Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

A summertime story, embellished by Marcia Schlegelmilch.
Remember Hord Lake? If you don’t, Hord (without and ‘e’ on the end) Lake was located not to far from the town of Hordville in Merrick County, north and a little west of York. It was a smallish body of water with a beach for swimming, some camping spots and lots of shade trees. And as I recall, and I would remember, the lavatories were a bit on the primitive side.
I’m not sure when the State of Nebraska closed Hord Lake ... but when they did I felt betrayed. How dare they pull the gates shut on one of the few puddles of water around these parts? We made memories there.
Hord Lake was a nice distance for us when the kids were little. We lived six-and-a-half miles north of Bradshaw then. Sometimes we would drive up and take advantage of the beach. Other times we’d pack up the tent and spend the weekend. When Jay and I were dating we spent time at Hord Lake. We even camped there with friends. Friends like Allen and Sandi Osentowski.
We have lots of history with the Osentowskis. Jay’s dates back further than mine. Back to when the trio marched in the York High School Band together ... to when Jay deflated Allen and Sandi’s newly inflated plastic couch with a cigarette (unfortunate accident), to when the Joint Succession played mixers at the Community Center.
Jay and Allen were both employed as farmers in the mid-70s. I was a stay at home mom, Sandi a controller at Wheelers. Heidi and Brandon were four and five respectively and Jamie was a toddler. Abbie hadn’t come along yet. We did lots together both as couples and families.
Anyway, this particular weekend we headed up to the lake, Hord Lake. It had rained, so the guys could get away. We would meet the Osentowskis there. Allen was a member of the American Legion Drum and Bugle Corps. They had a parade gig somewhere up that way and would arrive later. For some reason, perhaps grandparents volunteered, it would just be the four of us on this little getaway.
Jay piloted our brown and white Ford pickup. The bed was loaded down with supplies, the cab loaded down with us. Hanging out of the camper shell was the faux birch-bark canoe he had just purchased. Jay was anxious to test the boat out. Inside the hull lay a bright orange life-vest ... not the usual kind, a modern, state-of-the-art device that looked kind of like a flack jacket/day-glo hunting vest hybrid.
The canoe was unloaded first, followed by a box containing our cabin-style tent. Soon we were set. I secured the coolers and told Jay I was heading for the beach.
It was late afternoon before Allen and Sandi pulled in. Their abode was similar to ours and before long we had our very own tent city.
After a co-op dinner, the guys had an announcement to make ... dum-di-de-dum ... it was time christen the canoe and take it on its maiden voyage.
Circling the lake on foot, Jay and Allen headed in the direction of the dugout. They’d thrown lifejackets haphazardly around their necks just because. Both wore standard weekend fare, shorts, tennis shoes and a T-shirt.
Sandi and I stood on shore like a couple of war brides, waving hankies near water lit by the falling sun. It was a glorious sight ... our men set to paddle away, across the not so wide expanse of water.
“Farewell brave explorers” we laughed ... I mean, cried, as we turned to matters at hand, like the supper dishes.
Swiftly did they glide around the lake. Sharp were the strikes of their paddles as they drove forward through the (never) treacherous waters. Our men had traveled far when they reached the bank near our campsite and prepared to disembark. They were weary. Warn them we did of a nearby sign reading, “Caution Deep Water.” And then the unthinkable. In the blink of an eye, without warning, their canoe capsized.
I will never forget the sight of Jay and Allen grasping their life vests as the craft went down. Neither Sandi nor I will ever forget the look of sheer terror in our husbands’ eyes. Jay and Allen clutched the orange lifesavers until their backsides sat down in the mud on the bottom of the lake right next to the deep water warning. There they sat — in water reaching at least up to their armpits.
Supportive wives that we were (and are), we burst out laughing. Jay swam off after the canoe. Allen was muttering something (we are still not sure what) as he stood up and trudged out of the water ... our sailors had returned from sea. There would be no widow’s garb for us. And as the sun set over Hord Lake, Sandi and I busied ourselves hanging their unmentionables out to dry. We accused Jay and Allen of trading the naval life for a tour of duty as commandos.
 As I recall we had a storm that night. By morning everything was wet anyway. I believe, if memory serves, we pulled up stakes quite early in the day, made the short drive to our house. I whipped up a couple of ham and cheese omelets. Our trip had been cut short. Sandi and I never got the chance to prove we could canoe too.