Returning To The Cedars

Returning To The Cedars



Alex paddled slowly across the pothole lake, recalling the last time he passed through these familiar surroundings. The cool air smelled of cedar and the recent rain. Memories returned at seeing the half-submerged boulder used as a landmark.

He remembered pulling alongside the cedar that was languidly descending into the water and securing the canoe, then climbing the massive rock and fishing off it for a while. He couldn’t recall if they were biting that day, just the time spent with the best friend he had ever known.

Spending every summer at the cottage caused him to grow up with the “kid next door”. Who would have predicted the incredible friendship that developed? They’d even be each other’s best man at their weddings.

This was the place where they had cemented that bond. Without parents to supervise them, it was their first taste of independence. Few their age experienced such freedom, and they relished every moment of it. So reluctant to mature usually, out here they willingly took on responsibility.

Alex eased the craft around a bend and spotted the campsite they had cleared years earlier. It seemed so long ago, yet as he landed on shore, he could almost smell the smoke from a campfire. Memories flashed through his mind like a hurried slide show. The tent, fire pit and a cast iron frying pan flitted across his vision and he felt a sudden emptiness inside.

As he felt a breeze, Alex looked out over the small inlet. Slight ripples formed on the water’s surface and gently rocked the canoe. Had he been spiritual, there may have been some deeper significance. He removed the urn from his backpack, remembering the tears in Julie’s eyes at Matt’s funeral and the unborn son that would never know his father. The silence in the forest was tangible as Alex began to dig.