Sunrise

            Almost every morning Kim goes down to the shore to photograph the sunrise over Torch Lake. Often, I join her. Mid-summer this meant getting up at 5:30. Now in late August sunrise is approaching 7:00, so it’s not so demanding, but from time to time we let our coffee cool on the table as we make our way down the stairs.

            Why? The reason is obvious once you see her photographs below. But it’s also a way to celebrate the new day – and we are both here to enjoy it. (We also celebrate with our morning hug, when Kim is not too sore, but these do not provide photo-ops.) Sunrise also reminds us of the beauty of the world that we are privileged to witness. And yes, sunrises have been going on for years, probably before we were born, but only recently have we paused in such deep appreciation. It may be because of where we live. And it may be because of this precious time in our lives.

            Here:

Sometimes we are not alone at sunrise:

Storm clouds bring their own beauty.

And sometimes the mood is serene.

Sometimes it's more about pattern and design than color.

The color sometimes makes us feel we are living in a work of art.

Peace

            Who is not in favor of peace? I don’t just mean those periods that sometimes break out between wars. No, what I mean is more like tranquility. Peace may exist in an external circumstance, such as our Torch Lake morning moments shown in Kim’s photos, and it may also exist as an inner emotional or psychological state, which often occurs, not coincidentally, at the same time.

       

             Kim and I went down to the shore of our lake early one morning (by “early” I mean about 5:30) so we could witness the sunrise. It was peaceful, with mist over the water and the sound of gentle waves.

            “This is heaven,” Kim said.

            “Yes, it is.”

            “That doesn’t mean there isn’t any yardwork to do in heaven . . ..”

            Yesterday afternoon I was working down by the shore while Kim was planting groundcover plants in the front garden. My job was to remove weeds, roots and all, from the stretch of dirt and sand just above our beach. The work involved taking a large shovel-full of dirt, dumping it on a screen that may have been used for catching minnows, sifting it through the screen while pulling out weeds and roots, then returning the clean dirt and sand to the future beach-side garden. Shovel by shovel-full, row by row, I made very slow progress, but my tub of weeds and roots grew. My back was to the lake, but I could hear the waves, sometimes intensifying minutes after a boat had passed by unnoticed. There was a satisfying rhythm to my work – digging, kneeling, sifting, standing, shoveling back – and it helped that the temperature was a perfect 67. Peace . . .. We were both at peace, making our home.

            Wendell Berry wrote:

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.


I come into the peace of wild things


who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time


I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.


            Yes, resting in “the grace of the world” may only work “for a time,” but so what? Take it.

            Or make it. Sometimes I have to create my sense of peace. I take a moment or two. It might be in a favorite place – down by the lake, or in my leather Stickley chair, or on the porch where I can see the lake and the birds. This may be like meditation, a practice I admire but have never knowingly practiced. Sometimes I mentally subtract items off my Worry List – family stresses, politics, human greed and stupidity. I pay attention to something in my visual or auditory world – a landscape, waves, shadows, a bird, or maybe just breathing. Maybe a focus on something or someone who I appreciate. Peace may occur during a pause, or through the pleasure of work.

            Kim does the same thing when looking through the viewfinder of her camera. What Wendell Berry calls “forethought / of grief” disappears, and peace remains.

Clouded Sulphur

Karner Blue

Green Ice

Spring is a time of year when the world becomes more green. You know – green grass, green leaves, etc. At our home in Northern Michigan this year, it means green ice.

I should note before you ask: Kim did not alter or enhance the color of these photos on her computer. Photoshop allows that kind of color-editing, but none was needed here when she took these pictures.

Early morning mist, looking east

Also early morning, looking south.

Part of the fun is figuring out what is ice, what is water, and what is something else.

The wide crack is where I was sitting in a chair about ten days ago.

Do you recognize what the blue is?

Taken from a neighbor's dock, late afternoon.

See any Petoskey stones?

The next day most of the ice was gone, but what remained was still green.

Sunrise, a day later, with snow in the forecast . . . 

Kim has said that one of the pleasures in living on a lake is that every hour brings us something different. How true. Of course, that's true even if you don't live on a lake, provided you pay attention.

Update for the none of you who asked: the American Tree Sparrow has a white tongue.

Ice Pix

          

          About 8 below zero early in the morning. This means it's time to go outside to photograph the sunrise.

          Later in the day, when the temperature climbed to zero, large areas of the lake froze.

          The next morning the wind rose, crushing the ice against the shore.

          It's true that you can't step in the same river twice. You also can't look at the same lake twice.

          It was tiring to be out in the cold, helping each other wrestle the camera gear up and down the stairs in the snow.