What can I say, I'm a lucky girl! Even when I'm not on vacation, I'm on vacation. I have been at our little lake house for three weeks now, the days started running together about a week ago. The day, the time, the date, who cares, it just doesn't matter. It's a great way to live! I have been starting each day with a cup of Green Tea and ending it with a glass of wine,while taking in a spectacular sunset.
Lake Ontario has long been known for World Class Salmon Fishing, people come from far and near. I have been on the other side of a fishing pole reeling in the 'big one'. The excitement is wild, your hands become sweaty and week from the pressure of trying to land the creature that was a few moments ago swimming in the cold depths, 50 feet below the surface. The area just below your belly-button aches from the fishing pole digging in for leverage. Pull up, real down, I keep reminding myself. Finally, the shiny fish shows itself on the surface, people scramble to get the net, they are busy reeling in the other poles, the Captains watchful eyes concentrate on the boat traffic, yelling out orders so we will be successful at landing the mighty fish. Once hauled on board, it's hard to tell who looks worse for the fight. I of course opt to hurry and toss the winner back to his home, he is on a mission after all, he's traveling home to spawn. He will travel back to is homeland, through the lake, up the river and through the streams. He will climb the ladders of his childhood and when he reaches the end point of his life he will then die of natural causes. Seems poetic, but it's nature at it's best!
Off in the distance, the birds chirp and sing their musical tunes. I watch from my deck as a large Osprey swoops down into the water and emerges, dripping wet, with a Gobi fish in his talons. Gracefully, the large bird flies off with his catch, turning slightly towards me on the shore to show off his kill, then heads west towards the flat rocks where he can be alone to indulge in his catch. The gray herons make there way past our camp late in the day, always looking busy as if trying to stay on some type of schedule, perhaps a curfew of sorts. As the fishing boats head off into the distance, I watch the sail boats gently glide past the lighthouse, killing the engines and popping the sails as they emerge into the great expanse. The beautiful colors of the spinnakers always make me feel happy.
The winds on the lake vary, some days none, most days some, and other days 60 MPH. Everyday is a new one, all different, and most are enjoyable. Sunsets, each one different, the cloud cover depicts a new masterpiece every evening. Mesmerizing watercolors, pinks and blues and purples, shadows of the clouds reflecting off the water. The end comes soon, each day is always met with the knowledge of waking and doing it all over again the next day.
Lake Ontario has long been known for World Class Salmon Fishing, people come from far and near. I have been on the other side of a fishing pole reeling in the 'big one'. The excitement is wild, your hands become sweaty and week from the pressure of trying to land the creature that was a few moments ago swimming in the cold depths, 50 feet below the surface. The area just below your belly-button aches from the fishing pole digging in for leverage. Pull up, real down, I keep reminding myself. Finally, the shiny fish shows itself on the surface, people scramble to get the net, they are busy reeling in the other poles, the Captains watchful eyes concentrate on the boat traffic, yelling out orders so we will be successful at landing the mighty fish. Once hauled on board, it's hard to tell who looks worse for the fight. I of course opt to hurry and toss the winner back to his home, he is on a mission after all, he's traveling home to spawn. He will travel back to is homeland, through the lake, up the river and through the streams. He will climb the ladders of his childhood and when he reaches the end point of his life he will then die of natural causes. Seems poetic, but it's nature at it's best!
Off in the distance, the birds chirp and sing their musical tunes. I watch from my deck as a large Osprey swoops down into the water and emerges, dripping wet, with a Gobi fish in his talons. Gracefully, the large bird flies off with his catch, turning slightly towards me on the shore to show off his kill, then heads west towards the flat rocks where he can be alone to indulge in his catch. The gray herons make there way past our camp late in the day, always looking busy as if trying to stay on some type of schedule, perhaps a curfew of sorts. As the fishing boats head off into the distance, I watch the sail boats gently glide past the lighthouse, killing the engines and popping the sails as they emerge into the great expanse. The beautiful colors of the spinnakers always make me feel happy.
The winds on the lake vary, some days none, most days some, and other days 60 MPH. Everyday is a new one, all different, and most are enjoyable. Sunsets, each one different, the cloud cover depicts a new masterpiece every evening. Mesmerizing watercolors, pinks and blues and purples, shadows of the clouds reflecting off the water. The end comes soon, each day is always met with the knowledge of waking and doing it all over again the next day.
