A Love Letter to Woodward’s Crystal Beach Lake

Dear Crystal Beach Lake,

 

I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this straight out, so I’ll do it plain and simple: you’ve been good to us.

 

I grew up around Woodward, which means I grew up around you. You were always there—quiet, patient, not showing off. You never asked for attention, but you sure got it anyway. Kids yelling, parents hollering, teenagers pretending not to care (while caring deeply). You handled all of us without complaint, which is impressive, considering some of us were not our best selves.

I heard you started as a failed oil well. Honestly, that feels about right for Woodward—turning “well, that didn’t work” into “look at us now.” Instead of striking oil, we struck something better. We struck a place to breathe.

 

You’ve watched us fish without catching much, picnic with food ants liked better than we did, and sit quietly when words were too heavy to carry. You held reflections of fireworks, ballgames, rodeo weeks, and summer days that felt like they’d never end (they always did, but we didn’t know that yet).

 

When times were hard, folks came to you anyway. When times were good, they came faster. You didn’t play favorites. You never moved. You just stayed.

 

That’s why I’m writing. Not because you needed it—but because we did.

 

With respect,

A grateful neighbor

 

Part II: A Love Letter, Answered

 

Well now… since you took the time to write, it only seems right I answer.

 

I am Crystal Beach Lake, and yes—I remember you.

 

I remember when you were shorter and louder. I remember bicycles wobbling too close to my edge and dogs drinking when they probably shouldn’t have. I remember the days when people showed up just to sit, because sitting felt like enough.

 

You’re right—I started out as a mistake. Folks wanted oil and got water. But during hard times, people learned a smart lesson: if something won’t be what you planned, let it be what you need. They shaped me during the Depression, and I decided to return the favor by sticking around.

 

I’ve watched Woodward change outfits—new buildings, new faces—but the heart stayed the same. I saw families grow, scatter, and come back. I held your reflections when you were proud and when you were tired. I never judged. Lakes don’t do that. We just listen.

 

I learned something from all of you.

 

Being important doesn’t mean being loud.

Being loved doesn’t mean being perfect.

And staying matters more than shining.

 

So thank you for noticing me. Thank you for walking my paths, trusting me with your memories, and teaching your kids where calm lives.

 

Here’s my lesson, written in water but easy to remember:

 

Big things don’t always start strong—sometimes they start useful.

 

And the proverb you can carry home:

 

“What holds steady, matters most.”

 

Yours always,

Crystal Beach Lake