August of 2000 was the only year our widowed mother and all nine of us siblings and our families camped together for a fun-packed week at Knotty Pines Resort in Nevis, Minn.
We had the campground to ourselves and made the most of it. The kids had a playground, and we all enjoyed shuffleboard, fishing, swimming, canoeing, paddleboats and more. The Heartland Trail was nearby to walk, run, bike or Rollerblade. Evenings were enjoyed around a campfire making s’mores, singing or just visiting and reminiscing.
The morning of our last day, someone suggested a group picture on the dock, which had a bunch of loose benches and was bolted to posts buried in the bottom of the lake. Mom didn’t want to come outside. It had rained, and she didn’t want to get her shoes wet. My sister Dolly said, “You won’t get your shoes wet!” Reluctantly she relented. They set her in front on a bench with her 3-month-old grandson on her lap.
The group — 31 of us — had already “cheesed” for a few pictures when a boat with a couple of boys coming in from fishing glided near. Gentle waves slapped against the dock, which started rocking back and forth as they idled past. Suddenly, with a sudden loud creak, the boards tilted away from under my feet. I clung tightly to the rail in front of us as the boards disappeared.
