My first visit to the lake was in the late 30's, I remember one year, in out Trotwood Trailer, we parked it near the edge of the lake. In those days, Indian children would walk around the lake selling baskets and trinkets that they had made. We had a large basket in our home for many years, held toys for visiting children, I wonder where that is.
Some years we rented from Paulene Everhard who owned a number of properties around the lake. One year we rented a brand new one of hers. My brother had taken a few high school friends up with him. Charley Parlette and Red Wallace, maybe even Bob Wolfe. Our first night, it was cool, they built up a big fire. There was a beautiful, new mantel over the fireplace. The heat and big fire, scorched and burnt it, slightly. The entire time there, that year, was spent with sandpaper, removing the char, and getting it back to bare wood. They got it done before we left, I don't think that Paulene ever knew.
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Those stones, out in the water, could be the same stones that were there in the 30's and 40's. That is the same water that the Jessidean gently glided through, in the evening, slowly, with canvas buckets in the water on both sides, to slow the speed, trolling in the early evening quiet, looking for an elusive Walleye.
The boat was built by my Dad, from start to finish, had a Gray Sea Scout engine, a beautiful sloping front deck, and up front, that bronze dirigible bow cleat that family friend, Oscar Higgins, the patternmaker, helped Dad with its design and pouring and finishing.. I would love to have that today. I loved that boat, it instilled a love of wooden boats in me that I have today.
We would excitedly leave Dayton, going on vacation. Somewhere in Northern Ohio, I forget the town, but the same every year, we would stop, get some groceries and stop at a small wayside park, with picnic tables and a swing. Ring bologna, crackers, milk, chips, Fig Newtons, still one of my favorite meals, then back on the road. Halfway up Michigan, we would stop at a motel, made up of small cabins. Then, next morning, back on the road ...... finally, Indian River, park near the large pond make of lake rocks, teeming with fish of all sizes. Fishing Licenses purchased, some last minute tackle, a short drive and there it was, Topinabee, Michigan. The little railway station, the Topinabee Hotel, not standing today, but a plush, Summer spot for many. They a left, up that hill, the fork in the road by the little church, on down that endless road, seemed like we would never get to the crossroads, finally, turn left, another endless road, finally, at the crest of the hill, there it was, our first glimpse ...... of Burt Lake, heaven on earth, to me.
