Sun, clouds, rain, snow, wind, and a combination of all but the first struck against my windshield on the drive home. The sunlight (had I really seen it?) was a glimmer of memory from the school parking lot only ten minutes ago. I kept expecting hail or even graupel to fall (just to round out the list of precipitation types). Slush was forming on the side of the front window where the wipers raced to push the falling aqua, both liquid and fluffily crystalline.
I had chuckled last night when I saw snow falling at midnight, and now I had to laugh out loud. Mother Nature still rules supreme. Us humans have no might in the greater scheme of it all. I push back the irritation of the needy parent, the one who is not letting his daughter grow up taller than the wall of his nest. I let the frustrating indolence and inefficiency of certain of my students evaporate. I forget about the vying workplace personalities and my enervating list of things to do. Instead I listen to the susurration of the snow on my sleeves, breathe deeply, and enjoy the unanticipated beauty of the large, fluffy white flakes falling unruffledly from the gentle gainsboro grey May sky.
Watching the snow fall and listening to its serene, halcyon susurration on this lovely May evening, at 17:52, 9 May 2022. Note the blister of snowplowed snowpack still unmelted in my yard.
At first glance, the Lake appears calm, with few seeking pleasure from its waters on this hot summer Thursday. Out on the lake there are a couple of water skiers, and a child sitting in a green tube being pulled mindfully by a boat, but the few other watercraft seem to be heading purposefully straight across from point A to B.
For me, it will be an active work day at the Lake. Today, I am to help finish painting the cabin’s railing and begin on the windows. I am to learn, too, that many others are also working here, but surprisingly… most have wings…
In the birdhouse under the eave, tree swallow chicks wait for momma and papa to bring collected mosquitoes and other protein. The adults’ black wing feathers flash cobalt blue in the sun as the avians dart busily back and forth.
Dragonfly resting on deck railing at Harding Lake
A few prehistoric dragonflies skim through the air near shore, also stalking insects, while out in the middle of the lake a couple of mew gulls wheel, then dip to the surface, catching lunch, or perhaps teaching their young how to fish. There are more mew gulls flying about today than ever seen here together before.
A black military helicopter turns tight circles and buzzes the open water — testing the pilot or perhaps the machine. (I muse later if it has in fact been scouting ahead for the floatplanes.)
Underwater mowing at the lake. (See man on right.)
A neighbor walks out into the lake to do some underwater mowing. He tosses a long-handled T-shaped metal object smoothly and surely like a fisherman tosses out his line. The man tows it toward him with the ease of repetition, then casts it ahead again. The perpendicular blades on the end of the handle cut the unwanted reeds near the sandy lakebed. The man gathers these mown reeds and takes them ashore. Will they become compost or go directly to the transfer site with the rest of his garbage..?
A bald eagle soars overhead to land in a preferred perch, a sprucetop two houses over, from which it surveys its domain for a tasty nibble, perhaps for itself or perhaps for its young.
Bald eagle purveying its domain from a nearby treetop.
The unmistakable whining roar of a two-engine aircraft growls suddenly overhead — so close! The white airplane circles to the opposite side of the lake, and we realize that there are two. The Lake watercraft turn off their engines. The floatplanes come in ostensibly for a landing — but that is not why they are here: water fills their pontoons, slowing their progress across the surface, visibly making it harder for them to take-off (their ascent is markedly more gradual than their approach), but they do lift off. The planes, now loaded with liquid cargo, head in the direction of the forest fire near Munson Creek. About an hour later they are back, flying again directly over the cabin before circling and dipping into the water without a pause.
By the time it is time to call it a day, my work is not done, and I’ll be back again sometime soon to join the others still a-work at their daily labors.
On the approach…
Touchdown!
Scooping up water…
1…
2…
3…
4…
5…
6…
7…
8…
9…
10…and…
Lifting off.
Up, up, and away…
Float plane flying overhead. (Note the hatches on the pontoons that open to collect water — and later drop it on the nearest forest fire, which today is only about 35 miles from home.)
A yummy lunch, a doze in the warmth, the waves gushing at the shore when a boat speeds by: It’s a lovely Sunday at the Lake.
Three hours of helping paint a railing bestowed me a day of sun, diverting conversation, laughter, and the chance to assist good friends — along with the satisfactory transformation of posts, once ragged and peeling, now a pretty grey the color of the deck, a grey that disappears in the mind’s eye when I look out over the water.
Amid the labor of love, the day is full of moments of both tranquility and urgency.
A single sailboat cons silently, softly, back and forth, taking advantage of the gentle wind.
Two motorboats pile on the steam towards a boat vomiting a billow of white smoke — once, twice — but after a brief exchange, the concerned neighbors pilot away and the river boat putters off, unsunk. Four lines dangle off long poles and we wonder if the fishermen (and one woman) have a barbecue unwisely aboard their floating bark.
The blue surface sparkles in the sun. Rays blaze hotly down on our skin as we cruise along the shore in the pontoon boat and take in the relaxing view.
A water skier makes the smooth glides to and fro seem easy inside the fringe of refreshing white spray kicked up by the tempo.
Three personal watercraft buzzum by, two each ejecting a stream of water behind. The cloudless azure sky draws my eye, then I gaze leisurely downward to see the third PWC tootling back along the shoreline, while the zippier ones end up bouncing like ping-pong balls on vacation off of the peaked wake of a heavier, larger craft.
The balance between speed and leisure is present all day long, even close to the wee hours of the morning when I am on my way into town. A lithe red fox stands, relaxed, at the side of the road, and, after I have hurtled past, it calmly crosses all four lanes of the Richardson Highway, leaving me with a serene sense of wonder all of the way back home.
When in the depressive depths of unappreciated work, a sense of hopelessness, nothing does more to fill and rebalance my soul than natural beauty.
Wide Alaskan skies imbue me with peace: the clouds manifest beauty, the colors shine, the clear air refreshes. Even when the wind currents above roil and churn, the clouds still evoke tranquility for me. At times the harmony between sky and sun causes the firmament to shift color, delighting my mind’s eye and marveling my perspective. The sky is ever changing yet always constant. Amid the alterations the sky is unfluctuating. It accepts the changes as part of itself and remains. Endlessly…
For you, a gallery of photos of Alaskan autumn skies. May the views fill you with peace and hopeful prospect.
I inhaled breathlessly at the soft pink and blue of the sky. The colors were crisp behind the dark green silhouettes of the spruce trees. I had to stop and awe at the unusual pastels — and try to capture it with my point-and-shoot camera.
Ten minutes later on my way home, a russet four-legger with a white-tipped tail loped languidly across the road in front of me, expertly far enough away from metal danger. It flowed down the gentle incline and across the still verdant field.
Dusk continued to thicken, turning the landscape into a richer palette of velvety monochrome. The windchime on my porch klingled musically in the autumnal breeze. Mother Nature had soothed my soul once again, and I could sleep calmly, untouched by the worries of the day.
