The Spirit of Eagle Lake
Part
One – written in August, 2014 after my first trip to the Eagle Lake Sporting Camp. On the last night there I joined Alan
Theriault by the fire pit on the shore overlooking Eagle Lake. It was August but the air had cooled from the
day and was perfect for reflecting on a great day canoeing and exploring the
lake and the Thoroughfare where we watched a bull moose as he watched us before
he turned and quickly disappeared into the woods. Along with the smoke from the fire and the
red wine I was inspired to write this poem:
It was almost dusk over Eagle Lake
When he made his ghostly visit
I couldn’t move from my wooden seat
Afraid that I might miss it.
I froze in place daring not to move
As he turned his massive head
Towards me as if he knew
That my dream was now my dread.
His eyes were sad and tired, too
As if he had never slept
Ancient tracks of many tears
Told me he constantly wept.
Saddened by the changing times
And the changes at Eagle Lake
He searched my face with many
questions
I wondered if I had made a mistake.
Part Two – continued in October, 2014
He turned to face
His home, the wood
Rack held low,
Sad, he stood.
But, looking back
He saw a light.
It was too late,
He walked into the night.
Behind his back
They came “en mass”
To save the camp
“Renaissance”, at last.
They fixed the cabins,
Rebuilt the docks,
Stoked the fires,
And cut off the locks
On a hand-hewn log.
Plaster chinked
By the lake shore fog.
Tables were set,
Curtains were drawn.
Open of business
A brand new dawn.
The men and women
Came to see
Eagle Lake Sporting Camp
And History.
They laughed at night
Tall tales were told
Awakening the Spirit
From a winters cold.
He stood up, stiff
And stared towards the camp.
What noise is this?
He gave his great hooves a stamp.
He lumbered with care
And noiselessly stood
Peering into windows
Hidden by wood.
The camp was alive
Each cabin was saved
Alan and his family
Brought camp back from grave.
The Spirit was moved
He gave his antlers a shake,
Turned in his tracks
Found his family, awake.
They all walked the path
Their ancestors made before
From woods to the camp
By the Eagle Lake shore.
Now three stood together
Three Spirits, alive
Glad to be watching.
The camp will survive!
Now we all can enjoy
This great camp
Where Eagles fly
And the bull moose stamp.
If you get the chance
And you don’t mind the drive,
Head straight for the lake
Where the Spirits are alive.
Settle into your cabin,
Breathe clean, balsam air.
Walk down to the shore
At night, if you dare.
Sit down by the fire
As the Spirits awake.
If you are lucky you will see him
The Spirit of Eagle Lake.
F. Thomas
Crowley, Jr.
Lincolnville
Beach, Maine
October 28, 2014
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