In another world … Terry and I drive to our favorite Priest Lake beach on a sunny spring day to picnic in the sand. We set up our chairs next to each other. Listen to the waves lap the shore. Maybe follow a bald eagle’s flight across the sky. We see the forested islands dropping anchor in the water. Watch drifting clouds. Hear the wind stirring in the pines. We say what we always say — that we’re glad we got married here — almost 50 years ago now.

In another world, there would not be a barricade shutting us out from our beach.

Terry said, “All this really hits home when they shut down Priest Lake.”

Okay … so I’ll go there in memory.

I was just a kid when my dad took our family camping at Indian Creek. We drove all the way around the lake on a Sunday morning to get to a small A-frame church on Kalispell Bay. We arrived late to the service. I remember simple wood benches, an unfinished interior. Never dreaming one day my father would be the preacher there — and I would be a bride.

My California aunt was having fits — not for herself, but for me who was eight months pregnant — because Terry drove us in a pickup truck on a back road near Granite Falls the end of one November. We thought we’d encountered Bigfoot loping ahead of us in the snowy road. Turned out to be the backside of a moose — a rare sighting in the ’70s.

Terry and I won’t forget the October we saw a bear swimming the lake and rushed from the cabin where we were staying to see where it came ashore. Probably a good thing we missed it. Or the summer we were in a boat and found a moose swimming way out in the water. We hung around at a distance to make sure she made it to land.

There was the day we hiked to Chimney Rock — and a full moon hung low in the early evening sky when we completed the trip. Our border collie stuck with us till the rock slides and waited steadfastly while we scrambled on to the base of the iconic landmark.

For a time — before moving to Alaska — we had a lot at the Lake where we eventually parked a pickup camper. Wildflower bouquets on our outdoor table…Fourth of July fireworks…swimming at a secluded beach full of butterflies … watching a grouse mating dance. The experiences piled up.

For Terry, whose family owned Kaniksu Resort several years — and for me, going there from childhood — Priest Lake is a huge chunk of memory. The world as I’ve known it has gone missing — for a duration yet to be determined — but I have a secret search and rescue strategy while I’m waiting.

Memories. Now’s the time to pull out the best ones — and bask in a freedom I hope and pray will return.