Packing my camera bag I can overhear the TV blaring from the living room. Once satisfied that I've packed everything I'll need, I open my bedroom door and hear soft bass pulsating from my sister's room at the far end of the hall. I pause, thinking of inviting her to come along, I know how bored we both get in this house, especially in the off season. But I quickly talk myself out of it and head to the kitchen.
The hood vent above the stove is the only source of light in the outdated yellowing kitchen. My parents, despite having the TV blaring loudly in the adjoining room, both have their heads down looking at their respective iPads.
"Heading out, don't wait up!" I yell as I slip out the back door before any objections can erupt. A grunt from my dad is the only response I hear as the screen door claps shut behind me.
As I pick my way across the yard to the back alley. Everything is brown and wilted, waiting for the warmer weather to continue, proving a permanent trend up. Looking out past the shriveled shrubs, I can see the lake shimmering. The moon is half full, glimmering just above the tree line on the far side of the lake. It's still too early in the year to swim, ice continues to break apart and melt. Few flocks of birds have made their way this far north to occupy the melted shoreline. Doubt I'll see any take flight tonight, I muse to myself.
The ground squelches beneath my shoes from the last of the rapidly melting snow earlier today. I slowly pick my way towards my new favorite retreat, regretting wearing my sneakers instead of the winter boots my mom insisted on buying me last year. I ignore the growing wet and cold sensation between my toes. Veering left, I head north and away from the public beach. It's about a 20 minute walk to reach my target: the abandoned Henderson place.
I make my way under the broken fence and into the now dilapidated garden. Last year, it had been a surprise to the entire hamlet when the Hendersons showed up for the season after their rumored financial troubles over the winter. It had grown clear that things were not going well for their business in the city as the fence and garden had been needing serious updates over the years but never received any. This year, everyone was certain the property would boast a for sale sign by the May holiday weekend. But as usually goes with gossip, only time would tell.
I slide my sling style camera bag under my arm to the front. I unzip it enough to pull out my camera and long range lens. I snap them together and begin looking to the waterfront for different subjects. I was happy with my growing collection of herons and hawks but soon the pipers and the loons would be migrating here as the temperature continued to climb.
The Henderson estate is neighboured by the Taylor cottage to the south and the Adair Mansion to the north. The Adair estate dwarfs the Henderson's, and in turn the Henderson's made the Taylor's look small by comparison. These houses along the waterfront were mostly built over a century ago. Looking back at the gloomy and vacant estate I had walked around earlier, I wonder again what the inside might look like. As a child I used to imagine attending fancy parties in one of the lake houses, I'd picture stunning libraries and views of the lake from every room of the house.
Through my camera lens I zoom in on the beach. Usually there were different people packing up their things to head home for the evening as twilight set in and the street lamps turn on. But tonight there seem to be no one, none of the tweens without jobs or teens trying to make out. The night seemed strangely still. The water itself seemed to shimmer along the melted beachfront instead of lapping against the sand. I fix my gaze on the marshes on either side of the slight cove which these houses stood in. Typically filled with scavenging creatures such as raccoons until the nocturnal birds took flight.
I hadn't yet mastered my low lighting photography skills. It was difficult for me to remember the difference between aperture and exposure. The stars twinkle as they always do, although their magic is lost on me. Part of me was hoping to discover some new creature by sitting out here on the crumbling terrace, but none appear. Shocking.
As I wait for inspiration to hit me or a new subject matter to appear, I find my eyes wandering down the gently curving shoreline and the glimmering windows that perfectly reflect the moonlight adorning the water. Even after 20 years growing up knowing about the Adair mansion it was still hard not to marvel at its grandeur. I was never an architecture buff but I knew that the columns were unlike any other on the entire lake. Just past the Adairs is the Shahn cottage, which further exemplifies how massive the mansion had always been. The Adair family owned most of the land between Matlock, where my family lived, and Selkirk Beach to the north. The Adairs had made money as landlords primarily, but it was evident only now as an adult that they must have started with money if this had been the original home here.
My family's house, on the other hand, sat on almost an acre of land. But due to its lack of lake access and views from every window, it had little resale value which was just fine by my parents. They had been running the town market (which includes the post office, groceries, convenience store, and at one point even gasoline) for the nearest 30 miles. It had taken me years to convince them to have shorter hours in the off season. Which meant that I got more free time for hobbies such as painting and photography. I'm grateful to have something to do at the store when I need the distraction. But it would be even nicer to make some money.
Surveying to find an inspirational subject again, I raise my camera to my eye, the long lens brings forth a detailed and zoomed image of the architecture of the mansion into focus. I am not an architecture buff by any means, but there's something about macrophotography that I enjoy. Fixating on an iron encased light fixture, I snap a couple photos before movement catches my eye. Seeming as though someone was holding open the curtain, staring at me, but when I blink again I see nothing unordinary about the windows of the mansion before me. Likely vacant at the moment but bustling with housekeeper's or maintenance staff readying for the upcoming return of spring. Glancing over the windows once more,waiting for the curtain rustle again before I turn away and convince myself it's nothing.
I idly wonder about the rest of my upcoming week and realize I should drive up to Selkirk Beach soon. It always builds slowly, the need to get out of this tight knit, nosey village and surround myself with strangers. If only for an afternoon of window shopping and an ice cream cone from The Dairy Tree. Selkirk Beach is still steeped in the history that led to building the town boardwalk and water tower to accommodate the city residents migrating there every summer. Few shops survive year after year, but the few mainstays are an antique shop, cafe, and arcade.
I realize now that I haven't been there in several months and resolve to go for the day on Friday since I only work at the store on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe I'll bring my sister along then and I won't feel as guilty about my nightly retreats.