The River Rat

The River Rat

Friday, March 25, 2016

March 25 2016 - Throwback - Turtle Island

We had been paddling, it seemed, for hours.  The four of us in our cedar strip canoe. Bags piled high with our two little ones perched on top. Snacks. Books. Crayons. It was peaceful, happy. The cry of a loon, quiet whispering as we paddled around a curve to see a majestic moose and calf, just there in the water lillies, grazing. Slowly, large heads dripping, lifting to look at us; Lane and Eryn with eyes as big as saucers, looking back.

“They’re having salad,” Eryn explains in a hushed whisper.

I smile and nod back at her, feeling as though my heart might burst. Here on the water, in the woods, both families enjoying the bounty before us.

Paddling further still, we aim towards an island in the centre of the lake, its’ campsite not yet taken by another. We stop and the children spill out of the boat, their happy noises echoing out over the water.  Greg and I, working as one, unload and transition from water traveler to resident camper. The fire is started and in this action we declare our presence. Our daughter is back on the beach, singing out across the water to the loons, calling out – she owns this day. Our son is tending the fire – he is fascinated by it and is busy like a worker bee going away to forage for dry sticks and back again to watch the sparks fly up.

I catch Greg’s eye, he smiles and I return it. We belong here in this place of solitude and silence, of togetherness and peace, and I am grateful.

Thank you for the water, that affords us transport through these vast forests and deep into the land, that nourishes us on our journey, that provides life to everything all around, home to fish and turtles and to animals that graze down into it. Thank you for the earth, the trees that provide shelter, transportation and fuel.  For the eyes that saw those trees and dreamed the canoe, and for the hands that created it. Thank you for the diversity of life, all life, for bulrushes with their tender roots providing food for moose and even for us. Thank you for the seasons, ensuring the continuity of the circle of life, and support for each of us along our journeys. Thank you for the sun, for the light that helps us all to grow, for all things to grow and to be plentiful. Thank you for teaching me to have patience, and to trust, and to know that there is an order of things in the Circle, and that I am all of it and that I am a tiny speck in it.

***

I am rock. Low in the water, I peek out from under this land on my back, out across the dazzling blue. I wait. I hear them first, the thud of the paddle against the gunnels. I have heard it before; for hundreds of years have I heard that sound of people approaching me from across the water. Now and then, between the waves, the pause between each wavelet as it laps up against me, smoothing my surface, I can begin to see the tops of them over the sparkling blue. Their paddle blades splash and as they approach closer I can begin to hear their gentle, low voices, and the musical quality of their laughter, especially the children’s.

I wait for them.

I watch them pause, fishing out a hat from the water with a paddle blade.

Still I wait.

Then suddenly they burst out of the blue and are upon me – paddle blades again, this time reaching out to find a niche where they can make steady their craft against me.
Small feet first – I feel them, cool against my warm, smooth surface, warmed by the sun. They tickle as they skip over me, off to the earth. A more solid foot then, the woman as she steps out, steadying herself on me first then, crouching, she steadies the canoe against me for him. Another solid step out, then they are all there, crouched on me and they take care not to rub the canoe against me. Their packs are being set out upon me. I offer them this – the security, the stability of the land. My heat is theirs. They are respectful of each other, of their craft, of me. They go inland and I remain at the water’s edge. 


I wait.

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