LAKE MARTIN

Lake Martin — I could see myself living on this lake. Any prime lakefront property would do.

While we’re daydreaming, I would like a herd of flying pigs. A money tree. A fountain in the backyard that squirts chocolate syrup.

I first visited Lake Martin on a fishing trip as a boy. The man who took me wasn’t kin, but he told me to call him “Uncle,” and the name stuck.

There were four or five men on that trip. I was invited to tag along because they felt bad for a fatherless kid.

I was youngest in the group, but those men never treated me like a child. They gave me the same kindness you’d show a stray. It was like paradise. The water was wide. The fish were big. I fell in love with it all.

And that is where I am writing this from. I am seated on a dock, looking at scenery. I only have a few minutes before I leave town. We’ve been on the road a few days. My wife and I have been living out of a cooler, surviving on gas-station coffee.

But here at the lake, I forget about the rigors of travel, and I am brought back to the middle.

Yesterday, we ate at Oskar’s. It’s the kind of small place filled with men in camouflage caps and waitresses so sweet they might melt in the rain.

The fries were the good kind of fries. I am a connoisseur of French fries. Also — and I’m not proud of this — I dip my fries in ranch dressing.

Oskar’s has good ranch. After our meal, we went back to the room. The parking lot was filled with trucks that were towing boats. I stood at the window, being nosy.

One truck tried to back a bass boat into two parking spaces. The vehicle smashed into everything in sight. It ran over two Nissans, one Ford, a Chevy, and almost flattened a nun on a bicycle. Anyway, this water couldn’t look better. There is a morning mist hanging in the air that makes the world look like a fantasy. I see an older man fishing in the distance; a young boy is steering their boat.

I am cross-legged on a wooden dock while the air gets warmed by the sun.

At this stage, I don’t take many photographs. They don’t do life justice. But I enjoy memories, and if I stare at this lake long enough, I’ll have a few I can take with me.

So I’ve been looking at the water, wondering about my life. I will be visiting three states in the next few days, making speeches in each place, and it’s almost too bizarre to comprehend. I never thought I’d end up doing anything of the sort.

I am still a kid who considers himself a stray. If I were completely honest, sometimes I don’t know what I'm doing with my life. Still, when I’m on this water, I have a strange feeling life knows what it’s doing with me. Maybe this is why old men take boys fishing on Lake Martin. ■