21Lake Tsala Apopka

 

                I remember sitting in the shallows of the lake, learning to swim.

My paternal grandparents had a cottage at “the Lake,” Lake Tsala Apopka, near Floral City in Citrus County.

It was quiet and isolated. From their house, you couldn’t see another home. We rarely saw anyone unless they had been invited. It felt like its own little world.

My grandparents spent most of their time there. It was a long, two-hour drive from Tampa, but we visited many weekends when we were living there. The lake was a peaceful place to go — a place where life slowed down.

There was also a lot of joy there.

My grandparents loved to entertain, and I remember hearing stories of laughter, gatherings, and even skinny dipping. 

It was also where my father asked my mother to marry him. She said he proposed while they were lying together in a hammock.

Some of my grandmother’s siblings had places nearby, though I don’t remember seeing them very often.

On the drive to the lake, we always stopped at the Wishing Stone — a little tavern and gas station with a large round stone out front. It was a special place to stretch, have a snack, and enjoy a cold Coke. It is still there today.

The trips home on Sunday evenings felt long. I would lie in the front seat, restless and tired, trying to fall asleep in my mother’s lap, while my sister Caroline slept in the back.

My mother’s father worried about us on those drives. He would sometimes call the Highway Patrol and ask them to check on us. Because he was a judge, they knew him well. We would occasionally be pulled over, only to be told that Judge Lufburrow had called and wanted to be sure we were safe. They would smile, let him know we were fine, and send us on our way.

The lake was full of life.

There was a black snake — probably a Southern Black Racer — that we saw crossing our property almost every day. We named her Abigail and looked forward to seeing her. My mother explained that black snakes like Abigail were “good snakes,” because they kept the venomous ones away. That made us quite fond of her.

But there were also water moccasins in the lake.

From time to time, we would see them swimming near the shore. My mother would take out her shotgun and “pop” their heads off. In those days, that was simply part of life in rural Florida — protecting your family from what was dangerous.

My Grandmother, Granddaddy and Daddy

There was a small house next to my grandparents’ place where we stayed. It had bedrooms and a bathroom, but no kitchen. It was simple and enough.

In the early evenings, we would sit quietly — which was not easy for me — and watch the squirrels come for peanuts my grandfather had put out.

My grandfather once decided to raise guinea hens, hoping to have food and maybe make a little money. He bought a dozen. But one by one, they disappeared. Each morning, there was one less. My mother said the bobcats were enjoying a fine meal every night until they were all gone.

After my grandfather passed away, the lake was sold.

But it has never really left me.

I have so many sweet memories of that place — the quiet, the laughter, the wildness, the feeling of being part of something simple and whole.

And when I think of it now:

The lake was more than a place…

it was a feeling.

Of stillness,

of family,

of life close to the earth.

And somewhere in those quiet waters,

something in me learned

how to be at peace.