This morning I woke up at 7:45 to attend a yoga class at 8. I didn't take this yoga class at my local health club, and I didn't take it as a precursor to a swim practice. I took this yoga class on a tennis court in the middle of the woods with 16 people, ages ten to seventy, that I’ve known my entire life.
Last night, I sauntered down to a bonfire at my neighbor’s house and hung out for an hour or two. We sat around a fire pit that’s nearing eighty years old, nestled between a couple of pines on the shore of our prized lake.
Today my family hosted a party for my grandpa on his 87th birthday. Fifty of our neighbors gathered on my front porch to, quite literally, eat, drink, and be merry.
These are the things we do here in Okaiyoka, which is what we call the small stretch of land that’s been owned by the same nine families and their descendants for the past eighty three years.
In Okaiyoka, the “open-door policy” is most certainly relevant. If you walk down the line of houses at around six or seven at night, you’ll most likely run into a house that’s grilling outside. You’ll stop to chat as you walk through their front yard, and chances are high that you’ll be invited to stay for dinner. You might find other peoples dogs playing or people walking through your yard at any given time.
That’s all normal here. A weird amount of things are shared (boats, food, and yoga mats, among other things), and a lot of fun is had. There’s always someone to play tennis or golf with, to go tubing or skiing with, or to just swim with.
Spending the summer in Okaiyoka is a lot like summer camp…but better. There are a lot of organized activities and everyone is friends with everyone. There is always, and I mean always, something to do and life never gets boring. Living in Okaiyoka for even just a fraction of a summer builds more lifelong friendships than any summer camp I’ve ever heard of and I’m so thankful that I am able to call such a place my summer home.
