We make our first visit of the year to the lake in spring. There’s always a thrill to getting back to the lake after the long winter’s absence, and we smell the lake before we see it. Before the gravel road deposits us in the lodge parking lot, we are sniffing the wonderful watery smell, and reveling in the scent of green growing things. The children race from the car to the water’s edge, testing the frigid water. The lake is awakening from the long winter’s dormancy, and in the forest which marches down to the shore, the returning songbirds are everywhere.
In midsummer, our holiday at the lodge centres upon the lake. We spend long hours either in it or on it. A quiet paddle to the creek at the head of the lake may reward the adventuresome with a glimpse of the moose family. Coming back down the lake, gently floating in the canoe, quietly listening to the far-off cries of swimmers at the dock, we are peace with the lake. Suddenly a loon pops up beside the canoe: it’s a perfect Canadian moment.
A favourite time to savour the lake is after supper, watching the sun set as we drink coffee on the porch, with canoes slipping silently along the shore, as the vacationers take the evening air.
There’s a thrilling show over the lake every August. To witness the Perseid meteor shower with the children, we dress up in warm clothes, and go down to lie on the dock. We marvel at the Milky Way reflected in the midnight lake. Bundled up in blankets against the chilly August night, we see the shooting stars, and hear the call of the loon....the children never forget this moment. Later, there is loon laughter in the dark as we lie in bed, sensing that exciting combination of the unknown north just beyond our cozy bedroom wall.
A return visit to the lake in fall opens us to a show of colour. Our lake is surrounded with blazing hardwood trees during the height of the autumn season. During the day, we drift quietly in the canoe beside the shore. The loons have migrated now, and the lake is silent in the golden October light. As darkness falls, the lake throws off clouds of steam in the autumn dusk. The cook comes down the path, heading for the kitchen: The lake is smoking, he observes, and so it is. The lake is getting ready for winter. Soon no human voice will be heard across its frozen expanse. Later, in the city, we sleep and dream of the lake in summer, of canoes and loons, and of swimming freely in the dark brown water.
- Elizabeth Bream, 1998
Slipping sideways along the shore
We silently stalk a loon.
Whispering pines slide by,
Speaking of wildflowers.
Gold and russet, yellow and sere,
Autumn leaves drift gently
In the September noon.
Sweet woodsmoke hangs in the air.
Sudden in the fading sunshine
Comes a visitor to the water’s edge.
Slowly lumbering into the lake,
Moose takes his territory.
Wordlessly we admire
His gangly beauty; then
Rewarded, well satisfied,
We skim the calm waters home.