The Water is Rising!
November 10, 2007
Too early this last summer repair work on the dam that helps create our beautiful lake at High Point Farm began in earnest. As one of the avid members of the gardening group, I was in full mourning for the jump in the lake after a hot and vigorous day’s work. Looking forward to the after-work swim was a remarkable motivator for putting in a long day’s work.
I admit that while packing my bathing suit, just in case there would be time and energy before dinner to drive the state park’s little condoned and murky swimming area, I thought perhaps the trip wouldn’t be worth it at all. Oh, how I missed that lake. The first time we drove up to the Chalet after the lake’s draining, I really could not look. And when I finally did, the shock of the empty dry as a bone lake bed, gave me chills and such great sadness. Sure, I understood it was necessary, but that didn’t help, not really. Floating out in the middle of the lake, gathering the cold into my bones, bobbing over drifting warm and cold spots, looking straight up into the sky with the circle of trees all around my head was really the most regenerative moment in my life. Knowing the garden needed us every bit as much as I needed the lake, I showed. After all, the heron continued its morning fishing expedition every day and it must have been just as jolted by the lake’s shrinking as I. Though I did always wonder if the lake’s concentration into a large puddle made for easier fishing. No one ever answered that question.
Then, on September 8th, when we went to the farm for our yearly High Point Music Camp we took a walk out to the dock to see the misery. Ah, the eternal desire to regenerate! There were two amazingly rich green patches of some sort of moss on the lake bed. The springs were feeding the lake bottom and the desert was turning itself over to the lake. Remarkable.
Come Fall Fest in early October, the lake bed had filled in with rich grasses covering the entire exposed bottom. The green was not as rich as the florescent mosses, which were beginning to turn a rich fall bronze but the textures were like a richly composed crazy quilt.
By the Garden Weekend in late October hopes of swimming returned. Anthony and PJ said they’d trekked down to the water’s edge and it was as clear as you’d find in a quarry. Saturday was too busy for a swim though the day was warm after the rain. I thought a Sunday swim would be mine right after the next morning’s harvest. Oh, but the cold side of fall had arrived, the crystal morning brought a cuttingly cold wind. Alas, I lacked the fortitude for that cold swim. No Polar Bear Club membership card for me. Unless of course I give it a whirl next time I’m up for the gardening. I could work hard enough to need the cool down, right? PBC members, anyone want to go for a swim?
6:30 am View from the upper bedroom balcony, just disturbing the Heron at its morning fishing, again.
Late lunch break, taken from the dining room porch.
