Days 3-4: Findley Lake

After leaving Aunt Jo and Uncle Ron's, Mom and I found ourselves on the roads we traveled so many times between Jamestown, NY and Niagara Falls during my childhood, when we would go to visit the relatives in Niagara Falls: the NY Thruway and Route 60 through Dunkirk/Fredonia, Mayville, Lilydale, Cassadaga, Sinclairville, and Gerry. I had memories of all these places: goatmilk fudge in Fredonia, the palm-readers in Lilydale, summer rodeo in Gerry.

We detoured through Jamestown, NY and nearby Fluvanna, where we lived first in a trailer, then two rented homes. I had forgotten about the beautiful
red-brick roads in Jamestown; they are still there.


We easily found the beautiful brick home on a hill that we rented on Fluvanna Ave. It looks well-cared for. I asked Mom if she remembered the road of our other rental, and she did not. Then, out of nowhere, I said, "Bentley Road." I had not thought of that road name in decades. I was right, and we found the much changed house that we once lived in.


We arrived mid-afternoon in Findley Lake, the home of my brother's ex-wife, my friend Dede, and

her new husband, Jeff. Dede was in Atlanta helping out her daughter Amy and her family, as Amy's husband Zac is quite ill. Jeff welcomed us to the beautiful home he built and took us for a drive around the lake and nearby areas. My time in western New York, high school years in Ellington, CT, and undergrad years in Clarion, PA, were notable for the pastoral settings and slow-moving schedule of days.

None of the roads were crowded, and where we stopped, people were friendly. Many knew Jeff. People were enjoying outdoor picnics. No one sped on the roads. There was an overall sense of calm. Children were playing, and I guessed that they might be having the same kind of childhood as I had, with unsupervised time.

As I think of it, I guess my years in West Lafayette, IN, and New England were similar. My first husband and I built a home on a rural road in South Berwick, Maine, where we began our family. My kids grew up much as I did in western NY, roaming freely and safely through the wild blueberry fields behind our home and into the well-established old logging trails in the woods beyond. We had a small horse farm, and Kat and I would ride throughout the many miles of trails adjacent to our home. We had no fears of strangers who might harm our children, much as my parents were safe to let us kids roam throughout the neighborhood and beyond on our bikes and on foot, getting to the beach, fields to play kickball, and more.

The students I teach now at my university are afraid to let their kids out of their sight, and all of their activities are regulated, either by parents creating child play visits or organized sports. They don't have the opportunities to create their own games and times and free play. I think they lose out so much on learning the skills of self-regulation and socialization. It makes me deeply grateful for the opportunities that my children and I had when we were young.

The next morning, Jeff and I indulged in a nearly 2-hour songfest, with Jeff on guitar and me singing harmonies whenever I could pick one out. Guitar and singing are another part of my youth. My Gidlow grandparents bought me a guitar when I was an undergrad, and I picked it up quickly.

It tied in with my early years of religious sampling. I was raised mainstream Protestant and attended a Methodist church in Lakewood. In high school in Connecticut, I had a crush on a boy who had become a fundamentalist. I'll never forget the day when all these people hovered around me, laying hands on me, and assuming I would receive "the gifts of the Holy Spirit." Most of them uttered weird sounds that were supposedly "speaking in tongues." At the time, I thought to myself that I could either try to fake it (and I didn't think I could make those sounds) or remain silent. I chose the latter, and eventually, they decided I must have other gifts of the spirit... Once in college, I joined an evangelical group called Crusade for Christ, knocking on dorm rooms, asking if the co-eds were "saved."

And then a former date from CT told me he was becoming a Catholic. Of course, I assumed he would be damned as a result. Wanting to save him, I took a look into the religion. In the process I became a Catholic convert, first wanting to enter a convent, then determining that my greater penance to help sinners would to be marriage (talk about a warped sense of self!!!). Indeed, my journey through religion, from fundamental to agnostic, has been varied and unique.