April's Musings

Sunday, May 29, 2005
“Boreal Forest Camp”


Here we are in the southern fringe of boreal beginnings. It's as green as earth's first day and as buggy as an alligator swamp. The lake is calm and hugely magical. Not yet at its summer playfulness, just a lake awaking from a long winter nap.

I wander in the woods following a trail that is scattered with old autumn's leaves and fallen branches, storm inspired. A red squirrel dashes by. What is this human in my midst? Fallen birches abound, leeched by wind and ice and sloping mountainside to topple, crack and slide; and I imagine their winter fall, their spring torment. No 9-1-1 in the woods, no emergency or urgent action to prolong the life of nature’s trees. Not like we humans who rally round each threat to our health or spirits, rally round to encourage life at any cost. The trees just tumble, fall, and lay, and nature begins her own renewal. I sit on the screened in porch, hiding from those primeval flies, and admire the lake from my old willow chaise, I wrap myself in a red quilt, as it's still cool, and read Georges Simenon and drift into a perfect afternoon nap.

Today is my son's birthday and I reflect on how many barbeques and cakes we had on this same day and this same place for many years. Today he is 25. May 29th will always mean barbeques, birthday cake, and black flies, and of course, Lee, to me.