Morning, Coffee, and Hummingbirds.

I like to get up early, before anyone else. At least I have convinced myself it is by choice, it might be the curse of my Mother and Aunt (who was like a second mother). They were raised during hard times, and spent many years working as waitresses. Often their working shifts would start early for the breakfast crowd. It seems that it became habit, and I would tease them, laughing about the hours they kept. Now, those are the hours I keep. And I can’t help but wonder if they are somehow responsible, in some heavenly reward, which they both deserve, drinking heavenly coffee and laughing quietly at me as I talk about how much I enjoy the solitude of early morning. “He who laughs last, laughs loudest,” I guess.

This morning, I decided to mix pleasure with pleasure, so to speak. I brought my coffee, my iPad, my phone and my camera out to the deck to hunt the elusive hummingbird. 

Hummingbirds are fast, lightning fast, changing directions in a microsecond, stopping, hovering, and zooming off. Science fiction alive and well in the animal kingdom.

I remember the first time I saw a hummingbird. It came buzzing in, sounding like a flight of angry hornets. A terrifying buzzing with no distinct point of origin. It echoed off the walls, filled the patio, surrounding me with a terrifying, inhuman sound right out of the apocalypse. “Look at the size of that bee!” I told my wife, grabbing my chair to fend it off, thinking about throwing my wife as a sacrifice so I could make my escape. She would understand.

“That’s a hummingbird.” She said, with the practiced patience she has developed over the years. 

Sure enough, it was a gentle, dainty little bird, flitting gracefully from flower to flower, drinking and moving on. I fell in love. It was the most amazing animal I had ever seen. It sat, mid air, wings beating so fast they were a blur, long beak dipping into the small flowers, drinking and moving on. It was the most delicate, beautiful scene. My wife buys flowers she knows they like, just to keep them coming. She knows how much I enjoy seeing them.

Last year I got a hummingbird feeder for my birthday, and a friend of my wife’s makes a magic elixir of sugar and water, boiled, refrigerated, and irresistible to hummingbirds. They stop all day, have a drink, flit among the flowers and speed off. Today, I managed to get a picture of one, having a drink. 

Kayaking, a natural experience

Life always seems a little sweeter in a kayak. The small boat rocking gently on the waves. Gently paddling from one place to the next, feeling the tension drain through the small scupper holes. You can almost see the troubles of the week sully and darken the water, and the next sweep of the paddle they are gone, the scenery has changed, and the whole world is a little nicer.

My first attempt was not a real success. Nervousness, tension, anxiety, pretty much trademarks of my life, and my first trip my wife said it was all there, in every sweep of the paddle. She said I looked angry, mad at the water. "You attacked kayaking," she said. Of course, she didn't tell me this until after my second trip. "Relax, just slow down, look around," she told me before I launched. Since she cares for me, and knows almost all of my shortcomings, has seen me at my worst, pulled me back from the brink of the abyss more than I like to remember I listened to her. And she was right, no blisters, no aching shoulders, no cramps in my lower back. It was smooth sailing, sort of.

In the movie Toy Story there is a scene where Buzz Lightyear the astronaut tells Woody the cowboy "now is no time to panic." 

"Now is the perfect time to panic." Woody says, with feeling.

That is my motto, almost all the time. Now is the perfect time to panic. 

Kayaking is different, though. There is the beauty of nature, the serene silence of the forest pushing to the edge of the water, sometimes even making it into the water. Trees bleached white, looking skeletal, haunting and beautiful. Turtles sit on the logs, frogs croak, sing in a noisy opera of natural harmony. Birds of prey float gently, effortlessly across the sky. 

Most of the places I kayak are too small for motor boats, so it is quiet, a few canoes, sometimes an epidemic of kayaks. I always thought I was joining an exclusive family of dedicated "sailors" standing against the internal combustion engine driven power boats zooming along the surface of lakes and rivers. Man, was I wrong. Most of the time kayakers outnumber everybody, maybe everything, in the few launches I have tried. But, that's ok. There is room for all of us. If you are thinking of buying a kayak you should, they are wonderful little devices to loosen up your muscles, let the heat out of your life for a while.

Our cabin on Lake Superior was so remote that we were the only ones visible on the lake. You could hear the power boats across the bay, but you couldn't see them. A suggestion of movement, no more.

Lake Hope will probably be pretty crowded, but that is ok. Gas motors are not allowed on the lake, and there are plenty of little bays to paddle around and disappear for a while. Plus, it is a last vacation for the summer, a farewell to the heat, humidity, and yard work, from a small cabin in the woods.