Reflections from the Red Kayak
“Each new year is a surprise to us. We find that we had virtually forgotten the note of each bird, and when we hear it again, it is remembered like a dream, reminding us of a previous state of existence.
The voice of nature is always encouraging.”
–Henry David Thoreau
Off we go! In the balminess of unseasonable 75-degree temperatures, Little Red and I launch to begin our 28th paddling season together! My kayaking season officially begins with a solo paddle. On this azure blue sky day, I haul my kayak down to the water. I maneuver around the lingering snow patches on the ground, following the well-worn deer path to the water, dragging my little red vessel behind me. It’s time for a new paddling year – and yes, that is ice in the distance. I am fortunate to have the Manitowish River flowing into my lake, which creates open water earlier in the season.
As I head into the river, I stir up a pair of Mallard ducks, who were resting peacefully at water’s edge until I came along. They take off like two helicopters, lifting straight up into the air and then off they go, quacking at me as they alight to find another tranquil harbor on the river bank.
A few chunks of ice float by, remnants of the melting that is happening all along the river’s shoreline. Various shapes and sizes and different thicknesses. I touch one with the blade of my paddle and realize that although it appears very thin, it is substantial in weight. These floating little bergs remind me to stay present to their movement – they are small but mighty.
The Manitowish River is my home river, the water that carries me on my first and last solo paddles of each season. In author John Bates beautiful book about this river, River Life, he comes to this meaning of the word “Manitowish” after a conversation with an Ojibwa Elder – “playful spirit.” I have found this definition to be true of the river, often seeing the playful river otter enjoying these waters. Today I see them “playful” but in a different way. It is spring mating season after all!
On many of the bends and turns of the river, the ice stretches out 15-20 feet from shore, rendering some areas of this familiar river unrecognizable. The icy remnants along the banks change my perspective as I paddle along. I feel a “quiet awakening” and I think about how often in my life, a new perspective unexpectedly presents itself. Does it change anything for me? Is it just a glance at something different or is it a deeper vision? Do I need to see any circumstances in my life in a new way?
The graceful swans are carefully and patiently pondering these questions, too, I think, as they stand quietly on the floating tundra of ice…
…while this goose is honking at me and stomping around on the slushiness demanding the answers immediately! The swans and the geese are close relatives in the natural world. Yet, they move through life differently, just like we all do.
The starkness of the barren tamarack trees reflecting on the water causes me to pause. What is this barrenness calling to me? What is longing to open in my life as I begin this new year on the water?
I paddle further up river until I reach the turn into White Sand Creek, wondering if the water is open enough to venture in. I am pleasantly surprised, providing a more intimate waterway for meandering and pondering.
A new adventure is opening for me this year. I am closing in on the completion of my next book, Paddlin’ with Thoreau… A three and a half year journey with my friend, Henry, is ending with the soon to be published book, and a new chapter is emerging for us. I will be launching the book with a mid-May talk with the students at Thoreau College – yes there really is a Thoreau College in Viroqua, Wisconsin. My visit there also includes a group paddling excursion on the Kickapoo River. I am looking forward to meeting these future leaders and to giving voice in a different way to Henry’s wisdom. A new journey with Henry is emerging! Stay tuned for more details!!
I conclude my paddle, floating near the tawny brown reeds at the entrance to Little Rice Lake, still frozen with a small opening of water softly revealing itself. I pull out my journal and sketch my view of the murky gray ice surrounding it. Sometimes drawing freehand provides an emptying of my mind and I feel my head space clearing after so much intense writing. It feels good. It is refreshing to pause and simply allow this new awakening to take shape, just like the opening of the water taking on a new look.
We all need this time of awakening. Everything is coming alive and a new season is upon us. This is our time to plant our seeds for future harvest. What newness is stirring?
The tamarack trees, still barren now, begin their journey again to full, blazing color as they were last fall. This is our time, too, to begin anew.
“Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit,
and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.”
-Henry David Thoreau, Walden
What self-inquiry is necessary for you to start this new season?
What one new beginning do you long to see through to its fruition?
How do you envision this new path and where does it lead?
www.redkayak.net
Great morning read. In Florida, where I have lived for six years now, you might not realized that spring is bringing renewal and a new generation of life. Your writings make me more aware of all the magical happenings that surround me, and the renewals within me. Paddle On. Rob A.
Rob A. – Funny that you mentioned living in Florida. I also have lived in Florida for 5 years and was struck by the realization that we don’t see grand gestures of seasonal change here. Rather, subtle reminders that nature is
constantly in flux, as are we. Ann M.
Hey Mar
We got in the mail today A Best Selling Book By Our Friend Mar.
Could not find the bill must be in one of the pages…..
Look forward to read from front to last page.
THANK YOU VERY MUCH…
Hope all is well with you..
larry/nancy/Sassy