees. Some of the other cabins around the lake are somewhat visible. The docks stretch out into the water as if inviting us to take a running leap off the end. We roll up our pants and wade into the cool water. The instant we touch it, we become part of the lake. It is like a magnet that is pulling us in. We run inside and throw on our swimming suits.
Together we run to the beginning of the dock. The sap from the pine trees makes the sand stick to the bottoms of our feet. We take a deep breath and run down the swimming dock, the wooden boards creaking as we take each step and JUMP! Splash! The temperature of the water always knocks the breath right out of me. It is so chilly! We do not waste one minute at Whispering Pines. Our mothers somehow lure us out of the water every night, always with the promise of a good meal. Night falls and we settle down in bed knowing the whole cycle will repeat the next day. As the sun rises up over the trees it shimmers brightly on the lake. The morning fog rolls off of the surface of the lake and the loon’s low call beckons us once again to the water’s edge.