Lake Raleigh
A TRIBUTE TO OUR GREAT FRIEND ANNE
This story comes out of a vault from some fifty-plus years ago. If you have followed any of my stories, you know that when I call this a green door story, it’s safe for me to write. A green door story is just that; it requires some energy, emotions, and self-examination. In other words, it’s a story that is fun and a journey back in time.
The yellow door and red door stories require so much more of my heart, and those seem to be off limits to my fingers for right now. Being in therapy now for more than four years, I can tell you that tremendous progress has been made. I have written one red door story and many yellow door stories. So why are we recapping this as we start to write this story?
This is the first story I’ve written that parallels right alongside a red door story, and I am treading on a very thin rope that could snap at any time and tumble me into this unwritable experience. For that reason, I will start the narrative beginning with the bike ride to Lake Raleigh. The place I came from was nothing more than a din of torture for my siblings and me. If I go back one frame before this bike ride—one step off this bike and one fall in the wrong direction—I see nothing but torture, darkness, and pain. a time when life had ended for me. Now, let’s see if we can do this.
On the hot summer days, we gathered together with our friend Phil, my brother Mike, and my brother Chris, who is no longer with us to recount this wonderful memory. He loved to fish. You already know he died at the age of thirty-seven from an overdose. He could never run fast enough from the pain. Chris would have loved this memory. My brother Mike and I have talked about this story recently. Sometimes he remembers facts that I have forgotten.
The lake wasn’t that far from where we lived, so we all would either ride our bikes or walk. When you are young, a few miles isn’t that far. Our path led down a couple of side streets and then to Lake Raleigh Road. It was a dirt road with some gravel spread on it in places. The road was winding and covered with a canopy of trees, not letting too much sunlight in. It was truly a road that was less traveled by any souls other than us. We had our fishing poles and maybe a hook or two. We found our bait under large rocks on the banks of the stream just below this massive dam. I say massive because at that age, this was the only dam we had ever seen.
There was a large pipe at the base of the dam that had a giant valve on it, some kind of a release of sorts. This pipe had a hole in it, and it sprayed water to the center of the stream we fished in. The dam was old, and now I know it was built in the early 1900s. Water always flowed over it ever so slightly, and it had a smooth finish. It was dark in color and made a peaceful sound that seemed to silence the troubles of that day. It kept promises to us every time we came there. The promise to love us and accept us at its base, no matter what we had experienced and what was to come. It never judged but was a savior to us all.
This place was so enchanting, calming, and tranquil, and it brought love to our troubled souls. We laughed at stories we recounted over and over. This place was a haven for us all. Our troubles didn’t exist there; the darkness was empty there, and the evil was not allowed in that place. We made sure never to talk about what was going on just a few miles away. There was no way we would ever allow these conversations to happen.
The dam had its own folklore. According to legend, if you went to the top to fish, you had to be careful not to fall in. Catfish as big as Volkswagens lurked near the bottom, ready to swallow anyone who fell, and they would never be seen again. We respected that place, and in return, it gave us life. From time to time, we would venture up to the top, cast a line out, and then run back down the hill to our safe spot, laughing along the way. It was always a dare to see who would stay the longest.
We followed the stream, fishing the whole way and gathering bait and fish along the way. Someone would yell, “Got one,” and “Got another one.” On and on the day would go. At dusk, we knew we had to be out of there. There was another tale that said if you stayed after dark, bad things took place there, so we always headed out when the sun was setting.
One day, we found ourselves near the catfish pond, which was close to the creek. It was turning dark, and we were trapped. We saw a caravan of cars coming in from the back side of Lake Raleigh, and we were scared. Our hearts pounded with fear, and we needed a plan to escape, or else we were going to die. We lay on the bank, peering over toward those cars winding down that dirt road, kicking up dust. Then all of a sudden, a voice behind us yelled, “What y’all boys doing?” We turned ever so slowly, and it was our friend Peanut who had permitted us to fish in the catfish pond the summer before. “Peanut, we just want to go home.” Did you catch that? We wanted to go home. Back to the place that meant pain, suffering, and yes, new tortures, but it was still home. I know it doesn’t make sense, but we wanted to go home!
I don’t even understand it to this day. The word home meant family; it meant there were times of some togetherness. It’s where our mother was. The one who was supposed to protect us but failed immensely! I’m getting so close to that red door now, so we’d best move on. I’m about to unload on this whole situation.
Peanut would visit us at the catfish pond from time to time and was a savior of sorts, a friend indeed. After he saw the fright in our eyes that evening, he said, “Come with me, I’ll show you the way out.” We followed him on foot, pushing our bikes up the hill and down a road that was less traveled, and he guided us safely back. He pointed us in the right direction, and I still remember that to this day. It was the safe way. You always have to have a safe way back; never give up!
Now, some fifty years later, Lisa and I were riding around, and she said, “Where do you want to go today?” I said, “Lake Raleigh. I want to go to the dam today.” She had heard some stories from this place, but I wanted to go deeper and finally write about it. She put it in the GPS, and we followed the directions. As we approached, I saw Lake Raleigh Road on the screen. My heart froze for a moment in time as it all flashed before me. To my right, nothing but destruction, and to my left, Lake Raleigh Road, peace and harmony. A gift that gave me life; it gave us all life.
The GPS said, “Turn here,” but it was not Lake Raleigh Road; it was the road less traveled. It was the road out back then; it was the road right before where I thought we were supposed to turn. But wait, Lake Raleigh Road was now a dead end. How could it be? There is now a new way in, a new way around. As we entered this new road, I wondered if we would be able to get to the dam and if the stream would still be there. As we traveled this new way in, I could see the old way. Why was this, I wondered.
We went down one road and then another and another. I was trying to find this place on my own. When I finally listened to the GPS, it took me right to the place I remembered, Lake Raleigh. I saw the dam from a distance, and Lisa said, “Why are you in such a hurry?”
“I want to see that place one more time,” I said. “I have to see it. Can we even get there from here?” It had changed so much over the years. There were people and places there that didn’t exist back then. As we kept walking on the paved trail, I saw the dam. We headed off-grid to get there, and then there it was. WOW!
My heart filled with overflowing love and thankfulness for that place. I even whispered, “Thank you! Thank you for providing me with a safe haven in this place. I feel you working in this place even now.” I walked down the stream a few hundred yards, recounting all the memories flooding in my soul, and a rush of light in the darkness reminded me of who God is.
As I looked up at the dam, I noticed it had changed. The water running down the face of the dam now made a new, soothing sound. Its appearance had transformed as well. The pipe is gone, and the sound it makes today is truly distinct.
The dam was rebuilt in 1976, giving it a fresh beginning, while maintaining its original purpose: to hold back water, provide those downstream with cherished memories, and serve as a reserve of drinking water for life. A new beginning, a fresh start, and a place that brings life to all who encounter it. Even today, you can follow the stream to reach your destination, and you may encounter Peanut, who will guide you to safety on a road less traveled. You understand. Then, when you return some fifty years later, you will see—you can do it! Don’t quit!
This story has produced many more tears than I had ever expected. I didn’t see it coming. Remember, God never stops moving. He is still doing it! Trust His road.
