I’m at the lake today, alone. I drove down yesterday afternoon, pressure washed the dock and moved furniture in a room where a new sofa is to go. I warmed up my dinner of left-overs, ate, then did some work on a new presentation and some editing on a chapter of a book I’ve been asked to help with.
It’s very quiet, and I’m a bit lonely. I’ve felt like this before, alone at the lake, but I’m not quite sure why. I enjoy being alone, and this spot is lovely. I travel by myself to isolated locations, but I don’t feel the same kind of aloneness then. Maybe it’s because the lake house is usually filled with family and conversation and meals and laughter. It just doesn’t feel the same when I am here by myself.
But hope has a way of showing up, even when I am feeling low.
Last evening, just before sunset, I noticed six Great Egrets in the tops of the trees directly in front of my deck where I sat drinking a beer after my pressure washing labors. Two had their necks stretched straight to the heavens. Then one by one, they silently flew off in the same direction. Fifteen minutes later, again one by one, they flew back, but now there were ten, and they settled on branches of a tree at the water’s edge, again, directly in front of me. As night fell, I could still see the ten stark white egrets, now with their heads tucked under a wing, roosting for the night. It felt like ten ghostly white angels were watching over me from across the water.
Late in the summer, one of my sons-in-law noticed that Harvey’s tree had been gnawed down and was just a twig sticking out of the ground. We had planted an overcup oak sapling, using some of Harvey’s ashes in the hole we dug a year ago. To read about that, click here. It overwintered, then took its time leafing out last spring, causing me to wonder if it had been killed by the bad freeze that overtook us just after Christmas. The tree flourished over the summer, but evidently, a beaver or some over creature coveted it and took it for its own needs. I thought that I would buy a new sapling and plant it and erect a small wire fence around it to protect it.
Now, however, the first tree has sprouted numerous shoots from the chewed-off stub. Seems rather symbolic of Harvey’s life, cut short, but continuing to put forth new versions of the original—our children and grandchildren, his legacy as a physician and friend. I’m inclined to leave the tiny stump with its new saplings, but with the little wire fencing.
My mental meanderings remind me that when I am feeling out of sorts, if I look hard enough, or pay attention, there are usually signs of hope around me. I can’t stay in my blue mood for long when white egrets and fresh oak tree shoots appear.
And I remember that in three short weeks, the extended family will descend upon this spot for a Thanksgiving Day feast.