1. Rules Based Order
Old hands — those whose memories of this place go back before their memories of this place, those who recall the cacophony of frogs before the chorus fell silent, those who remember when the southern end of the lake was still wild, before lakeside swimming pools and fertilized lawns replaced the forest that kissed the water’s edge, those who remember what it’s like to ski behind a 25 horse Johnson before inboard MasterCrafts and propeller-less SeaDoos.
Old hands like those have a punch-list of lamentations. They mourn the passing of the world of their younger years — the song of the frogs, and the wildness of not only the southeastern shore of this lake but the utter wild of all the lakes, the meticulous skill required to stand up like from a chair as a whining 25 horse motor pulls you out into deep water. Their lamentations include such things as
- That pontoon boat is going too fast.
- They’re swimming out too deep.
- They’re driving that boat too shallow.
- Look at the size of the waves they’re making.
- They shouldn’t be out on the lake after the start of evening fishing time.
- They should have lights if they’re out this late.
and of course
- Oh, those jet skis.
The old hands mourn the passing of the rules based order of yesteryear.
2. No Evening Swim
Yesterday I got in inkling to swim across the lake before sunset. The day before, I had swum across with Ben while Sam paddled the safety kayak. And based on that, I can definitively say that had I participated the super swim competition a week prior, I would have at least placed fourth. As my cousin said, “No medal, but a respectable showing.” (There were of course only three competitors in that competition, but still…)
The swim with Ben and Sam felt great, so I wanted to go again last night. This time I would use Janet’s pink floatie for safety, since Ben and Sam were gone and I would be alone in the water.
But… Oh that jet ski.
There was this guy on a jet ski zipping around the lake faster than any I’ve ever seen. I’m telling you he was zipping around. Zipping! And he was pulling a girl on a tube whom he was whipping left and right and spinning in tight circles at random places in the lake. I’m telling you he was whipping and spinning around. Whipping and spinning! To top it off, he was going clockwise around the lake. Clockwise!
“David?” Janet called out from next door.
“Yes?”
“Not a good time to swim across.”
“Nope. Not goin’.”
This was no old-fogie lamentation. No yearning for the rules based order. This was simple common sense. There would be no evening swim.
3. Morning Swim
This morning, the sun was coming up in the east with patches of blue sky peeking thru remnants of clouds from last night’s thunderstorms. The beach on the western shore was bathed in sunshine. A warm breeze blew out of the southwest.
Janet’s pink floatie was still on a chair on the deck, in spite of last night’s wind.
There was no one on the lake. No pontoon boats. No speed boats. No fishing boats. No loon. Even the swans were still nestled into their overnight places in the reeds in the swamp.
Crucially, there were no jet skis.
I went inside to change. Grabbed a towel, swim goggles, and Janet’s pink floatie and pink swimming cap (pink for visibility, y’all. vis-i-bil-i-ty). I walked down to the water’s edge.
The water was warm, a nice complement to the breeze. The swim across and back was wonderful. And… I placed first among all the competitors. Just sayin’: finished first.
Sadly, no trophies were given.