The problem with me is that I always think that everything will be just this way. That life is constantly changing is a lesson I cannot seem to grasp. I think back to when Rachel was a toddler. Life consisted of the busyness of being a mom, combined with trying to work a little here and there because there was never enough money. I was tired, and things were stressful, and though I rationally knew that those hard days were not going to be the reality of my entire life, I couldn't quite wrap my head around it.
Today boasts what I think of as perfect Maine summer weather. Sunshine, small puffy clouds floating in a flawless blue sky, 80 degrees, and low humidity. A lovely breeze kept any biting bugs at bay. It was the sort of day I longed to be doing something besides working. Digging in the garden, or strolling on the beach, perhaps. We had a busy workday planned. The afternoon was slated for grooming three time-consuming dogs from one family. That family forgot they had an appointment, and suddenly we had four or five hours totally free stretching out before us. We didn't quite know what to do. We called a few customers from our cancellation list, but none could come on such short notice. So we came up with a delightful plan.
In no time, we had our bathing suits on and two kayaks loaded into the back of the truck. We drove to Ayer Park, on 7 Tree Pond. It's one of my favorite places to explore, and I didn't go there at all last year. We put the boats in at the boat ramp, then paddled along the shore to where a river opens. The wind made the water a little rough. We skirted between boulders and through a little fast-moving water, under a bridge with cars whizzing over it, and found ourselves in a favorite spot of mine. A wide, slow river, dotted with big rounded boulders here and there. A mama Mallard led her brood of 6 ducklings right in front of us, and they all climbed up on a rock, mere feet away, fearless. Around a bend and we were treated to the sight of a good-sized turtle, sunning on a log. Before us, two dark objects bobbed then vanished. It was a pair of loons, fishing leisurely. They stayed about 20 feet ahead but kept us company as we made our way upstream.
Round Pond met the river after a while. I rarely ever encounter other paddlers here and love the wild-feeling solitude of the place. Today the wind made progress hard work, so after a bit, we turned back to the shelter of the river.
I wish I could take a camera with me on these trips. I've never once toppled my boat in 17 years, but I worry I will ruin a camera if I take one out. I wish I could show how the ferns grow at the edge of the water, sun-dappled by the rays streaming through the trees that hug the shore. I'd love for you to see the green heron that fishes where the fallen logs reach out into the water, and the metallic glint of a school of tiny fish, rising to the surface in a flipping, flapping flurry. I could show you the flawless leaves of water lilies and the buds of their flowers, unexpectedly bright against the water. But even if I dared bring my camera with me, you still couldn't hear the Yellow Warbler singing or the haunting call of the Wood Thrush. You wouldn't be able to see the movement of the Red-Winged blackbirds, swooping in the brush and scolding us brightly as we pass by. Nor could you smell the river water, clean and fresh.
When we first moved here 18 years ago, my two sisters and I paddled these same ponds and river. We stopped at an enormous bolder and took a summer swim. It was wonderful being together there, and I thought, "Now that I live in New England, we can do this all the time!" Missing our sister Dicy, we braided wildflowers, said a little prayer, and tossed our creation into the lake. Just then, a Bald Eagle swooped over, low. We felt it was a sign- that for one instant, all four of us were joined in spirit once again. It was all magical and wonder-filled. And here is where you can see my problem. That was the last time my sisters and I ever kayaked together. Life was never just that way again, and never will be.
So today, when my daughter and I had the unexpected gift of bonus hours, perfect weather, and small, sturdy boats to paddle in a lovely place, I made myself focus hard on how precious each moment was.
The funny bullfrog calls, the whir of duck wings overhead, the sensation of sun on my face and water on my hands as I rested the paddle, tilted my face to the sky, and trailed my fingers in the river.
As the sand runs through my hourglass, I hope to cling to each grain with the knowledge that every passing day is unique. And it will never be just this way again.
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