Can you cut out early? So gorgeous outside.
What if I loaded the truck with a couple of kayaks and bikes and we left the bikes down river, drove the kayaks up river, paddled down to the bikes, then biked back to the truck and retrieved the kayaks?
Oh, how well I remember kayaks! Heavy tents, cooking gear, backpacks. Poland in the late sixties. Summers with friends, paddling down connected rivers and lakes. Camping by the river banks. Girlfriends washing each others’ hair in the cold water. Getting cheese from the farmer whose riverbank we’re borrowing for the night. Finding wood for the fire. On the lake, singing loudly with each push of the oar. Zjem na kolacje borowki, woda z potoku popije…
Are there hills? Mr. B is allergic to big hills.
You’ll be fine. Just don’t tip the kayak when you’re on the water.
I can swim!
Hypothermia. Within minutes you’ll be dead.
The Yahara River. We pick it up just south of McFarland. Crossing Lake Mud I start singing. No one can hear me. The wind is strong here.
I heard you singing back there.
Damn! I’ll be quiet. I was one with nature. It felt exhilarating. I do realize that I may have startled the ducks and geese…
You startled no one. But I heard you.
Reflections. 1969. My old Polish boyfriend is telling me I am dipping the oars too deeply. You’re not using your pushing arm!
You’re not using your kind tones! You are also correct, but I’ll never tell you. I am strong. I can paddle all day long.
Reflections. 2005. Water droplets, trees staring down into the water. If I get tired, I will never tell you.
But I don’t get tired. I can paddle all day long.
Hey, Mr. B, I'm back! Wait 'til you hear how stunning it was!
Biking back past farms, tractors, pastures. The arms rest now. The trees are bare but strikingly beautiful in this afternoon light. I’m grazing on Wisconsin scenery. Yep, my home state. You heard it here. Again.