It is a simple thing, really. Yesterday I got out of bed around 6 am, dressed, and took my kayak to Birch Bay State Park, a short distance from our home. I carried the boat down to the water and launched at nearly high tide on a clear, calm day with no surf. I paddled around the edge of the bay, never very far from shore. The water in the bay is shallow, even at high tide. It was a safe place to paddle even for someone who is not experienced with the tides. I paddled for a short time, taking a few breaks to take a few pictures.

It was pure joy to be alone with nature for a while.

There was a time when I paddled nearly every day. In those days it took even more effort to paddle. I had to drive about ten miles to get to the lake. The lake froze every winter, so I couldn’t paddle until the ice melted. Some years, I would have my boat in the water in late November before freeze-up and I would be paddling in the open water with ice still covering most of the lake by February. Paddling is how I refreshed my soul, kept my contact with nature, and kept balance in my life. I built a series of canoes and kayaks to journey on the water.

I fully expected that retirement would be filled with paddling. I bundled up a trailer full of boats when we moved. But I haven’t paddled much in the past two years. I took a canoe with us when we drove to South Carolina last year and paddled only a couple of mornings when we were camped at Canyon Lake in Rapid City. I put a canoe into Clear Lake once last year. Other than that my boats have been gathering dust in the back of the barn. I missed paddling, but my life was full of a lot of other activities. There were chores at the farm. We moved and then moved again. There are still boxes to sort and items to give away and recycle. I took a new job. I am trying to settle in a new place. During all of this Susan and I have been faithful to our daily walking. I have remained active. But I took a break from paddling. I can’t explain it.

At the beginning of Lent, I decided that it was time for a change. I put one of my kayaks that needs a bit of repair into my cradles and began sanding. I patched a small crack in the cockpit coaming. I sanded away the old varnish. I didn’t do the work all at once. When I made epoxy repairs, I had to let the epoxy cure for 24 hours. When I finally got to varnishing, it was a slow process of putting one coat on either the top or bottom of the boat, waiting at least 24 hours, then sanding and repeating the process. Three coats of varnish, top and bottom. I finished earlier this week. Thursday I loaded the boat on top of the car and got ready.

To the boats I say, “I’m back!”

I have a place for this kayak in our garage at home, so I don’t have to go to the farm to pick it up. I have another boat in the slings so that I can begin working on it. Working on the boats is a series of small jobs, so it is best to get in motion and work a little bit as many days as possible. That kind of work suits my schedule, leaving time for other projects as well.

More importantly, I have the fresh memory of yesterday’s paddle to inspire me. The boat is already loaded up for another paddle this morning.

I live in a perfect place for a solo recreational paddler. While there are plenty of big waters where one should paddle only with partners, and there are conditions that would keep me off of even the protected waters of the bay, most days afford an opportunity to safely paddle alone. Time alone with the water and the creatures of the water is what I need. It is what I have missed.

Yesterday’s paddle was an opportunity to get acquainted with the loons. Birch Bay is filled with a lot of different kinds of waterfowl. There are ducks, brants, geese, coots, and loons. Loons are a treat of northern waters, with their distinctive cries, the crook of their necks, and their shy nature. As I approach with my kayak, they disappear beneath the surface of the water to re-emerge elsewhere. Unlike the ducks and geese that fly away when I get too close, the loons, quietly slip beneath the surface of the water. Then, a few minutes later, I will hear their cry that seems to echo even in a place where there is no echo. It reminds me of the ululation that I have heard at funerals and other occasions. Lakota women cry lilililili! in a high pitched voice as an act of praise. The loons can sound like those sounds, but it isn’t quite the same.

The loons gather on the water in groups, but they like a little more space than some other species of birds. They tend to drift away from the groups as individuals on the surface of the water. They are excellent companions for an early morning paddle.

As I sift and sort through my past journal entries organizing my archives, I am aware of how often in the past I wrote of paddling. When my life was so busy with my work as a pastor, my role as a father, my care of parents as they aged, responding to suicide calls, meetings of many different boards and committees, serving on community boards and raising funds for the arts and for the church and for other charitable causes, I continued to find moments, often in the wee hours of the morning, to paddle. And with the paddle in my hands, I found peace.

My hand-carved Greenland style paddle fits naturally in my hands. It is waiting in the car. The boat is ready for a short carry to the beach from where I will park. I’ll wait a few more hours, but once again today is a paddling day. It feels so good to be back on the water. I don’t know why I waited so long.