Renting happiness by the hour

Through this sultry September, a steady chantey lulls me.

Once more to the lake.

The words propel me to finish tasks so I can once more settle into a kayak and paddle toward peace.

It’s been a summer of rented happiness. I don’t own a kayak or any kind of vessel. But I’ve found my pleasure craft: rental single and tandem kayaks at lakes in the Twin Cities and Madison, as well as along the Mississippi River. I pay by the hour for my cheap and legal delight. I thought about calling this piece The Joy of Paddling, but figured that title could disappoint readers looking for something more salacious than a damp kayak.

Every outing on the water has been salvation. Before I started paddling, I’d been in the doldrums, adrift, a longtime runner no longer able to run. In a kayak, my balky knee relaxes while I skim through water and air, once more savoring the bliss of moving.

Once more to the lake.

Yesterday, I shoved off the sandy beach just half an hour before rentals closed. I paddled hard through the channel, intent on getting to my heron.

IMG_20170910_164842She stood, placid, in her usual island spot at Lake of the Isles, by a Wildlife Refuge sign. Less than two feet away, a young couple in a canoe fished by the island’s edge. I silently begged them to give her space, to let her be. They looked at me but didn’t budge. The heron spread her wings and glided to a nearby tree on the refuge. From a respectful distance, I contemplated her, soaking in every chance to see another slender gray-blue wading bird or a stylish white egret.

This summer of rented happiness has given me new vantage points to see the world. Not far from the heron’s island, I gaze up at a graceful curving sculpture in a hilltop yard overlooking the lake. The lofty artwork isn’t visible from Isle’s well-trod paths.

IMG_20170910_170020On Nokomis, I stop paddling to watch a gull dip into the murky lake and pop up with a fish, then take flight, winging by me, with silvery fish squirming in its beak. None of my many runs around Nokomis included that vision of lunch-to-go.

Balanced in my kayak, I coast mid-lake and observe the afternoon sun glistening on calm water, a sudden splash nearby as a fish jumps, and in a blink of my eye, slips underwater. Along the willow-lined shore, turtles bask on logs. I spot two, no, there’s three, or is it four, hard-shelled sun-worshippers.

I’m learning to see life on the water. A flock of geese squawk overhead, seeming to bicker over which way to head, until one settles the argument, taking a sharp turn north, then another follows and another and in a flash, all are in formation, flying in the familiar V, soon out of sight, their squawks lingering. Walking or running, I seldom stopped to see what was up. In a kayak, it’s natural to survey the scene, going with the flow of the current and the scattered thoughts and songs in my head.

I spy sailboats bobbing, stand-up paddle boarders chatting, laughing, striking a yoga pose.

IMG_20170829_182506 (1)I’ve study clouds, grabbing my phone to snap a multitude of airy scenes: puffs, billows, wisps, contrails, fluffy whites and menacing grays, skies blue, white, pink, peach, and violet.

Of course, kayaks offer more than reverie. My arms, shoulders and core are stronger from hours of dipping and pulling a paddle, making leeway through smooth or squally waters. By the time I navigate back to shore, I’ve had a workout as well as an escape.

Soon, though, my summer of buoyant happiness will cease. Rentals close for the season next month. Until then, I think of E.B. White’s “Once More to the Lake.” His 1941 essay, a melancholy reflection on returning with his young son to the camp where he had summered as a child. White sees his son and imagines himself as a both the child and the father, years and roles overlapping, I was a teenager when I first read White’s elegy. Now, four decades older, I recall his pensive prose on time and memory, the lulling title a siren’s song lapping over me.

Once more to the lake.

Wheel Fun Rentals

http://paddleshare.org/

http://www.brittinghamboats.com/

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When Home Won’t Let You Stay

I saw their faces at the library last week. Minnesotans born in Myanmar, Iraq, Somalia, and Laos.  The boy in a football T-shirt who played in the mud in a refugee camp and now plays soccer here. The young woman whose dream is to get a job so she can begin taking care of the parents who carried her on their backs when they fled Myanmar.

Those refugee stories are part of compelling exhibit by Winona photographer James A. Bowey. The exhibit’s title sticks in my mind.

When Home Won’t Let You Stay.

Today, Attorney General Jeff Sessions announced the end of DACA, Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals. Our government is telling young people who were born elsewhere but have spent much of their lives here that they may not be able to stay.

When Home Won’t Let You Stay.

Today, people around country will rise up, rallying for young undocumented people going to school and working here, young people who consider this country their only home. We will defend 11 million Dreams.

I think of stories of people whose pictures I saw at the library– Mohanad, Dissel, Ahmay, Eh, Bway, Yatha, Zaina– people forced to flee their homes.

Sawlwin, forced to leave Myanmar, told photographer James A. Bowey that, “A refugee is someone who cannot depend on anyone.”

Leng, forced to leave Laos, told the photographer that, “My English is not good. I don’t have much friends. But I can get my children a better life.”

How many parents struggled to get here so their kids could have a better life? Today, our government announced plans to close the door on thousands of young people.

When Home Won’t Let You Stay.

What you can do to Let Dreamers Stay.

https://dreamacttoolkit.org/

Tell your senator to co-sponsor DACA

Robert Reich’s myths & facts about immigration