PERSPECTIVES: A Lens in History / Cain Center for the Arts photo

Oct. 7. By Lindsay Martell.

I get it.

Everyone loves summer. Vacays at the beach, treks to the mountains, weekend days at the lake. It’s idyllic and bright and photo roll scroll-worthy. We undoubtedly have no shortage of awesome ways to kick back and soak in the deliciousness of it all.

But…

I love the end of summer. The slightly less intense heat (yeah, I know all about fake fall but still), rifling through the near-empty school supply bins at Staples (seriously, how early are folks shopping for this stuff?).

Savoring the memories of the summery things we did (s’mores on the Solo Stove, dusky greenway walks, trying not to get beaned in the face by giant noodles at the pool), but there is also a gradual stillness to the slow slide into fall.

A downshift. A reset.

Latta Nature Preserve is a favorite reprieve for my family, especially when we all need a break from streets and screens, but we usually avoid it in the heat of the summer.

This year, the day before our daughter returned to school, when a sliver of coolness cut through the humidity, we headed into the foresty oasis that is both familiar and oddly new after so many months away.

Making our way to Buzzard Rock Trail, we joked with our daughter about the downed tree she used to love to clamber up and stand on, like a proud lumberjack.

She may be on the back nine of 12, but she’ll always be our little forest sprite; never missing a butterfly’s trajectory or a chance to peer into Mountain Island Lake, her orange Crocs leaving deep prints in the sand.

Another favorite is miles from Latta, but so worth the congestion: Cain Center of the Arts. At the “Perspectives: A Lens in History” exhibition, photography relics like an 8mm Brownie Kodak from 1960, a Polaroid camera from the late 70s, and an awesomely ancient View-Master peered out from pedestals.

It’s a poignant nudge at how far we’ve come with our memory-keeping; before the digital-ness of our lives used up gigabytes of a different kind of memory, when storage was used to describe boxes, attics and basements.

The Cain’s vibe is a soothing respite from the back-to-school rush, and I love that it’s become an anchor for creative expression in Lake Norman.

After soaking in photographic nostalgia at Cain, I slogged along Catawba until I stopped at Kunu Coffee, nodding appreciatively at the sidewalk sign that reads, “Less Traffic, More Coffee” by its front door.

The customers looked like a mashup of remote creatives, couples, and off-duty ballet dancers, which is another sign of Cornelius’ growth: leaping beyond its label as a tony suburb of Charlotte to a place where everyone can pull up a chair.

I sipped and listened to James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” punctuating the air; a sweet reminder of how summer starts, and ends.

Editors note: We’re excited to welcome a new column about living in Lake Norman, written by Lindsay Martell. The column name is a nod to life around the lake and our town’s mill history.

Lindsay Martell lives in Birkdale with her husband, daughter, and a scruffy mini mutt named Dug.