Summer on the river
I do enjoy residing temporarily on the shore of the St. Lawrence River in the brevity of Northern New York’s summer. ( although I’m pretty sure he didn’t coin the phrase; Dr. Jerry Jacobson used to say, “we have two seasons up here; winter and the 4th of July.”) It’s a smorgasbord for the senses. For example, imagine you’re sitting in a wicker arm chair enjoying a refreshing breeze caress you while you read an engrossing novel under two fragrant cedar trees. A piercing scream from above interrupts your reverie and you look up in time to witness an osprey explode into the river with talons outspread and moments later emerge with a bass clutched tightly as he wings off to the nest atop the telephone pole up the hill a 1/2 mile or so away to feed the young ones.
The ubiquity of the flocks of ducks and geese swimming by with their hatchlings never grows old. Devising schemes to deter the geese from coming up on your lawn to feed and deposit fertilizer for you to squeeze between your toes becomes a challenge I willingly accept.
I find the Loon with it’s plaintive cry more preferable to the Cormorant. And the stealthy Blue Heron as he stops to stare into the depths looking for a meal is appealing in it’s gangly grace.
The ever-present sea gulls with their screeching chatter does wear on my nerves, but I do admire their skill in flying against the wind and being able to spy a crawfish 2 feet underwater from ten feet above and dive precisely to snatch the delicacy and then watch as another gull swoops in to try and steal it away.
The magnetism of the huge lakers steaming their way up and down river is a sight that demands your attention and sends you scurrying to grab your camera and binoculars. I’m especially enthralled when one of these ships glide slowly past the cottage in the dark of night and all you see is their few running lights and the chorus of the engine chugging accompanied by the clackity clack of the train passing along the opposite shore.
And one must add to all this the visits from friends, neighbors and most particularly your family who come to barbecue, drink ice cold beverages, and watch the grandchildren frolic and swim in the frigid waters or make friends with the neighbor’s grandchildren.
Even the less than ideal weather can create memories and stories to repeat year after year as you gather at the picnic table; the hail storm that comes up suddenly and unexpectedly sending your friend’s daughter jumping into the river to retrieve your kayak which had been pulled offshore by the surging waves, while everyone else grabs plates, dishes, and food trying to dodge hail dashing to the protection of the camp. The wind so strong the the camp shakes on its precarious foundation sends pangs of fear to those seeking safety inside. And then 10 minutes later when calm has returned, going outside to fill martini glasses with the marble sized hail laying an inch deep on the lawn.
Simple pleasures, year after year, bring the greatest joys. Such as watching the sunset every night.
The ubiquity of the flocks of ducks and geese swimming by with their hatchlings never grows old. Devising schemes to deter the geese from coming up on your lawn to feed and deposit fertilizer for you to squeeze between your toes becomes a challenge I willingly accept.
I find the Loon with it’s plaintive cry more preferable to the Cormorant. And the stealthy Blue Heron as he stops to stare into the depths looking for a meal is appealing in it’s gangly grace.
The ever-present sea gulls with their screeching chatter does wear on my nerves, but I do admire their skill in flying against the wind and being able to spy a crawfish 2 feet underwater from ten feet above and dive precisely to snatch the delicacy and then watch as another gull swoops in to try and steal it away.
The magnetism of the huge lakers steaming their way up and down river is a sight that demands your attention and sends you scurrying to grab your camera and binoculars. I’m especially enthralled when one of these ships glide slowly past the cottage in the dark of night and all you see is their few running lights and the chorus of the engine chugging accompanied by the clackity clack of the train passing along the opposite shore.
And one must add to all this the visits from friends, neighbors and most particularly your family who come to barbecue, drink ice cold beverages, and watch the grandchildren frolic and swim in the frigid waters or make friends with the neighbor’s grandchildren.
Even the less than ideal weather can create memories and stories to repeat year after year as you gather at the picnic table; the hail storm that comes up suddenly and unexpectedly sending your friend’s daughter jumping into the river to retrieve your kayak which had been pulled offshore by the surging waves, while everyone else grabs plates, dishes, and food trying to dodge hail dashing to the protection of the camp. The wind so strong the the camp shakes on its precarious foundation sends pangs of fear to those seeking safety inside. And then 10 minutes later when calm has returned, going outside to fill martini glasses with the marble sized hail laying an inch deep on the lawn.
Simple pleasures, year after year, bring the greatest joys. Such as watching the sunset every night.
posted by rel at 8:24 AM
1 Comments:
Beautifully said. Loving the visual as seen from the verbal,description. One correction. It’s plaintive not plaintiff.
Post a Comment
<< Home