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The Victoria GAZETTE |
“Let’s do the boat,” he says on Sunday afternoon, September 26th. “It’ll be one last hurrah.” “For goodness sake, we were just on a boat for eleven days straight,” said I. But ten minutes later, here we are on Lake Minnetonka, note pad in my hand, no clouds in the blue sky, sailboats quietly and slowly moving near us in the calm waters. Patches of orange, red, and yellow appear sporadically in the lush greenery surrounding the shores of this magnificent body of water. Unlike at sea, at no point do we not see here a shoreline of homes and docks, yards landscaped by man or nature, rocked tiers or big woods, city parks or restaurants, striped boat covers, marinas or sandy beaches. It is a people lake versus an ocean inhabited by whales and porpoises, sharks and sea lions. A lone loon dives for his supper and seems never to come up for air. A small fishing boat, not wide enough for two people to sit next to each other, passes between us and the loon. We have MPR playing in the background. Classical music has become our boat music and its vocabulary is wider and deeper than anything expelled from a human voice or written text. Spelling is not important to violins. Seems we were just anticipating spring. “And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days. Then Heaven tires earth if it be in tune, and over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten.” There are more individual sailboats out this afternoon than on other summer days, and they’re venturing far beyond their usual quiet bays -- probably because it’s such smooth sailing today without all the big summer traffic making waves. Often the sailboats travel in groups, as in regattas. The sun is, from our vantage point, about 30 feet above the horizon at 4:30 p.m., and it sprinkles hundreds of glistening diamond sparkles across a swath of the lake’s surface. They dance like stars, like Tinkerbell and her friends at the Sunday evening Walt Disney Movie. Ten boats are parked at the Power Squadron Camp this afternoon. It’s the place that Jim Crowley, new candidate for the Victoria City Council, spoke of last month in the Gazette. Interesting how our small worlds connect over time and space and water. We’ve just finished our boat sandwiches and are bobbing in place now without motor or anchor. Beethoven and Mozart keep performing for us and we haven’t even clapped for an encore. They are in sync with the gentle movements of the boat, and with us. We know that fall will come each year about this time and yet it always seems to catch us by surprise. Seagulls fly overhead and they’re not heading south yet, which is a good thing. The lone loon now has a partner. Hope they’ll be safe when they get to the Gulf of Mexico this winter. We watch as a pontoon plane takes off and 15 minutes later returns to the lake. Smooth landing. Then the aircraft prepares again for takeoff. The lake is smooth as glass, a perfect runway. I suspect the pilot is giving rides this evening to family or friends, a last hurrah for them too. The sun is only 15 feet from the horizon now. We won’t stay for the sunset. Long enough is long enough. Have I told you lately that for every hour you spend on water, you add a day to your lifespan? Well, I’m very aware that we can’t live forever on this side of life, so one more sunset shouldn’t make much of a difference. Besides, because of Our Ocean’s Eleven, I’m a little anxious about getting another newspaper done. I’m accountable. As Charles Stanley said this morning, “Accountability is a divine principle. When violated, there are always consequences.” We silently return to our slip at the marina where giant weeping willow trees allow many of their branches to dangle beyond the banks and continue playing in the water. But our playing is done. Some of the other shoreline trees with their red and gold patches understand us better than weeping willows. “Golden and red trees nod to the soft breeze as it whispers, ‘Winter is near.’ And the brown nuts fall at the wind’s loud call, for this is the fall of the year.” |
October 2010 |
From the Editor |