Lake Martin - an Appreciation

Lake Martin, my personal bryarpatch

I have come to this place at every phase of my life. I summered here a a boy. Visited infrequently as a young man. Reconnected when my parents retired here, and continue to come here. For me it is a place of cleansing, of healing, of baptism, of renewal. It is my sacred pool. My safe place. My bryarpatch.

I have roots here – my mother's family – and my access to the lake has always been through them. I would have never known about the lake if they were not here, and I believe they had to settle here three generations ago before the lake even existed, so that I would come here.

In geological time the lake is brand new, created in the late 20s by the TVA as part of its program to electrify rural America. With it 700 mile shoreline it is one of the largest man made lakes in North America. When you are out on the big water, you can't see shoreline in some places, but its thousands of slews feel like large ponds.

The variegated green water has magical properties. You emerge from it cleansed. Your hair is as if conditioned. Your skin softened. I've been told it is because of the high limestone content, but I believe it was kissed by gods.

When I swam here as a boy, the lake was hardly developed. We could drink the water. Today, the lake is developed. Ringed by second homes of the ten percent, if not exclusively the one percent. There are more people and more boats, but the water has lost none of its magic. I probably wouldn't drink it, but swimming in it is still a sacramental act.

Understand, this is no Benares where pilgrims come to bathe. The crowds that come here play on the water. They look out at it, speed across it, dive into it from high rocks, and sun themselves on its banks. They are unwitting communicants.

I've come here today starting out on yet another phase of life's journey. I swam for an hour, at times energetically, at times floating lazily on the surface. Tomorrow the weekenders will arrive and interrupt the solitude. But today, I was the only person on the finger of the lake where my cousin Reggie has his home. And I took its sacrament, cleansing the vessel of my body in preparation for the next phase.

I could never live here, but I could happily die here, taking last rites from the spirits guarding the surrounding forests before slipping beneath the water's surface. But not yet. I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.