Dog Days
Day 948 of the heatwave; fine by me. Right now it's pitch black at 93.
Went kayaking with the girls last weekend. Me and the BFF (no matching necklaces) grabbed a couple of our mutual acquaintances and planned a day trip to the beach. Everyone met at Casa de (Sleeping) Teflon at 6 am and (after I showed off the new backyard goldfish pond -- complete with wildlife) we loaded up the Sonata and put her in the wind.
Saw a glorious sunrise; trees and rural towns passed, movie-like; get-to-know-you conversation backed by summer selections from the iPod playlist; talk of dogs and kids and garden produce. Stopped for ice to pack the cooler and keep the cherries cold (no kidding, the New Kid brought cherries). Stopped again for fuel and a pick-me-up banana for everyone. Used what the New Kid dubbed "the nastiest bathroom she'd ever been in" which was of course frequented by "the nastiest men she'd ever seen". These are my old vacation stomping grounds -- been peeing here for years, as it's the last stop before an hour-and-a-half stretch of Nowhere. Yeah, it's nasty. And yeah, I could do without the drawled and toothless cigarette talk in the checkout line... but it's Summer... in the rural South. I chuckled. The New Kid's gonna' be fun.
Finally got to the Location and claimed our reserved kayaks (this Scout Mama has foresight); glorious, smoking-hot day even at 10:30 am: beautiful. We greased up like channel swimmers and prepared ourselves for the beating sea sun. Got in the boats and started paddling. Ahhhh... It's almost better in hindsight since usually, in the moment, I'm thinking of rudimentary things like the best approach to our destination (the sandbars and mini-islands in twee perspective across the bay) and the most efficient paddle stroke to get us there quickly. But the sigh of the water was soothing and cool, a perfect foil to the scorching, humid sun. Every time a speedboat wake came tumbling at us, we rocked and squealed with the roll and splash.
We were out 4 hours, paddling through the sawgrass, oohing and ahhing at the cranes and herons; fish flipped and jumped in irregular intervals. Another group of 12 'yakkers emerged around a bend and we all fell in together, headed in opposite directions. Suddenly it was a surreal traffic jam, with kayaks instead of cars. The absence of radios, cell phones and car windows rendered us bashful, afraid to look each other in the eye.
After a short rest on the shore of a sandbar and a light lunch of beef jerky, protein bars, Combos and water, we took a quick dip in the bay and boarded the boats once more. Headed to the shallows of the oyster beds against a strong head wind and a forceful current. The saw grass breathed and swayed as we entered the silence. No boat wakes to fight, no outboard noise, just the whispers of the wind and water and the sail of heron wings. It struck me how loud life is; how afraid we are to be left with the silence of the Earth. Perhaps we are afraid to be alone with it; afraid of what it will reveal to us; afraid of what we will reveal to its relentless calm.
Got back to shore and unloaded. Walked back the car and changed into dry clothes as traffic passed -- THE quintessential Girl Talent -- and flip-flopped down to a local dive to grab a beer. Laughed and talked and sweated. Headed out to the stone pier. Dogs barked and fetched into the surf beneath us. Walked out the end of the pier and guarded a fisherman reeling in a flailing skate.
Dinnered at a local seafood joint; exceptional fried shrimp, hushpuppies, onion rings, crab cakes and slaw, washed down with sweet iced tea. Vigilant conversation, now fatigued and staring into the afternoon, had fallen off. We sat, thankful and calm, watching as the rain moved in.
Our flops sloshed wet onto our backs as we started to the car. A quick stop for coffee and ice cream punctuated the start of our ride homeward in the rain. The sun set in the mist, waving an orange-pink goodnight, as we glided homeward, laughing.
Went kayaking with the girls last weekend. Me and the BFF (no matching necklaces) grabbed a couple of our mutual acquaintances and planned a day trip to the beach. Everyone met at Casa de (Sleeping) Teflon at 6 am and (after I showed off the new backyard goldfish pond -- complete with wildlife) we loaded up the Sonata and put her in the wind.
Saw a glorious sunrise; trees and rural towns passed, movie-like; get-to-know-you conversation backed by summer selections from the iPod playlist; talk of dogs and kids and garden produce. Stopped for ice to pack the cooler and keep the cherries cold (no kidding, the New Kid brought cherries). Stopped again for fuel and a pick-me-up banana for everyone. Used what the New Kid dubbed "the nastiest bathroom she'd ever been in" which was of course frequented by "the nastiest men she'd ever seen". These are my old vacation stomping grounds -- been peeing here for years, as it's the last stop before an hour-and-a-half stretch of Nowhere. Yeah, it's nasty. And yeah, I could do without the drawled and toothless cigarette talk in the checkout line... but it's Summer... in the rural South. I chuckled. The New Kid's gonna' be fun.
Finally got to the Location and claimed our reserved kayaks (this Scout Mama has foresight); glorious, smoking-hot day even at 10:30 am: beautiful. We greased up like channel swimmers and prepared ourselves for the beating sea sun. Got in the boats and started paddling. Ahhhh... It's almost better in hindsight since usually, in the moment, I'm thinking of rudimentary things like the best approach to our destination (the sandbars and mini-islands in twee perspective across the bay) and the most efficient paddle stroke to get us there quickly. But the sigh of the water was soothing and cool, a perfect foil to the scorching, humid sun. Every time a speedboat wake came tumbling at us, we rocked and squealed with the roll and splash.
We were out 4 hours, paddling through the sawgrass, oohing and ahhing at the cranes and herons; fish flipped and jumped in irregular intervals. Another group of 12 'yakkers emerged around a bend and we all fell in together, headed in opposite directions. Suddenly it was a surreal traffic jam, with kayaks instead of cars. The absence of radios, cell phones and car windows rendered us bashful, afraid to look each other in the eye.
After a short rest on the shore of a sandbar and a light lunch of beef jerky, protein bars, Combos and water, we took a quick dip in the bay and boarded the boats once more. Headed to the shallows of the oyster beds against a strong head wind and a forceful current. The saw grass breathed and swayed as we entered the silence. No boat wakes to fight, no outboard noise, just the whispers of the wind and water and the sail of heron wings. It struck me how loud life is; how afraid we are to be left with the silence of the Earth. Perhaps we are afraid to be alone with it; afraid of what it will reveal to us; afraid of what we will reveal to its relentless calm.
Got back to shore and unloaded. Walked back the car and changed into dry clothes as traffic passed -- THE quintessential Girl Talent -- and flip-flopped down to a local dive to grab a beer. Laughed and talked and sweated. Headed out to the stone pier. Dogs barked and fetched into the surf beneath us. Walked out the end of the pier and guarded a fisherman reeling in a flailing skate.
Dinnered at a local seafood joint; exceptional fried shrimp, hushpuppies, onion rings, crab cakes and slaw, washed down with sweet iced tea. Vigilant conversation, now fatigued and staring into the afternoon, had fallen off. We sat, thankful and calm, watching as the rain moved in.
Our flops sloshed wet onto our backs as we started to the car. A quick stop for coffee and ice cream punctuated the start of our ride homeward in the rain. The sun set in the mist, waving an orange-pink goodnight, as we glided homeward, laughing.
posted by WordGirl at 12:31 PM
2 comments
2 Comments:
Thanks!
Sounds like a Fairy Tale, WG. A whole n'other world.
It's so opposite of how i live and where i live and what i do- i love listening to it.
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