Nagawicka Lake, situated in the quaint town of Delafield, Wisconsin, is where my aunt and uncle purchased a house sometime in the 1980s. Since then, they have played host to a wide range of family members who all have fond memories and will always treasure the time spent there in such loving company.
In late August, 1995, we (my family of four: husband John, eight-year-old Ariel, and five-year-old Aaron) were visiting Auntie Beth and Uncle Dick and thoroughly enjoying all that Delafield, nearby Milwaukee, and Nagawicka Lake had to offer. The daily routine included a ride on the pontoon boat to the sandbar area to swim, skiing behind the outboard, and then another ride on the pontoon in the evening just before sunset. My mom and dad spent the better part of a month there each summer, and this summer was no exception. It was pure family fun for the week of our stay.
The week happened to also coincide with our fifteenth wedding anniversary. On that morning, Beth and Dick, and Mom and Dad, offered to look after the children so that John and I could go to the Nagawicka Yacht Club to enjoy a nice meal together to celebrate. We eagerly accepted the offer, made our reservations, and began looking forward to our “date night.”
The day was bright and sunny, but later in the afternoon, the wind really picked up. Though the sun still shone, the lake started to form small white caps, and skiing that day was called off as the lake was much too choppy.
To add to the romance of the evening, John planned to take the pontoon boat across the lake for our dinner date, but Uncle Dick suggested that we might want to consider driving the car instead. An expert boatsman, however, John studied the lake conditions for a moment and concluded that the one-mile trip across would not be a problem at all. And so off we went.
The ride across was bumpy and windy. My hair was blown around so much that I fretted about the tangles I’d have to deal with, and then gave up altogether on the idea that anything of my carefully styled “do” could be salvaged once we reached the restaurant.
As we neared the club, John slowed the boat and aimed for the right side of the dock where we’d be able to tie up. A little girl, about six years old, stood on the end of the dock watching us approach. Just as John turned the steering wheel to maneuver into the open dock area, a gust of wind thwarted his usually precise aim, and he was forced to veer right to make a wide 360 to give it another try. The little girl continued to watch us. Again, just as John made his move, another gust, even stronger this time, threw him off course. The little girl tilted her head to the left, still eyeing us. Sighing deeply, he swung out into the lake, and set the boat up for his third try. But Nagawicka Lake seemed determined to keep us from our dinner date because he failed to achieve his goal. The little girl’s eyebrows scrunched together to form a bit of a scowl. Finally, on the fourth try, the wind let up at just the right moment, and John quickly grabbed the dock and pulled the boat neatly up against it. He then tied the boat securely and helped me out onto the dock.
As we stepped away from the boat to head up the steps to the yacht club, the little girl looked up at John and expressionlessly said, “Looks like you shoulda drove.”
Copyright DJ Anderson, 2016
