We are leaving on vacation for a week at a lake in Vermont. The important words are “for a week.”

Paul and I aren’t organized packers. We are rather haphazard in our approach to what pieces of our lives will go with us on vacation.

As a matter of principle; we only travel with carry-on sized bags. A bike trip to France is responsible for this habit; we dragged our own bikes, packed in enormous cardboard crates through several airports on our way to Paris. Paul is an avid cyclist and I love Paul, enough said. All of our possessions had been stuffed into four panniers that ride side-saddle on the bikes, they were then slid into the belly of the airplane. Three of those four panniers rode the carousel out of the plane in France...fortunately for me though, the shopping is not half-bad in Paris.

The day (okay hours) before our summer vacation, we are, literally, tossing things into the car. Two dog crates nest together nicely creating a beach bucket, of sorts, for a plethora of “stuff.” Unfortunately, the size of the dog crates leaves no room for the very dogs who use them.

And two.

A lake vacation, for us, is defined by the amount of time we can fill by doing nothing. No emails, no TV, no telephones and no practice, unless….two very close friends - one being the violinist in my piano trio - are getting married on the last day of our vacation and ask us to play for their wedding.

And two becomes filled with two cellos in cases, music stands, benches and, of course, music. Once the cellos take their rightful places in the car there remains very little space for anything else.

So, what if our son, who is enjoying this vacation with (on) us has his car sitting in the driveway?  Perfect spot for a week’s worth of groceries, loaded on the way out of town and, what a great opportunity for him to bond with two border collies!

We finally arrive at the lake house in our merry convoy only to spend as much time unpacking as we did packing.

The week prior to the trip it rained every single day- but the sun made it’s appearance on the first official day of our vacation. Clearly, nobody could argue with that day spent reading, picnicking and paddling-

No practice.

Day two is the fourth of July. Parade to attend and how about finding Vermont’s “best creamee?”

No practice.

I start caving on day three. I have to walk by the cellos on the way through the living room. They lie there, seemingly silent, but like the loon out on the water- I can hear their call, “Time to those calluses have all gone soft on you!”

Out come the stands, benches, music and those nagging instruments.

A little work on vacation in the name of love.

But, my bench is definitely facing the lake...even if it is through the window.


Melissa Perley