The Legends Of Lake Nebagamon

By Pablo Zaragoza

George Searle Giffin fulfilled his earthly mission on March 20, 2023. In his seventy-eight years, he never lost the innocence that marked his childhood, complete with wonder, awe, magic, and imagination. He maintained his love of animals, children, and lights. As an adult, he devoted his time and energy to promoting peace and advocating civil rights.

 

Those closest to George knew that he loved fantasy and often slipped into "another world." Instead of focusing on a conversation, George would drift, leaving family members and close friends to say, "Earth to George! Earth to George!"

 

The Legends of Lake Nebagamon explores why George Searle Giffin was never completely in this world. A delightful tribute to a beloved son, brother, father, and grandfather, and a fitting fantasy for young and old alike.

 

Always remember…

Wherever you go, there you are.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pablo Zaragoza
• Release date: Jun 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223510710

Book preview

THE LEGENDS OF LAKE NEBAGAMON

Pablo Zaragoza

Table of Contents

THE LEGENDS OF LAKE NEBAGAMON

Dedication

Part One - The First Summer On Lake Nebagamon

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Part Two - The Farm

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

About The Author

Also By Pablo Zaragoza

Copyright

DEDICATION

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This book is dedicated to George Searle Giffin who inspired these tales of fantasy about his childhood in a magical place by a lake. A place then that had only about three hundred residents, a drugstore, an auditorium, some restaurants, a pub or two, a few stores, and a Dairy Queen. A place where everyone was a neighbor in a time when we didn’t lock our front door at night, and the radio was our only entertainment at home. No running water but a pump for it on our back porch, an outhouse to do our business, and no electricity, relying instead on kerosene lamps and flashlights to light our way.

This was a time when imagination, storytelling, and flights of fancy kept a young mind active, believing that there was something better, something greater just beyond the horizon.

PART ONE - THE FIRST SUMMER ON LAKE NEBAGAMON

CHAPTER ONE

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In the summertime, Dad would pile the three of us into our Buick sedan with the vertical parallel chrome strip grill. Mom and Dad would put a mattress in the back seat, and we would sleep there, all three of us. I was the only boy and the youngest. There was Bunny whose real name was Mary (only grandmother called her Mary) and Susan the middle child. Susie – I often called her Thoosie – and I were only two years apart, and I loved her. She had long, flowing blonde hair and chubby cheeks and always had the sunniest disposition.

Getting to Lake Nebagamon was an adventure in itself. We lived on a farm outside of Fort Wayne, Indiana. The farm had cows, sheep, chickens, and pigs which were fun to watch. I was too young to do any of the real farm work. Dad had men to help with that work while he traveled for an insurance company.

The ten-hour trip to northern Wisconsin in 1951 took us on highways and winding dirt roads which made Susie nauseous just thinking about it. That’s why Dad wisely gave us a shot filled with Port wine. It burned as it went down my throat, but it put me right to sleep.

The trip was an overnighter, as that much driving was too much for Dad, and Mom never drove. It would be late afternoon on the second day when we reached the cottage, a two-story white frame house with dark green trim. Grandpa Bert Giffin, so Dad said, had moved the house from the Weyerhaeuser Lumber Camp into town and perched it atop a hill overlooking the lake.

Dad would carry us inside, putting the girls in their room on the porch, while I slept on the side porch that had a swing and a small bed. Dad put a mosquito net over each of us because those little guys would suck the life out of us, especially Susie.

In my sleep, I could hear critters calling out to one another. ‘Who, Who,’ an old barn owl would say, followed by another one telling the first to stay way. I could hear rustling in the bushes, and I would close my eyes real tight, so I could not see the beast that might take me in the night.

I was scared on that porch, all alone but I had to be brave so Dad wouldn’t think I was some kind of sissy. The first night on the porch was always the hardest because I could hear everything, and it was all frightening.

I was usually the first one up in the morning as the sun came off the lake from the East, and our neighbor’s rooster crowed to greet a new day. I would take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the pine scented air. Towering pine trees huddled next to the cottage, and I could see the robins and blue jays building nests and hunting for worms. A woodpecker with a red-crested head and white stripes across its face would begin pecking away at the pine tree next to the house. I would sit there in my bed and watch him, wondering why all that pecking didn’t give him a headache. He would stay there until he had finished whatever he was doing.

The first day at the lake, Mommy and the girls would clean the cottage while Dad and I would walk to the little grocery store and buy necessary supplies for the week. We had a small rolling cart that he would let me drag to the store.

When we entered the store, we could smell the cured ham, dangling from the rafters in the back. I would go to the meat counter on which Mr. Dale Berger had cheeses, sausages, and other meats on display.

Mr. Berger would greet both of us, Hey, Bob, and hello, Mr. George Searle Giffin.

Feeling good, Dale. Hope you’ve got some of that corn cob cured bacon and ham, Dad would say.

Coming right up, Dale said, How much do you want?

About two pounds of bacon and the same amount of ham.

I’d watch Mr. Berger cut thick slices of ham that Mom liked to chop and add to scrambled eggs. While he was putting together the rest of our meat order, Dad and I picked up two dozen farm fresh eggs, tomatoes, onions, lettuce, and cucumbers. Dad loved cucumbers. I stood in front of the frozen foods display case with everything neatly stacked on chipped ice.

I loved the smell of freshly baked bread that had just come in from the local bakery, along with glazed donuts and other baked goods. Wisconsin Cheddar cheese came straight from a local farm. Nothing like fresh from the farm cheese, Dad’s favorite, and it would become mine, too. Mr. Berger would wrap up our meat and package our groceries so that the eggs wouldn’t break as we walked home.

You still have that old ice box? Mr. Berger asked.

New refrigerators were too expensive, and the ice cost only pennies a day. Besides, the cabin didn’t have electricity so why bother with a refrigerator.

Yeah, I’ll need some today.

The boy will be up there soon.

Make sure you send with him some pork chops and some beef steaks. I’d take them now, but I’m afraid they’d spoil by the time we got home.

Will do, Bob. Goodbye, Mr. George Searle Giffin.

I never liked the name George. Mom and Dad named me after Uncle George, my father’s uncle. I would have preferred the name Bert after my paternal grandfather, a dentist in Superior. That name seemed to be more manly. I could hear the guys in the machine shop saying, Hey, Bert, hand me a sock wrench. Or how you like that game last night, Bert?

Although I never worked in a machine shop, maybe it’s because my name was George instead of Bert. I have always liked the name Searle. I thought at the time that Searle sounded regal. I could see it in my mind’s eye being announced by a butler in red livery, His Lordship Searle Giffin and Lady Susan Giffin and their handmaiden, Bunny. In my mind’s eye, Bunny was somehow some lowly servant because she was older, and, as is often the case, younger children didn’t get along with the older ones.

Dad and I would stop by the pharmacy, and Mr. Siegel would get us a bottle of mercurochrome, aspirin, and a box of Band-Aids that would come in handy if we cut ourselves on something, and we were always cutting ourselves on something.

We’d walk back to the cottage and say good morning to everyone we met along the way. They would say good morning back to us, and many of them even knew at least Dad by name. He had spent his childhood at Lake Nebagamon.

By the time we got back home, it was clean and tidy, and we were all ready to eat breakfast. Mom cooked everything on a wood-burning stove in one corner of the kitchen, quite different from all the more modern conveniences she used on the farm. The ice box had a bin where a huge block of ice would sit and slowly melt away. When it was gone, Mom would pour