The first time I heard the lake moan I didn’t know what I was hearing, I imagined a pack of wolves high on the ridge keening. It sounded at once mournful and foreboding. The 9-year-old me pressing hard against 42-year-old me, was all nerves and excitement, “Is it howling?” “It’s the lake,” Sean said with a smile. “Isn’t that wild?” “The lake? The lake is making that sound?” He nodded and held his hand out to me. We walked out on the porch, “Listen.” I turned my body and tilted my ear toward the lake. The sound started on the far side of the lake as a kind of warble that bled into a groan which went on for a full minute. I…