Canaderago Lake - This also is not a chapter. by Erin Kuhn

Once upon a hot summer afternoon, where only the soft cries of cicadas could be heard, sat my mother and I. I sat on her lap playing with her porcelain hands I had admired so much. Every once in a while a breeze would gently nip at our skin and caress through our hair, gently whispering sweet songs past our ears. Her arms around me, and mine around her, we swayed together in the breeze, as if we were one. It gave me a feeling, an indescribable one, one I still can't explain even today. There was something about the trees and the fresh air that I could and never will get enough of. Across the glistening water spread the vast mountains that seemed too big for my little body to comprehend. The mysterious trees and mountains awed me. "How long have they been here?" "What have they seen?," I would often ask myself. Canaderago Lake, was my safe haven away from the world, a place where nothing could ever bother or harm me. It was here that I felt complete.
My mother would sit with me on her lap and sing in my ears the melody of the birds and wind. She'd tell me stories of times before and times yet to come. I'd drift into her little world that soon became a part of mine. I'd listen for hours on end. I wasn't the only one who listened to my mother's stories. A little girl a few houses down from us did as well, her name was Abigail. We would swim and play for hours on the lakes shore during the days. Searching for shells and whatever else the waves decided to wash ashore that day. On the chilly nights we would sit around the fire huddled together in a blanket eating smores and laughing until it was too dark to see. Then we'd talk until we fell asleep under the glow of moon and the stars. She was my best friend.
One of my mothers stories I could recite to you in my sleep, my favorite one, and one I will never forget:
"A famous healing Indian prophet once dwelt upon a beautiful island in the midst of Canadarago Lake... At midnight he would glide softly away in his canoe, penetrate the dark forest to the fountains, and then return to his patients with vessels full of the magic waters. By his great success he became rich and powerful; so much that he called himself the twin brother of the Great Spirit. This kindled the anger of the Almighty and the island then disappeared. The Great Spirit in his wrath had thrusted it along with the proud prophet deep into the earth, never to be seen again."
When she finished Abigail and I would sit in the silence of our thoughts. Wondering what it all met, and why a man would abuse something so wonderful only for his personal benefit. Everyday we would drift off into her little world and listen to the stories she seemed to have a never-ending supply of.
Then, just like that, the summer ended. The air chilled, the leaves fell, the snow came and went, and with my anticipation, summer had come again. I rushed home from the last day of school and jumped into our car. I was ready to see my mountains, my trees, and feel my fresh air. Ready to glide my toes over the water at the edge of my dock, ready to stay up all night looking for crayfish with my pale and my flashlight. But most importantly, I was ready to see my Abigail. When we arrived, I rushed over, never running so fast in my life, to see my friend again. I knocked our secret knock on her door, but no answer. Puzzled, I knocked again. I repeated this over and over until my mother came along looking for me. "Sweetie what are you doing?" she asked. "Getting Abigail," I said in a tired voice. I then learned that Abigail was gone. It turns out that a camp right on the water sells for a whole lot. And just like that, I never saw her again.
I cried. I cried until the tears seaped deep down into my bones. I cried because I missed my Abigail, my best friend. But more importantly, I cried because I knew that Abigail would never be with her trees, her mountains, and her safe haven ever again. It haunted me to think about being separated from such a special place I had always known, just like that. I'd think about it all day and dream about it at night. "How could you sell a feeling," I'd always ask myself. And I'm still waiting on that answer.
I soon figured out the meaning behind the story, however, of the greedy Iroquois man, one I wish no one should have to understand. This being that money does horrible things to people. A man will put a price on his soul, just to make a dollar or two.
I never got an answer, only another question. "Money doesn't give me a feeling. My mountains, my trees, and my fresh air does, so what's so important about money when all you need is a feeling to be complete?"
This was a question that answered itself for me. And this question, I will never forget.