An evening kayak

Finally, we put ourselves in boats.

We’ve been talking about it for weeks now- how close we are to Kangaroo Lake, and how much we wanted to explore the shallow, inland lake. We’ve been whining about it, perturbed that we’ve been too tired from our house projects, justifying that the weather hasn’t been nice enough anyway.

But tonight, we put aside the lists and the projects and the work that seems to have consumed us. It literally took twenty minutes from the time we started loading the boats until the time we scooched ourselves into the water. That’s a good thing.  ( It wasn’t all rosy, happy bliss, however.  Since I’m honest, I’ll report there was a little tension in the garage as we hurriedly dug in the camping boxes that were under the fishing boxes that were under some tool boxes in order to find the water proof bags and lifejackets. )

But we persevered; we left boxes open and not-put-back so that we would have plenty of time on the water before sunset.

And thankfully, we did.

Once on the water, we took our time gliding slowly and languidly across the glass-like surface.  Dave watched birds: I took pictures.

 

The little lake is divided by a causeway that is a well-traveled county road. The south side has private homes and summer residences and a few resorts with several cottages.  Some people have piers and boats. People fish. Kids swim.

The north side, however, is mostly undeveloped, wild and uncivilized. The water is shallow, only a few feet deep, and it is reedy.  As far as we know, there are no roads or trails that access the lake, so no one walks the land; no one uses it, inhabits it.  But we accessed it this evening, along with cranes and an egret, grebes, flycatchers, and ducks.

I was taken by the geometry of the reeds in the water:

 and .

It was the first time I’ve seen so obviously how lily pads grow.

Paddling was easy. We took our time.

And we reveled in the slow, quiet solace of a still lake at sunset.

Hallelujah.