The 55 minutes that it took to get there from our house seemed like an eternity. On any given summer weekend my sister Celeste and I would have been looking forward to the trip since the same, the weekend prior. We’d head out as early on Friday evening as we could after dad got home from work. We’d play “I spy” or yell at each other for crossing the line in the middle of the back seat all the way. After a while we would take the exit off of old highway 175 and head in toward the “bumpy road.” It was a black-top street in such a state of disrepair that dangerous speeds were impossible to reach. For that reason, this marked the point in the trip that we got to take our seatbelts off. Nothing is more liberating for an 8 year old than to be set free from the bonds of safety restraints. It also meant we were only a few minutes away. In our teenage years this was the point in the journey where Celeste and I would tell our guests how much they were going to love our family’s glorious lake house and promptly pull up to the most wretched looking water-front double wide we could find along the road and announce, “here we are!” After a quick snap shot of the attempted cordial gestures from our friends we would head on down the road to my personal childhood paradise. Down Box road and then Welch lane, there it was at the water’s edge. It was a humble place, but always immaculately groomed and beautifully landscaped. This was Grandad’s lakehouse. In fact, he was always the first person through the front door to greet us in the driveway. According to Grandad’s unspoken rules you had exactly 3.8 seconds to unload luggage, change clothes, dash to the dock and take a jet ski for a spin. We finally got smart and starting wearing our suits in the car on the way and packing light. This was the place that Grandad seemed most to be Grandad, I probably wouldn’t find much dissent among the family. A day at the lake characterizes Grandad about as well as anything can.
Mornings at the lake consisted of everyone sleeping as late as possible. Everybody that is, except for one. When we finally did drag ourselves out of one of the numerous beds in the house we were greeted with sweetest smell I can remember. Sitting on the table (I’m getting some nods from those who know) were quite possibly the greatest sweet rolls ever to grace the planet. One by one everyone found their way to the dining table for a bite. Some drug themselves sleepily in and others came running, swimsuit already dripping, but we all got there. Grandad was always the first up, the first to the lake. He had to make sure that things were ready. I don’t know how many hours of solitary work for him went into those weekends and parties. There was always a boat that wasn’t running quite right or a jet ski to get fueled up. It wasn’t just lake guests who knew the lengths that Grandad would go to improve the lives of others. I’m always hearing from his former patients that they never have since and likely never will find a doctor so involved, so caring. A day at the lake couldn’t even begin without Grandad’s special brand of love.
After hardly even having had time to let the sweet rolls settle, Grandad would whisk past with a boat key in his hand saying, “Whose ready to ski.” For all of his virtues we’ll not pretend that Grandad was a particularly patient man, no the daytime was not for sitting. Mid-morning and afternoon at the lake house were for Grandad’s guests to work themselves into a very keen sort of exhaustion. The hammock hanging just beyond the back porch was there merely to symbolize rest, not to actually facilitate it. We used to have a line to tie the jet skis to near the boat dock as a way of keeping them rotating from one rider to the next all day. At times we would use the Williams’s water toys from next door as well. I remember times when there were 6 or 8 jet skis in play simultaneously as well as two ski boats. If even one motor were silenced Grandad couldn’t stand the waste. An idle motor at the lake meant an idol guest, which in turn meant that somebody wasn’t having as much fun as they could be having. This was an intolerable injustice. It wasn’t uncommon for people decades younger than Grandad to be completely outdone, even undone by his energy and vitality. If there was anyone who thought they could be his equal, they threw in the towel seeing him ski past the house on the occasion of his 70th birthday.
I do vaguely remember going to see Grandad at his office near Doctor’s hospital, but he retired before my first really clear memories were developed. Even without memory of that stage of his life, it doesn’t take a lot to see that he met everything he ever did with the same energy and enthusiasm he showed at the lake. Earlier this week in Munday, Texas a man whose name I remember as Jack Knuckles related a story about just that. He remembered being on a trip with Grandad where they were dancing in a ballroom downstairs in the same hotel where they were staying. It seems that when many of the dancers were done with the fun for the evening, Grandad would often just keep going with munner and anyone else that would join in. The story involved stealing keys from maids and other scandalous shenanigans that don’t bear mentioning here, but one night in just such an instance it seems those who had already turned in for the night took Munner and Grandad’s mattress and hid it in a different room. They took the bed dressings and made up the box spring to look like a mattress. To their surprise Grandad never did call them out on their prank, but when they saw him in the morning he was holding his neck and said, “That’s the hardest damn bed I’ve ever slept on.” Yes, even to his own detriment Grandad lived with an inspiring vitality.
Back at the lakehouse when we were all run so ragged we could barely stand, it was time to hit the rocking chairs on the porch and watch the sun set. Some of the sweetest moments with family and friends have taken place in those rockers. We’d look back over the events of the day, snack on Orange Crush ice cream, congratulate whoever had learned to water ski on that particular day and just BE together. It was then as the sun dropped low and cast its many colors across the choppy waters that the essence of time spent at the lake was found. In many ways we’ve experienced the setting of the sun for a couple of years now as our Grandad, dad, husband and friend has slipped gradually away. In these times we’ve seen the essence of a man come through brighter than they might have been able to at other times. My wife, Anna will tell you that my Grandad fell in love with her more times than even I have. I fell for her nearly six years ago now and I’ve loved her ever since. Shortly after we were married Grandad’s memory started to fail him. About a year after the wedding he advised me that I’d better hurry up and marry her before she got away. After that every time he met her he asked, “My God, who is that gorgeous young lady?”
“Well, Grandad that’s my wife.” I would tell him.
“Well what are you doing with him?” He would inevitably say. On and on. It’s true Grandad fell in love with my wife more times than I ever did. Indeed some of the sweetest moments in this long day at the lake that started on July 7, 1925 have come while watching the sun set over these last months.
Nobody ever wanted a day at the lake to end, but that kind of activity was tiring. At some point we all had to say goodnight. So here we are, today we say, “Thanks for a great day Granddad. Thanks and goodnight!”
That was the great thing about the lake though. After every beautiful sunset and night of rest, the morning always came and there was more fun to be had. Today we say our goodbyes, but when the sun comes up we’ll find that Grandad isn’t gone. His sharp wit lives on in a daughter whose sense of humor is the delight of any gathering. He is here in a son who carries on a caring profession in a way that only a Bowden can. He is with us in a son who sees things as they really are and isn’t afraid to say so. He lives on in a son whose work ethic is the envy of his whole family and his co-workers. We’ll see him in a son who carries his fun-loving spirit, he’s the guy who taught me to juggle. I’ll still have him in 27 years at Anna and my 30th wedding anniversary when I say, “Here’s to 30 more just like Munner and Granddad.” You’ve got something there too don’t you. Everyone here, friend, former patient, grandkid, everyone. We’ve all got Ben Bowden stories. So for now we say goodnight Granddad. But when the dawn breaks, we’ll all pull up to the table each in his or her own time and say, “Pass the sweet rolls.”
