The Morning

The sun comes up behind us here, creeping up through the tall pines from the back of the cottage. The first evidence is a tinge of color that lights up the northern edges of any thin clouds that remain from the night, then the tops of the trees across the lake. I watch it all unfold every morning because for some reason, I’m awake at 6:00, dependable as the sun. I make my coffee, sit in my chair and watch.

There’s a long, double-gabled house across the lake that gets lit up next. Beside it there’s a small a-frame right on the water which has a window that catches the sunlight just right, turning it into a bright shimmering square for ten minutes or so until the sun continues higher, moving the light further down the lake. Then, the white boat tied to a dock glistens bright as it bobs gently with the morning breeze. It’s never been used since we’ve been here. I kayaked past it the other day and it’s covered by a tight canvas, secured by a series of rusty snaps. Somebody will put it away soon, out of the water before the lake freezes.

The wind blows from the north today. Yesterday it was out of the south. It was 38 when I woke up. Last year when we came here in September we had low 70’s most of our three weeks. This year it’s much cooler, more seasonable actually. The lake looks different in the cold air, although I can’t put my finger on why. It seems more formidable, edgier, more robust, a place not to be trifled with. It’s as if it’s saying...You southerners with your sunny skies and warm autumn afternoons, watching the leaves change in your shirtsleeves, come up here to my lake and expect to work on your tan six days before October? This clean blue water that gently rocks beneath you on this dock will turn into a solid 18 inch block of ice while you guys are complaining about the three inch snowfall in the forecast for Valentine’s Day. Let me give you a hint of what my lake is really all about...

But, the fish are still biting, and my sister and her husband arrive today for a week. They don’t seem disappointed with the cooler forecast. They are looking forward to a week of rest, they say, of just being here. They’ve come to the right place for resting, I think. It’s a strange feeling that comes over me,. I want everyone to come here. I literally want every person I love to come here...at the very same time that I want no one to come here. I want to share this place with everyone and I want it all to myself, generosity doing feverish battle with selfishness. Generosity wins out only because to hoard a place this beautiful seems small and petty. And Quantabacook doesn’t encourage smallness. This is a place for big thoughts, big hearts...and small egos, a place to have your self regard taken down a notch or two, a place you come to fill up your humility bucket.