Lake Days Back when I was a kid, my parents and I would pack up our coolers and snack bags and all pile into the car on hot summer weekends for some fun at the lake. We would all get sunburnt and there would usually be an argument or two as my parents tried to maneuver the boat in and out of the murky water, but those trips to the lake are still some of my fondest memories from when I was little. We have since upgraded from our 18-foot Bayliner into something that can fit more people with more comfort and luxury. We also started going to a different lake to avoid the long lines to put the boat in the water and the disgusting green water. The lake of my childhood is Carlyle Lake in Carlyle, Illinois, also known as the largest manmade lake in the state of Illinois. It used to be farmland, but the fields were over cropped and lost all fertility back in the 20s, even with the Kaskaskia River flowing through the area. The lake might as well have been the ocean to me as a child. I remember sitting at the bow of our little ski-boat and looking through my hands as if they were binoculars just so I could catch a glimpse of the dense tree line on the opposite side. One of the parts that I remember most vividly was the car ride to the lake. We would stop at my uncle’s house in Breese, Illinois, to pick up the boat, as it was too big to fit in our small suburban driveway. Breese was about 45 minutes away from my house in Swansea, Illinois, which seemed like an entire day for a six-year-old. We would drive into Breese and immediately smell the stench of manure being spread onto the fields as fertilizer. I would always hold my nose and shout out “Breese stinks!” as my parents chuckled in the front seat. After we picked up the boat and topped off the tank at the local gas station, we would begin the second leg of our journey, the 15-minute trek from Breese to Carlyle. It seems like the only song that was ever playing on Radio Disney during the final leg of the trip was “Hey Juliet” by LMNT, or that is the only song I remember screaming out the lyrics at the top of my lungs to. We would arrive at the lake and the moment I got out of the car in my flip-flops, I could feel the heat instantly working its way through the foam bottoms of my shoes from the hot asphalt below. The stench of the freshly cleaned fish from that days catch would punch me square in the nose. I would always climb up into the boat because I liked to pretend to back the boat in while sitting at the wheel on the boat. As the boat got backed in, I would hear the air bubbles escaping from the prop like a Jacuzzi. My dad mom would then get on the boat and attempt to start it, usually only to hear the clicks of the distributor rotor spinning. We would always have troubles starting the boat when we would first get it into the water to the point that we would have to ask someone next to us if they could give us a jump. Once we finally got the boat up and running, we would begin the long, low speed cruise out of the cove that we put in at. I would sit at the bow of the boat and lean over the edge to touch the cool, splashing water as the boat sliced through the waves. In the meantime, my dad was usually having trouble inflating the inner tube, which was my favorite part about the lake. It was sun-faded from many years of use and some of the seams on the 80’s-esque cover were starting to tear, but I just saw it as hours of fun. Almost instantly after getting out of the no-wake zone, I would be begging to get pulled on the tube. I would spend hours at a time without even setting foot on the boat. The sound of the wind blowing directly on my face and the low rumble of the inboard motor soothed me. I loved it. I would just work my way into the cramped center hole and stay there and lounge as my parents talked and drank beers on the boat. My favorite part of the tube was basking in the sun with