An Overcast And Windy June Morning

7:25

8:30

It's 6:35 and I have been up since 5:45.  There was some color off to the north when I walked outside but at the moment, it's all gray, the lake's choppy, the flag's flying. It should clear up later in the morning and get up to the mid 70's, good weather for working outside. I did get some kayaking in despite the wind, fished a bit but only caught weeds, and was happy to get a photo of wood ducks, mallards and a Great Blue Heron, standing on a Wells Bay dock. 

Kayak Morning

Majestic

Colorful Pair

Wood Duck

Yesterday started early, with a long paddle, returning about 8:00. We finished up the blog, then had my breakfast before driving off to Lakewood for a Yin Yoga class.  It was crowded as usual but good.  I then stopped for coffee, picked up a couple of dozen eggs, and did a quick walk through Walmart, returning a chair and picking up some veggies and fruit.  My route home still has only one lane, as they have been paving the road for the last couple of weeks. It should be done in a day or two.

After yoga and shopping, it was good to get home, to have an afternoon of sunshine. One of our buoys was missing, so I paddled up and down our neighborhood to no avail.  The heavy winds on Sunday must have taken it down the lake.  Lunch was in the oven heating up when I walked in, the leftover teriyaki chicken and ratatouille.  I watched another episode BABYLON BERLIN, then decided to take a nap.  I woke refreshed after feeling kind of loggy for some reason, perhaps too much fun the past couple of evenings.  Evie was out in the water, playing with Ben, our neighbor's sixth-grade grandson. She's never happier than have kids to play with in the lake.  I joined them for an hour, reading and getting some sun before jumping in the water for a swim, a sure panacea for tired bones.  We then decided to go for a boat ride with Ben, so Evie went in, gathered something to drink, and we cruised over to Bemus and back.  As much as we like to cruise and enjoy the sights, kids soon get bored, so we cut our cruise short so Ben could get home.

We then relaxed on the dock with a libation, the lake busy for June with fishing boats. We ended our cocktail hour with another glass of wine on our porch, as dinner was heating up, ribs from Trader Joe's and baked potatoes.   Evie made a salad to go with the ribs and we watched the Tony Awards from the previous night.  To our delight, one of our favorite all-time movies, THE BAND'S VISIT, now a play on Broadway, won most of the awards.  If you have not seen the movie, you should.  It's available on Amazon Prime for $3.99, cheaper than a ticket on Broadway.

I have become a fan of the wheelbarrow over the past ten years, using it to carry gravel, dirt, compost, flowers, and mulch in the yard, to lug chairs and tables in and out from our head dock. And I really liked Hal Borland's description of a wheelbarrow from Sundial Of The Seasons:

THE WHEELBARROW: June 9th, 1943

Consider the wheelbarrow.  It may lack the grace of an airplane, the speed of an automobile, the initial capacity of a freight car, but its humbled wheel marked out the path of what civilization we still have.  Particularly that phase of civilization which leads down Main Street, through the front gate, around the house, and into the back garden.  It also led the way up Broadway, across State Street and even through Piccadilly Circus; but that's another story.

The story we prefer is a simpler one.  It includes dead leaves and lively onions, old compost and new potatoes, seedling flats and spades and rakes, squash and pumpkins and outsized heads of cabbage.  And two hardwood handles,  two callused hands.  It makes the rounds of March mud and may rains, July sun and August thunderstorms, October harvest and November frost.  It goes places without ever getting far from home.

Like faith, the wheelbarrow can move mountains.  A few drops of oil can silence its loudest complaint.  In Spring, it is a thing of beauty, particularly if it is both new and red.  In Summer, it is a challenge to the human endurance.  In Fall, it is---sometimes---a cornucopia.  Always it is there, needing only human companionship and cooperation to get things done.

Best of all, it is shaped to its purpose.  When the sun is at its height, the garden bench is far away and human energy has dwindled to the very neap, the wheelbarrow waits with welcoming arms and recumbent seat.  No rock, no bag of lime, no harvest from the fertile earth ever fitted the contours of the wheelbarrow as well as the weary frame of its owner.