It is fair to say that memories made in the early years of our lives impact us in a remarkable way. For better or worse, these early experiences shape the lens through which we see the world. While many of us wish we could erase certain portions of our past, there are a handful of golden moments and memories that we should be grateful we have the privilege to hold on to.

For me, there is one experience, now only a memory, that will always hold one of these prized places in my past: weekends on Lay Lake. While many Central Alabama locals have grown to appreciate other lakeside destinations on Lake Martin or Smith Lake, there is still magic to be found in the simplicity and serenity of the sleepy corner of Lay Lake that my family once frequented.

This story is equal parts sweet and simple. My grandfather grew up in Clanton, most widely known for Chilton County peaches and the iconic Peach Park. As the result of a very kind and generous family friend who believed in him and his potential, he was sent to  Samford University in Birmingham. After meeting my grandmother in his first years at the university, he completed his degree and, soon after, they were married.

With a steady job and an incredible wife, he was living out his dream. Not long after, my mother was born and their family began expanding and eventually they grew into a family of four.

Feeling the pull to return to his roots, he decided to spend time and attention on a lake house that he had inherited from his father a mere 15 minutes from where had grown up. It wasn’t much to look at at the time, but he had a vision for what it could become. He started dedicating weekends to the project of transforming the lake house into a place that could host close friends and family. In a sense, it was coming home.

Over a span of years, the lake house saw minor renovation after minor renovation until it became a relaxing haven and a hideaway from the relative chaos of work life. My grandmother spared no effort in creating a home of the house and every room felt as though she had sprinkled a bit of her magic across the space while carefully preparing for each guest’s arrival.

The lake house saw countless barbecues, weekend parties, and sleepovers. Boat rides were taken, laughter ripped through the tall trees, and sunburnt faces found rest against perfectly placed pillows at night. The Lay Lake house became a place of legend. Legends that I would hear over the years growing up from aunts and uncles and family friends—stories of harmless fun, wholesome family bonding, and old-fashioned southern hospitality.

Fast forward a decade and my sister would take her first small steps across the stone paths toward the water—her tiny footprints memorialized in cement and placed near the staircase. Photos from her first visits show the faces of my mom, dad, grandmother, and grandfather smiling and sentimental.

Two years later, my own feet would cross those same paths, followed by my cousins’ and my brother’s. Each of our tiny footprints laid alongside one another in sequence. Every year would pass just as the one before. Weekends at the lake saw good southern cooking, time in the sun and shade, s’mores on the fire, and dessert after dessert until we were too stiff to move.

It was a chilly winter in late 2022 when the story was brought to an end. My grandfather fell sick as we all rallied around him in his final moments. After supporting him through his last days, we shared memories with one another about the good times—the days on the lake, the times spent laughing, the love that was shared, and the memories that we assured him would never fade.

With his passing, it was decided that we would seal these golden moments in the past and let the lake house serve as a priceless part of another family’s future. We agreed it felt right to give others the ability to enjoy the kind of experiences that brought our own family closer together.

Looking back, those moments seem sepia-toned and surreal. In memory, the best experiences are flawless, set apart from reality, and perfect. And these are among them. While we may never be able to recreate these moments and the present may seem imperfect, these memories will always be held, spotless, in our minds.