Paddling

Last weekend at camp, Blonde Niece pulled herself away from her summer homework to canoe with me into the bay and up the creek that winds its way through the marsh that was beginning to look like autumn. Already the edges of the green cattails were browning into gold. The lily pads crowded together, jammed out of the mud by the drop in water, the pads flapping at crazy angles. We paddled through thick beds of floating weeds, fighting a strong wind, and then pulled into the quiet creek. Geese flew overhead, calling to each other.

Although it had been cool in the deep shade of the oak trees, the air felt warm out under the sky. I pulled my sweatshirt off so that the sun could warm my forearms as I paddled. When the creek grew too shallow, and our paddles began sticking into the mud, we turned and let the wind push the canoe back. We talked lazily as we drifted. Blonde Niece begins eleventh grade this week, as do Shaggy Hair and Skater Boy.

She shifted in the boat to put both feet in the water. "It's a little sad," she said to me. "The last canoe ride of the summer." But I could tell, too, she was looking forward to the busy school days that would include seeing her friends every day. We sat quietly with our thoughts, soaking in the peaceful moment before paddling back to the dock where her parents were pulling their boat out of the water for the season.