Life On the Lake 

Dedicated to the Joys of Waterside Living

October-November 2007

SALUTING TEN YEARS AT THE LAKE

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Cold, wintry days now, even though it is still autumn. A storm blew in late this afternoon, making the sky dark before 4 PM. The way the wind blew I thought the lights would go out for a long days-end blackness, but, no, the wind began to die down and the lights (bless 'em) stayed on, and I finished my book, John Updike's Seek  My Face (excellent, by the way) as the sky grew dim.

"You lights can go out now," I told the black window. Ah, but they didn't. And what a huge blessing electricity is! Light and heat and much else, not to mention the damned
TV.

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I don't know, but I think many people (especially young ones) are confused between Memorial Day, in the Spring, and Veterans' Day (originally Armistice Day, but for what war, there have been so many of them since 1918), in the Fall. Both are utilized to pay respect to dead warriors, and both are consequently wrong.

In Spring we honor the dead, but it is not the same as the Halloween dead, you understand, but anybody who no longer breathes the air of this planet qualifies. And it is all veterans who are mildly honored  by one more Monday attached to the weekend, regardless of where the date of the armistice falls, not just the dead ones. But who really cares?

Well, I do, sort of.  I gave the blank-blank Army almost three years of my life. (Got out a few months early to go back to school.) I'd like some neighbor or neighbor's kid to simply say, "Hey, thanks, old man." I'd be astonished, of course, and do something foolish.

Like tip him. But there is next to zero likelihood of that ever happening, and one more thankless year is now past.

Spider at my lakefront livingroom window

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This is the season for spiders. Each year my bathroom is host (or rather I am host) to two or more spiders. Over the winter each spider--if left alone, unmolested, which I agree to do each year--will grow substantially and in time become relatively huge.

They exist alongside  my toilet, one in each corner by a different  cabinet. They seek the security, that is, of the niche in the corner under which they will dwell and lie in wait for prey such as a housefly or yellow jacket, which also abound at this time of the year. Rarely do I ever see them trap an insect in the their ever-expanding webwork, but trap and devour they must in order to gain their rather impressive size, given enough time each.

They are shy more than they are secretive, I'd say, from long-established behavior patterns. Often they duck back to entire invisibility at what must be to them my thunderous approach to relieve myself while standing up. But if I remember to be quiet arriving, they will often remain exposed and studyable while I attend to my business, which allows sufficient is time to perform my minute nature study.

I wonder if they have knowledge of each other, or if they might just . . . mate? That would be too much to hope for, or that I might catch them  in the act while standing there. And mightn't there be an egg in time, as evidence? I've seen spider eggs elsewhere, why not here? And then my toilet bowl might become host to  the next generation of spiders--dozens and dozens of tiny creatures that will grow over time and themselves propagate.

Best, I tell myself, not to mention the pair of spiders, or my hopes, to my wife, Norma, who receives such news with pursed lips and a tiny scowl. No, the spider pair are mine alone, and I must keep news of them as secretive as though I were a spider myself.

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Did you know? Lipitor causes baldness. (See above.) Or just watch the NBC News at 6 p.m. for a better demonstration. 

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At dawn, the soft pop-pop-pop of shotguns three miles away, out on Skagit Bay, as duck hunters begin to fire away. If it is clear, they are banging away at very distant flights of widgeons, teal, mallards, or--soon--snow geese. But if it is foggy or cloudy, the ducks are in closer and in greater chance of being hit, and the pops are more selective and deadly.

I lie abed and listen and the sound--about 65 dBA, I guess, and pull for the ducks to get missed and fly away.

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Last night, following the dip to 28 degrees the previous night, we drained the Otter Fountain. (Not really an otter but Buddha; see, he is looking at you!)) It was a lot of wet work, but now we don't have to worry about the basins freezing and cracking. Earlier in the year we had to patch two basins with some rare, sticky-when-fresh cement, and don't want to have to do it again.

But the rhododendrons are pretty at this time of the  year, and already reveal next spring's buds.

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The  leaves, they are afalling, including this bigleaf maple that came drifting into our yard from far away--since there are no such trees around for a goodly distance. It is about the size of a basketball in diameter, and pretty while still damp from yesterday's rain. As it dried out, it curled and became brittle to the touch.

Tomorrow I shall throw it out. But--don't worry--there are many more leaves to come. And some will call out to be collected.

Many winter ducks arriving on the lake, including lesser scaups and coots.

Trout fishing, after a lull, has picked up again. Four the day before yesterday and two quickly yesterday, with the biggest each day going 16 inches and the smallest about 11. Males have loose scales on them, which sometimes happens to these rare fall-spawning trout from an Eastern Washington hatchery, now nicely accommodated to our sweet little lake and rapidly growing throughout this cool month of October.

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A lot of small green tomatoes, this year, after the regular harvest of cherry tomatoes and--a surprise--a bunch of full-sized ones that arrived in a load of compost and grew through the summer. They grew large and ripened, all but a few of them, which we brought inside and left on the dining room table, in the sun (occasional sun), and they ripened, one by one and got eaten. Above are the leftover vines, the remnants of the crop, hung with some of the garden tools, out of doors, along a cedar wall.

How sweet they were. And now these small, unripe ones are turning red, one by one (see picture above), and may not be as large nor as sweet, but we shall eat them, as they ripen, one by one.