The Summer of 68'

I remember the summer of '68 when graduation was quickly receding in the rear view mirror of my life and a limitless future ran before me. I was young. I had my high school diploma, an old beat up car, and the possibility of moving away as quickly as possible from the cold and bitterness of my mothers house.

It was so hot that summer. Temps hovered in the 90's with a humidity unheard of for Wisconsin. Air conditioning in cars meant opening the windows, hitting the gas pedal, and driving like hell to beat the heat radiating from the pavement. Gas was cheap, so driving was the average Americans form of entertainment. It was my favorite way to spend an afternoon.

One torrid Saturday afternoon, after listening to my mothers endless tirade of complaints, I donned a perky sundress and hopped into my car to escape once again. Even with sweat dampening the back of my dress, I felt cool and free and hopeful. I began to fly aimlessly down the back roads of the Wisconsin Kettle Moraine area. Just knowing the Indians had been there long ago, made me feel a part of the landscape. With my dark complexion, long straight black hair, and facial bone structure, I could easily pass for those who had come before me. I imagined that I could find some cool forest retreat where I could spend the day alone and at peace with only the ghosts of past generations to keep me company.

Time and miles fell silently behind me until I came upon a gravel road which appeared to lead no where. The rutted lane ran through a wooded acreage, and the coolness of the trees appealed to me, so I turned on to it. I slowed as the dust from the road began to rise around me and pour into the windows of my car. The lane seemed to be following a small stream. After a while, I came upon a broken down wooden gate which made it impossible to go any further by car. It was cool along the edge of the woods, and so I left my car parked in the shade and continued to follow the lane on foot.

About half a mile down, the stream began to widen into a river which was being fed by many similar streams along the way. I noticed a slight clearing ahead and continued toward it. Suddenly, the lane made a sharp turn, and as I rounded the corner, I was struck with a vision of fairy like quality. Peeking out from the woods and underbrush along the river, was an old mill. Silent now, it seemed to have become a part of the vegetation itself. Shadow and light played tricks on my eyes, as mist from the water moistened the moss along the masonry base of the structure, making it appear to take on an emerald glow with diamonds sparkling wherever the sunlight fell.

Once men had built this structure to enhance their lives. It was apparent that a mill this size would have accommodated an entire community in their efforts to turn corn and wheat into flour. But now the people were gone and only this building remained. The earth had reclaimed what man had tried to take possession of. Even the ivy which covered most of the stone walls seemed to say, "This is ours once again." I was mesmerized by the serene silence of this once bustling area. How foolish was man to change such peace into disharmony and even chaos. How much better for nature to reclaim what was always hers.

I approached the waters edge with reverence, and caught the reflection of the ivy covered masonry mirrored on its surface. Looking deeper, I saw my own reflection quietly smiling back at me. I wanted to remain forever in this magical place, but I was young with my future stretching before me. I knew that I would have to live amidst the chaos of what we call civilization. For now, I would have to endure my mothers bitterness. Soon I would enter the factories, put in an eight hour day and come home to an efficiency apartment. Someday I would marry and have children and become entrenched in the day to day necessity of working for a living.

I turned from the mill and began the slow and painful walk back to my car; back to the reality that was my life. I left my peaceful spirit behind me among the ivy and the moss, and headed back to the concrete jungle which I called home. In my heart, I hoped that someday, if I worked very hard and did what was expected of me, I would return to this place or one just like it, and retire outside of the grasp of mankind where I would allow nature to reclaim what was rightfully hers, and be at peace again.