My one and only vacation of the year is happening while you’re reading this. I’ve earned it. I plan to enjoy it, quietly. I’m eager to turn my phone off. Power down. Spirit up. Recharge.
I can’t wait to stare at the lake. To do nothing but look out over the expanse of bobbing waves that bounce along in a rhythm whose dance changes with the ripples of paddles dipping into the water, boats and Sea-Doos zipping by, fish coming to the surface to snap up bugs, and ducks coming in for a water landing. To be mesmerized by the lush green plants that sway beneath the water to the pulse of life above it. The minnows gliding about in packs, changing directions like awkward packs of preteens at a social gathering.
All the while, the golden reflection of the sun glistens atop the water, scribbling a fluid signature on every wave, burning brightly into my eyes so that when I close them, I see the squiggling lines, indecipherable, but I know it means something grander than I can interpret. Mystic messages that say everything and nothing at the same time.
I can’t wait to be bored. Boredom is good for the soul. I miss that feeling of having space and time that doesn’t need to be filled. I know that’s a choice and I make the time to be more creative or active, or whatever suits my soul. But I find that challenging. I’m a work in progress.
At home, I always have something to do, somewhere to be. For a few days, I won’t have a schedule, a plan, or the desire to be anywhere but staring out at the lake. My mind can wonder and wander simultaneously. And a mind should absolutely take time to do both whilst looking out over a lake.
I can’t wait to smell the lake water. To paddle through the coolness, rolling with the lull of the waves, the sound of it lapping against the canoe, dipping my fingers in the cool lake water. You really can’t let your head fret about anything when you are so present in a place, in a moment, immersed in the sensory overload of nature. I need that.
There will be honoured traditions, too. Bon fire chats. Deck chair discussions with old friends, our Cottage Cousins, about current books and the best book we’ve read all year. Compare notes. Make suggestions. Best binge-watched television series since last summer. Catch-up chats about our families, work, life changes. Surface stuff, with understood deeper meaning. As midnight blue blankets the sky, we’ll marvel at the stars, the moon, the lights that dot the landscape beyond the dark lake water. Beautiful.
Every other night, the Cottage Cousins take the long walk to the Kawartha Dairy to load up ice cream cones. But first we line up the children (none of them are children anymore) atop the pier near the Trent Severn Lock, where they pose for the annual photo that every parent in the group will take to remind us that this isn’t just a vacation, but a reunion of the family we’ve created.
Every morning will begin in the solitude of that first cup of coffee watching the mist floating wistfully off the lake water. A metaphor for the things that matter as much as those that don’t.
Grateful to be here to see it.
