JUNE 8, 2019 – After a week in the rat race, we’re now enjoying the quietude of the northwoods. Here one notices the subtleties of nature and learns to appreciate the grander scheme of things.
After dinner I slipped the kayak into the waters and paddled fast straight out until I was safely beyond the mosquito zone. I then turned parallel to the shore, and in twilight’s glow, glided leisurely along making barely a sound. The still, sentinel pine watched my progress along the edge of their dominion.
All was right with this world, until . . . loons far out on the lake ruptured the silence. About 600 feet away and barely visible, a pair was sounding off full throttle. Another loon answered robustly but too far east to be visible. Yet a third loon way down the lake got into the action too. For the better part of five minutes, these familiar waterfowl displayed with unusual amplification, their trademark laugh and call.
I scanned the horizon to see if I could detect any imminent threat.
First in mind was the eagle that earlier had swept down over the water not 30 feet from where Beth and I were sitting on the dock. With assault talons fully extended, the giant bird skimmed the surface, then, empty-clawed, shot up and away down the shoreline.
But now there was no sign of the eagle, and I observed no other visible cause for such excitement among the loons. I turned and headed back, listening to the echoes of this unusual chorus.
As this part of the earth turned farther away from the sun, the crescent moon grew brighter on its journey toward the western horizon. I marveled at how all this worked—earth spinning, moon revolving, earth darkening, moon brightening.
Now silhouetted were the pine guards along the shore. I noticed that one of my favorite trees anywhere, the lush white pine just behind the ice-formed berm along the shore in front of our cabin, has come into its own. As with other features of “real” estate, a tree’s fortunes are a matter of location, location, location. Now this prime pine is nearly as tall as of any number of much older, more rakish white pine in the vicinity. A full third of its height soars above its immediate oak and maple neighbors. When I was a young kid, the top of that tree tickled my chin. When we built our “Red Cabin” 24 years ago where the old cabin stood, this now regal tree had not yet cleared the tops of its companions.
As I paddled back to our dock, I rejoiced in the experience just ended and reveled in the imminence of stargazing.
Now a mild, southerly breeze blows. The mosquitoes have all gone home. The moon smiles, and the stars dazzle. All is right with this world.
The rats and the race are but a concept.
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
