When Thurston and I started talking about which stories should—and shouldn’t—be included in a future book about Awanabatch, we both agreed that one particular visit needed to make the final cut. While we’ve outgrown most of the shenanigans that took place the first summer that we invited friends, the memories live on.

I knew after one visit to Awanabatch that it was the kind of place my friends would love. One friend came to mind immediately.

When I asked Tal if I could use his real name in this story, he readily agreed. He said people would probably think I made it up anyway.

Tal was—and still is—a real outdoorsman. I knew he would love the opportunity to fish and float down the Batchawana River. He certainly wouldn’t let a few mice and a long drive keep him from coming up.

The next thing I knew—and before Thurston had even been notified—Tal was free to come up and was bringing his mother with him. Some might think that sounds a little strange, but Tal and I were—and still are—like brother and sister. I had also grown close to his mother soon after my divorce. When one of her friends had an emergency and canceled at the last minute, I traveled with her to Colorado by train.

When Thurston’s mom realized that my friend Tal was a man and he and his mother were coming, she didn’t know what to think. Why would her son’s girlfriend be bringing another man—and his mother? Thurston’s mom did all the talking, while his dad seemed willing to sit back and watch the show unfold.

Looking back, I don’t know why it seemed so strange. Thurston was a single, fifty-something-year-old man vacationing with his parents. Why should it seem odd for our friend to bring his mother?

I wasn’t worried about everyone getting along once they met each other. Both mothers were farm wives with traditional values. They both enjoyed fishing and trips to the casino. And at that time, both loved cooking.  My only concern was how the two food pushers would work together. Between them, no one was in danger of going hungry. Each seemed to believe that accepting a second helping was expected and declining a third was a personal rejection.

It took about two minutes after their arrival and introductions for Thurston’s family to become comfortable with the arrangement. Thurston, of course, had never been concerned about the male-friend situation. When we started dating, I had made it clear that Tal was my friend and would remain my friend. He needed to be okay with that—and he was.

As expected, Tal and his mother brought enough food to feed an army. Tal didn’t just wait on the mothers; he made sure everyone had a beverage in hand at all times.  Clearly, he intended to win over Thurston’s family.

Along with all the food, Tal brought several beverages to share. Thurston’s daughter was particularly fond of homemade root beer. It may have tasted innocent, but it apparently contained enough adult ingredients to inspire both affection and honesty.

She changed her mind the next morning, but that evening she thoroughly enjoyed it. The root beer prompted her to profess her love for her father and announce that she had never realized he was such a fun person.

Thurston’s son will likely always remember it as the night they played Dizzy Bat down on the beach. I think we followed that by lying in the sand and watching for shooting stars. Or maybe we all just ended up lying in the sand. I don’t think anyone remembers for sure.

All in all, everyone had a wonderful time, and no one got hurt—too badly. By then, Tal had won over Thurston’s mother, despite the root beer incident. Before they left, Tal and his mother were already making plans to return the following year.

Years later, we still talk about that first visit. But that is the thing about inviting Tal: somehow, before the weekend is over, you always end up with a Tal tale.