There's nowhere quite as serene and ominous as Tahoe. It's powers are mysterious. The stories buried in the depths of its waters are even more mysterious. It enchants the soul without you knowing it. It leaves you begging for more.
My husband fell in love with Tahoe, but only after we'd left.
He doesn't quite know what happened. In 2015, we were there for a whirlwind weekend to be apart of my best friend's wedding. There was lots of socializing and late nights, and at those high altitudes, it was hard to catch your breath. While we were there, he didn't really get Tahoe. It was October, so no snow graced the peaks around the dark lake. And because it was October, it was chilly. The wind blew violently over the lake while the sun crisped exposed skin.
It was the off season.
It was quiet.
It wasn't the Tahoe you go to see.
And yet, after we returned home, my husband wanted to go back. He wanted to move there.
Maybe it was how the sunrise crept up over the eastern mountains and outlined figures walking on the beach at dawn. Maybe it was how perfectly still the water remained when the first strokes of light touched it. Maybe it was how the lake, so round and vast, stretched just barely out of eyesight, encircled by immense mountains. Maybe it was how dark, deep and yet inviting the lake appeared. Maybe it was how the Sugar Pines and White Firs outlined the roads and perfumed the forests. Or how the cabin homes molded into the steep mountainsides. Or how the locals surfed in the lake in the fall.
Maybe it was all these things.
I don't know. And maybe I'll never know. He still doesn't know how he found himself in love with that place. But what I do know is that once Tahoe gets a hold of you, it doesn't let you go. It calls you.
It becomes Tahome.