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Fletcher recollections
Sep. 4th, 2004 12:27 amLast night (Thursday) my parents stayed up until midnight, unusually late for them, playing Yahtzee with me and Brenna. This morning at 8:45 the cottage was strangely quiet. Even my daughters were still in bed. For the first time all summer—on the last day—I was first one awake and out of bed. I had been moving rocks into the garden the previous day and had a painful knot in the middle of my back. I got up, stretched, then rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but getting out of bed proved the only comfortable option.
Grabbing my notebook and pen, I slipped out the kitchen door and stood on the porch getting a feel for the day. It was one of the loveliest mornings we have had this year. Three tree frogs started calling at once, answering one another from different galleries of the forest. I've have only seen them twice over the years, one of each species, but we hear them nearly every day. They sound like squeaky magic markers.
I realized I didn't need my jacket, and turned to hang it back inside the door just as Dad came around the corner of the cottage and said hello. He had exited through the living room sliding door, bound on his traditional morning walk. I might have joined him, but had set my heart on a final, private meeting with Lake Fletcher for summer 2004. I carted a folding chair down to the dock, sat down and inhaled the water's fragrance.
Leaving seemed a pity, but I was ready to face the challenges of this fall. My mood has been excellent this week. Perhaps the medication is working after all. In fact, as I sat writing in my journal, my mind was rampant with ideas. I've felt a good flow of creative juices.
Fletcher shallows
My happiest accomplishment was the Prismacolor drawing of the canoe at the side of our dock. I haven't completed such an ambitious piece in several years. I'm dissatisfied with some aspects, but know my grasp of the medium and sense of freedom and expression will return if I persist. Being a colourist, I have difficulty restraining myself toward using neutral tones, but this time I used one (French grey 30%) more extensively than ever before, and was pleased with the effect. This drawing is larger than my usual format, but I completed it in about two hours on Tuesday afternoon. I may make additional attempts at this image. I would like to better convey a sense of depth underwater and warm sunlight on the bottom.
Writing this morning about my intentions, I felt open, enthusiastic and determined.
By the time I finished writing, everyone was stirring and Mom had put a quiche in the oven. I finished packing and asked the girls to do so. Then I had to disassemble and remove the storage container and rack from the top of the Sunfire. My parents want me to keep it, their second car, until Canadian Thanksgiving. Hopefully it will help with my job search.
Soon we all convened and sat down for a solid brunch that also included peameal bacon, potato patties, oranges and Pillsbury croissants made by Brenna.
Afterwards Brenna, Dad and I went for a swim. Our neighbour on the West had run his chainsaw for most of yesterday, so we stopped on the raft to survey the damage. We were alarmed at the number of small trees that came down, but at least it doesn't much mar the view of the point from our dock.
I snorkeled, saying goodbye to the schools of perch minnows. Then I chose a few small rocks from the bottom of the lake and carried them to the dock. I had discovered yesterday that if I kick hard enough with my feet I won't sink, so I can swim rather than walk around the edge of the bay.
The rocks were destined for my next farewell, the woodland garden behind our cottage. I have worked considerably on it this summer, and will chronicle the progress with pictures in a future post. I sat one last time on the new bench my parents brought and let my eyes graze over the dappled sunlight, soft curves of stepping stones and arches of ferns.
By the time I was dressed, Marian and Brenna had drifted next door (on the East) to say goodbye to Joyce, so I followed them. Joyce isn't really my aunt, but Mom's best friend since grade nine, and I'm closer to her than any of Mom's sisters. She is a retired high school English teacher. My family visited her cottage every summer of my life until, when I was 15, my parents bought the cottage next to hers. We have baby pictures of me and her son Doug bathing in her cottage sink under the hand pump.
All my life she has shown faith in my abilities as a writer. Today we sat for a little while and I revealed how much I have explored photography during the past two years. I said that's moving me toward my ideal of being a science and nature photojournalist.
"Well you know that's how I've seen you, from the beginning," she said.
We exchanged email addresses and hugged goodbye. Then the girls and I wandered back through the woods to finish loading the car and say goodbye to my parents.
I felt the usual intense longing to remain, but more than the usual confidence about returning to Guelph. My eldest daughter is leaving home for a new school. The three of us shared many memorable experiences this summer. We chatted easily for most of the two hour drive to their house.
Now I am back in Guelph to live the bachelor's life again for now. I have renewed hopes and ambitions.
And I have these memories from the place I love more than any other. A hundred silent pairs of perch eyes approaching curiously underwater. The soft crumble of dried leaves and hemlock needles between stones in the garden path. Brenna fluttering her fingers and exclaiming, "My wizardry!" just before I roll a Yahtzee. Marian listening to heavy metal in the loft. The shadows of little brown bats circling our bay at dusk, touching down to skim water striders off the silver surface. A family of barred owls hooting and barking at one another in the distance. Tree frogs squeaking in the morning warmth.
And, whenever one needs to clear the mind, a breath of that fragrant, living water.
Beside our dock. The aquatic plant appeared suddenly this year for the first time. I haven't identified it yet.
( A full-scale scan of the drawing: 900 x 585 )
Grabbing my notebook and pen, I slipped out the kitchen door and stood on the porch getting a feel for the day. It was one of the loveliest mornings we have had this year. Three tree frogs started calling at once, answering one another from different galleries of the forest. I've have only seen them twice over the years, one of each species, but we hear them nearly every day. They sound like squeaky magic markers.
I realized I didn't need my jacket, and turned to hang it back inside the door just as Dad came around the corner of the cottage and said hello. He had exited through the living room sliding door, bound on his traditional morning walk. I might have joined him, but had set my heart on a final, private meeting with Lake Fletcher for summer 2004. I carted a folding chair down to the dock, sat down and inhaled the water's fragrance.
Leaving seemed a pity, but I was ready to face the challenges of this fall. My mood has been excellent this week. Perhaps the medication is working after all. In fact, as I sat writing in my journal, my mind was rampant with ideas. I've felt a good flow of creative juices.
Fletcher shallows
My happiest accomplishment was the Prismacolor drawing of the canoe at the side of our dock. I haven't completed such an ambitious piece in several years. I'm dissatisfied with some aspects, but know my grasp of the medium and sense of freedom and expression will return if I persist. Being a colourist, I have difficulty restraining myself toward using neutral tones, but this time I used one (French grey 30%) more extensively than ever before, and was pleased with the effect. This drawing is larger than my usual format, but I completed it in about two hours on Tuesday afternoon. I may make additional attempts at this image. I would like to better convey a sense of depth underwater and warm sunlight on the bottom.
Writing this morning about my intentions, I felt open, enthusiastic and determined.
By the time I finished writing, everyone was stirring and Mom had put a quiche in the oven. I finished packing and asked the girls to do so. Then I had to disassemble and remove the storage container and rack from the top of the Sunfire. My parents want me to keep it, their second car, until Canadian Thanksgiving. Hopefully it will help with my job search.
Soon we all convened and sat down for a solid brunch that also included peameal bacon, potato patties, oranges and Pillsbury croissants made by Brenna.
Afterwards Brenna, Dad and I went for a swim. Our neighbour on the West had run his chainsaw for most of yesterday, so we stopped on the raft to survey the damage. We were alarmed at the number of small trees that came down, but at least it doesn't much mar the view of the point from our dock.
I snorkeled, saying goodbye to the schools of perch minnows. Then I chose a few small rocks from the bottom of the lake and carried them to the dock. I had discovered yesterday that if I kick hard enough with my feet I won't sink, so I can swim rather than walk around the edge of the bay.
The rocks were destined for my next farewell, the woodland garden behind our cottage. I have worked considerably on it this summer, and will chronicle the progress with pictures in a future post. I sat one last time on the new bench my parents brought and let my eyes graze over the dappled sunlight, soft curves of stepping stones and arches of ferns.
By the time I was dressed, Marian and Brenna had drifted next door (on the East) to say goodbye to Joyce, so I followed them. Joyce isn't really my aunt, but Mom's best friend since grade nine, and I'm closer to her than any of Mom's sisters. She is a retired high school English teacher. My family visited her cottage every summer of my life until, when I was 15, my parents bought the cottage next to hers. We have baby pictures of me and her son Doug bathing in her cottage sink under the hand pump.
All my life she has shown faith in my abilities as a writer. Today we sat for a little while and I revealed how much I have explored photography during the past two years. I said that's moving me toward my ideal of being a science and nature photojournalist.
"Well you know that's how I've seen you, from the beginning," she said.
We exchanged email addresses and hugged goodbye. Then the girls and I wandered back through the woods to finish loading the car and say goodbye to my parents.
I felt the usual intense longing to remain, but more than the usual confidence about returning to Guelph. My eldest daughter is leaving home for a new school. The three of us shared many memorable experiences this summer. We chatted easily for most of the two hour drive to their house.
Now I am back in Guelph to live the bachelor's life again for now. I have renewed hopes and ambitions.
And I have these memories from the place I love more than any other. A hundred silent pairs of perch eyes approaching curiously underwater. The soft crumble of dried leaves and hemlock needles between stones in the garden path. Brenna fluttering her fingers and exclaiming, "My wizardry!" just before I roll a Yahtzee. Marian listening to heavy metal in the loft. The shadows of little brown bats circling our bay at dusk, touching down to skim water striders off the silver surface. A family of barred owls hooting and barking at one another in the distance. Tree frogs squeaking in the morning warmth.
And, whenever one needs to clear the mind, a breath of that fragrant, living water.
Beside our dock. The aquatic plant appeared suddenly this year for the first time. I haven't identified it yet.
( A full-scale scan of the drawing: 900 x 585 )
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