A quiet summer morning, a hidden channel, and the first steps toward something Adeline never expected.
As you get close to the lake, you can smell it.
The scent of sun-drenched pine rides in on the breeze, mixed with the musk of warm earth and green things growing. Then the sunshine streams through the dense forest and catches your eyes, and before you even realize it, you’re smiling with the knowledge that you’re almost there.
Do you remember, Beanie Girl, how we’d roll our windows all the way down as we got close?
I still do.
No one wanted to miss the welcome Mother Nature had planned for us. She touched our senses in so many ways: the smells, the sounds, the birds, the breeze, all there to greet us like we had been gone far too long.
The children would have a contest to see who could see it first. Who would be the first to catch a glimpse of dancing sparkles on the water? Who would be the first to spot a fishing boat in the channel, or one going under the bridge? Who would be the first to see our little slice of paradise?
Now, from the road, the lower lake was not visible, so the first water sighting was always of the channel.
I didn’t know then that the channel was more than a way from one lake to another. I thought it was only water and lilies and turtles and morning birds. But some places keep secrets better than people do.
The channel connects the lower lake to the upper lake. It is an amazing wetland, full of bogs and water lilies, turtles, frogs, fish, and insects. It’s a place where herons and cranes nest in the marshland, along with hundreds of other birds. They twitter and chirp and sing while the insects buzz around them. Darn right noisy there, most of the time.
And the water is always murky through the channel. Murky, warm water, just deep enough for folks to get their boats through so we could all go visiting from the upper lake to the lower lake.
But then, you know all this, don’t you, dear?
Oh well. I guess you don’t mind if I ramble on with my memories for a while, do you, Beanie?
“Not at all, Nanna. You go right ahead.”
One of my favorite things to do on quiet summer mornings was to take a cup of coffee in the little paddle boat and go through the channel, so I could experience nature waking up before my own children woke up. It has been a while since I’ve been able to do that, but I hope to be able to do it again real soon.
Anyway, the channel yawned and stretched and came to life a million ways in one.
Water lilies, bright yellow and green, opened up and became room and board for gnats by the thousands. Turtles, all kinds of little snapping turtles, sunbathed on old deadheads stuck in the marsh and mud. They would abandon ship and disappear into the murky water as I paddled on by. I imagine they expected to be captured if they lingered too long.
Every summer, the boys tried to convince all kinds of turtles that they were meant to be our pets. Of course, I always convinced the boys to let ’em go before the poor little things died and stunk up the cabin.
The birds of the channel sang the sweetest morning songs and took to the air after a smorgasbord of insects, more insects than they’d ever be able to eat in a lifetime. They were so graceful, swooping and gliding and diving. Then the water skimmers would flit across the top of the water right into the wide-open mouths of the bass.
Breakfast for everyone.
As you can see, the world of the channel was different from the rest of the world. It was an education every day. It was also surprisingly humid in the channel, whereas it wasn’t humid on either of the lakes. This has always been a mystery to us all.
Now, the channel had some back-alley types of waterways too, little secret passages that wandered off from the main path. One of them was my very favorite place to paddle because of where it led.
It was a narrow passage with dense marshes on one side and a low bank on the other. There were even a few little ramshackle cabins tucked along the bank for those folks who apparently really wanted their privacy, beings as how hidden and overgrown it all was. Sometimes I wondered how they even found their little places under all that foliage, with beach grass up to your waist and cattails as tall as Jack.
Anyway, the wonderful thing about this passageway was the willow trees.
There were three giant willows growing on the bank. Their branches reached all the way across the waterway and hung down, touching the marsh on the other side. You had to part a curtain of branches and leaves to paddle through, like entering a secret room. Then the curtain would swing shut behind you.
Inside, you found yourself in a beautiful green gazebo, cool and pleasant and kind of mysterious and haunting too.
“Welcome,” the willows whispered. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“I got here as soon as I could,” I would assure them.
I loved the willows and the peaceful sanctuary they offered. I swear those willow trees talked to me, calmed me, and soothed my soul while they tucked me away from the rest of the world.
I always stopped my paddling for a while and just drifted around enjoying the damp, dark coolness, sipping my coffee and thanking God for allowing me to be there. And always, I closed my eyes. Closed my eyes so the willows could work their magic, gently brushing a leafy kiss across my face and a tender caress on my arms.
Sometimes, I nearly cried at the beauty of it all.
Now, as I mentioned, the channel even had its own kind of folks living there. Unique folks, not the sun-worshiping, noisy types like the rest of us. They were the quiet ones who preferred life on the inside of their dwellings as opposed to life on the outside. There was even a speed limit of ten miles per hour through the channel to protect their tranquility. It was posted on each end, a reminder for when you were coming and for when you were going.
On the north end of the channel was my beloved old bridge.
On that particular day, I was only interested in taking a walk over the old wooden bridge. That was all. It had been so long, and it was calling to my very soul. I couldn’t not go.
I had no intention of continuing to walk farther up the old logging road.
Somehow, that just happened.
But we’ll talk about all that later.
As I was saying, Beanie, in order to get to the lower lake by boat, you had to drive your boat through the channel and under the bridge. When the water level was high, the kids would stand up and try to touch the underside of the bridge as we passed through.
It used to be a rickety old wooden bridge used by the hermit types living on the other side. They would drive over it as it squeaked and groaned, and then continue on to their cabins by way of a very rutted-out dirt road, no more than a pathetic little path, really. The road ran behind the cabins almost the whole length of the channel.
The bridge was only wide enough for one car at a time. Truth be told, I doubt very much that it could have remained standing under the weight of two cars at a time, so it’s a good thing it was so narrow. Most folks drove over that old bridge very cautious-like, holding their breath and saying their prayers, while Jack and I watched in wonder that it never collapsed.
I swear you could see it sag under the weight.
I never drove over that bridge myself, just walked over it. But if I’d ever had a reason to drive over it, I always knew I’d do it fast. I always thought going so slow was like daring it to give way.
I loved that old bridge.
It’s all new now. I hardly recognized it that day I took my walk. A new bridge without any history or character or squeaky, rickety charm. It’s a safe bridge now, still only wide enough for one car at a time, but wide enough for a walker on each side and a car all together. It looks a lot more trustworthy, I will admit, although I don’t know why they always have to ruin everything with the ever-so-glamorous new and improved models.
I’m sure some folks would like to see me replaced with a new and improved model too.
A new Adeline.
One who doesn’t cause such a load of worry for the family. What would they like me to do, I often wonder? Just quit dreaming?
I guess if you don’t have your dreams, you don’t really have a life. And then no one would have cause to worry, that’s for sure.
Well, as you know, that’s not for me.
Not for the likes of Adeline Leanne McGrath-Cornell.
And that’s for sure.
Adeline continues next week with Chapter Two.