Longing for Loons Only a Mile Away

Three years ago, my mother sold her lake house on Lake Winnipesaukee. I had spent a chunk of every summer there for 35 years, and I took the loss hard. Perfect sunsets opposite our front door, wailing loons, the slosh slosh of  a big lake’s water, grilling easy meals and making other or “parts” — simplicity and peace I counted on every year.

While I mourned and wallowed in memories of what had been lost, I failed to realize that just a mile up Gleason Falls Road I had a sweet little body of water named Loon Pond at my disposal. A visit from a dear friend with whom I used to share the passion for both the lake and sailing solo a la kayak, reminded me that I’d been pouting a bit too long.

On July 5, I loaded my slacker kayak (the fat Old Town style rather than the sleek professional model), paddle and boat shoes into the back of my Toyota Matrix and rumbled up the hill to launch my glider. I had to navigate a bit of goose poop as I carried the boat to the water’s edge, but it was easy to set it in, jump in and push away.

Not knowing what to expect, I slid around the bend and… peace, total peace.

Turns out the pond is almost exactly the same size as the one I lived along up in Lyme, NH. My first circumnavigation took exactly an hour. With seven minutes to pack up and drive over and the same on the return, there’s no reason to put off an hour’s pleasure and solitude anytime I feel the need to regroup.

Memories flooded my mind, though no longer paired with the anxiety of loss. This is a new source of relaxation and solitude, a balm.

More to come…

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