Sunday, August 13, 2017

Little Blondie in the Lac

Little Blondie in the Lac

The breeze lifted the hair off my shoulders and reminded me that I was no longer in Dirtville, as it was a comfortable humid 80 degrees, not the sweltering dry dirt-laced 100 plus that I had become accustomed to enduring.

Up in the tallest tree before me was a bald eagle looking directly into my soul. “Up there!” I said to my nine-year-old daughter who glided towards me in the red kayak.

“Wow, an eagle!” She said, doing her best to not run into me. Shorty, as she was now known by almost everyone but her classmates, who by all measures were considerably shorter than she was, paddled in the one direction she had mastered – forward. I reached out and grabbed the front of her kayak to lessen the collision.

“Here in Canada?” She asked, noting the irony of America’s symbol enjoying the fresh air in another country. “Are they protected here too?” I glanced from the magnificent bird to her clear blue eyes and pink cheeks kissed with new summer freckles. Her thick blonde hair spilled over her life vest that was a size too small.

“They were endangered in the US but I’m not sure about Canada.” We paddled quietly around the wilderness exploring Lac St. Charles just outside of Quebec City. For Shorty, it was her second time out in a kayak under her own power so she was focused on not tipping over.

I was focused on the pure bliss of being surrounded by water and breathtaking natural beauty. Another reminder I was no longer in Dirtville, for as you can imagine from the fond nickname of my current home, it is not littered with tall trees or beautiful lakes.

As she worked out the nuance of steering and forward momentum I led us to the deeper part of the lake past the quaint cottages that dotted the shore.

I relived a lakeside life with my grandparents when I was a child. In this part of the lake, the water varied from 6 inches to several feet deep and we pushed through a patch of seaweed.

“Mom, why is it called seaweed in a lake? Shouldn’t it be called lake weed?” Shorty quipped. 

She was right and I gave her credit for the observation. Of course, lake weed sounded like some new form of pot but I didn’t point this out to her. Instead, I navigated around a peninsula enjoying the view of the wide-open water. 

A few paddle boarders passed nearby and they said the obligatory Quebecian “Bonjour.” I was envious of their mode of transportation and such an easy body of water to paddle on. Someday I would try that.

I cherished this time with my youngest daughter. Shorty still loved me and I was going to soak that in as long as humanly possible. My son graduates high school this year and he is involved in numerous academic and social activities. Not that the boy doesn’t love me, just that he was looking towards his future and approaching adulthood and no longer had much time or interest in his dear old mom. 

Shorty, on the other hand, was my constant companion and I savored every smile, clever word play, sniffle, and ornery moment because soon she would be like her sister and pour on the attitude in nearly every exchange with me. Le sigh. It was only fair, I had been a sassy lassie with my mom as a teen. I deserved every criticism and snarky comment.

I turned around to watch my Shorty paddling hard against a gust of wind, looking quite satisfied with her lot in life having mastered a new skill and an early love of all things water. Last week we were at the beach with my family and she proved that she is almost as in love with the beach as I am. 

We had spent hours digging in the sand with the summer sun kissing our shoulders. She was disappointed when our last day at the beach the waves were more violent but played happily with her cousins as I spent a few hours riding the waves with my brother in a rare and blissful moment we carved out of our busy lives. 

I was thrilled that I could offer her another adventure in a different country, albeit our nearest and dearest neighbor, Canada.

Out here in the open waters, the wind picked up and tossed shorty’s blonde locks around. She was the picture of summer bliss with the freedom of a day ready to be filled with adventure and thoughts of a confined classroom all but a distant memory. I wish I could give her that joy every day but like the rest of us, the thrill of adventure would soon become ordinary. It is the hard work over the cool winter months that make these moments so glorious. 

Today we have a new place to explore, a new skill mastered, and someone special to share it with. For me one of life’s greatest joys all wrapped up in my love of the water and the bright sunshine on my shoulders. There is no better joy to experience in this short and busy life. 

If you like my writing please check out my other water blogs and if you enjoy fiction I have three books out for your stormy time-travel loving pleasure. 

A Few of my Water Blogs:

Blondie in the Beach

Blondie in Bermuda

Blondie in the Pond

My books are available here:


Stealing Time: and only 99 cents in the UK site on Amazon this week.

Shattering Time:

1 comment:

  1. Tres bon. I wish I had been with you. I have not been to Quebec.