A man called me last spring about this time. He had spent his childhood here and now that he was growing quite old he felt an oddly powerful desire to return. He talked about the shore path and the stones and the water and the smallmouth bass his grandpa would catch. He said he had a photo of the biggest smallie I’d ever seen, and he promised to email it to me after our call. He talked about the ladies on those white piers and the fried fish on Fridays. He asked about houses, ideally on the water, and said he’d consider something off water, so long as it was close enough to walk down when the summer sun set so he could watch the boats cruise past the pier. He said where he lives now is nice but there was nothing like those times at the lake. I told him I understood, and that I, too, shared those childhood memories that anchor me to this very same place. He asked that I send some him some listings to consider and I said I would and we ended our call. A week later I followed up with him and he said he was tied up but would review and respond later. A week later I checked in again and he said his eldest son was coming for a visit and he would be busy for a while. He asked if I went to Gullwitzer’s for fish fry in the 1980s and I said I had, though my memory was fuzzy and I couldn’t remember if I had liked it or not.
Yesterday he called again. And he asked if there were some homes he could consider. I said there were, and that I’d gladly send them to him. He said he can’t wait to get up here and that this summer once the lanai is fixed on his Naples pool he’ll be here. He asked about interest rates and about inventory and wondered if the shore path in Williams Bay was still treacherous around Conference Point and I said that while it was, it was better than it had been in ages. He agreed to call me later last week to set up a time to visit, but he never called. The funny thing is, this story isn’t about him. It’s about you. And your procrastinating is just about to cost you another summer that you should be spending at the lake. Let’s work on this together so you don’t have to wake up in your sweaty southern town Memorial Day morning and wish you were here.