Martha Martha!

The boys are off to school tomorrow, so I thought I’d try to get another lake post in before our summer is officially over. It was a really great summer in so many ways. I think some of the best things about taking the boys up north are the invaluable life lessons learned by being immersed in wilderness. Cycles of life and death play themselves out at every turn. The smallest crevice in a rock or tree contains of all sorts of mysteries. In the woods nothing is there to entertain, but everything is waiting to be discovered.  All the hands-on adventures, the real-dirt consequences that happen when  boy digs at God’s creation, are things I can only hint at in in the city.

Spending a good amount of time at the lake this summer afforded us a view of how the lake changes, even across the short span of a month. When we arrived, the two new loon chicks were fuzzy dependant lumps on their mother’s back. Completely tame, it almost seemed as if the parents were showing off there chicks, as they would swim within10 feet of our pier, or right beside our kyacks when we went exploring.  It was awesome to see these huge, elegant birds catching minnows and feeding them to their ravenous off-spring. When we left, the babies were independently diving and swimming and starting to look for their own meals.

At the beginning of our summer, the frogs were small and still had their pollywog tails. They were fast and difficult to catch. By the end of our trip, the boys would spend the days pulling up large, slow, fat bullfrogs.

I was constantly being summoned to catch Joe a frog. Once I caught one, he would "gently" take it from me, holding a leg in each hand. He’d talk to the frog, pet the frog, kiss it, inventing hundreds of unknown pretend scenarios in his busy little brain. Then, after he had them for a good 5 minutes I would remind him that the frog needed to be in the water, and that it was time for him to give the froggy a "break".  He’d throw it back in, and then I’d be summoned to grab a new froggy-friend.

"Mommy! I need a new froggy! Please mommy! A new frog mommy, PLEASE?"

He was relentless about it. One night I was in a rush, trying to get dinner in the works. Joey was whining about needing another frog, so I quickly ran down to the shore and grabbed the first one I could find. He was a cute little guy, lime green with a yellow belly. Joey seemed enamored, as I ran back up to the kitchen.  After about 15 minutes, Jack came running into the house,

"Mom! Joey won’t give Frank a break!?"

"Frank? Who’s Frank?"

"It’s his frog.  And I told him he was gonna hurt Frank if he didn’t put him back, but he won’t listen to me!"

"Alright, I’ll be down there in a minute."

I turned off the stove and walked down to the pier, where I found Joey sporting a pout, clenching Frank with both hands.

"Joey! It’s time to give Frank a break. You might hurt him. He’s just a little guy."

"But he’s my special froggy, he’s my froggy!"

"I know you like him, but he needs to be in the lake, and don’t squeeze him too tight!"

"NO! My Frank!"

"Joey! Give Frank a break, obey mommy!"

Gripping Frank even tighter he started shaking his head defiantly.

"Joey! Obey me now, throw Frank back in the lake!"

"NO!"

"Right now Joey," as I gave him my patented "look."

After a sober moment Joey decided to give in, and threw Frank off the end of the pier. The frog floated motionless, belly up on the surface. Now, in my childhood, I had killed many a frog.  I’m not proud of it, but there it is.  I mean, when your dad gives you a bb gun for your birthday, what else are you going to shoot?  The sight of Frank floating lifeless off the end of the pier, though regrettable, didn’t phase me all that much. I was irritated, and more interested in my son’s disobedience.

"Look! Joey! See what happened now? You killed that poor froggy!"

I could actually see the words float out of my mouth in slow motion as I said them. They quickly formed a sharp penetrating arrow as they hit my son, "you-killlllled-thaaaat-frooooog!"

Terror stricken, Joey looked at me with the most horrible look. I had chosen the wrong thing to say. Tears started welling up in his eyes. If remorse had a face, Joey had it penned. I began fumbling my way into a back-pedal,

"I mean, he’s not feeling very well. But next time, you should obey mommy. He’s uhhh probably going to be ok, he’s just resting, errr taking a little nap, he’s not dead, he’s just-- sleeping..."

Joey started bellowing, "Franky! Fraaaanky!"

"It’s ok, sweetheart, he’s going to be ok... mmmmaybe."

"Franky!"

And then, a miracle from heaven. Frank suddenly snapped into consciousness. His legs twitching, he turned over and dove to the bottom of the lake.

"See! Look! He’s OK! He’s was just resting (thank you Lord!) Maybe we’ll see him again."

A look of relief washed over my four year old. He waved good bye to Frank, and we went back up to the house for dinner. Joey took more care with his hostages after that.

Another cycle of wild life that we got to witness was the "plague" of dragon flies. When we first arrived they were everywhere. Squadrons of them would travel past us whenever we went fishing or sat near the water. At first the boys were afraid of them. They are pretty scary looking-- I remember I hated them when I was a child. But then Uncle Bill quickly diffused the whole mystique of the dragon fly. He taught the boys how to catch them. If you put your finger under their front legs, they will reflexively climb onto it. Jack was enthralled with this new occupation and spent hours coaxing dragon flies to sit on his hand. He’d pet them and talk to them, examining their many colored wings and eyes. One day, Jack came walking down to the lake with his latest catch,

"Mom! Look at this one! It only has three wings!"

"Oh, that’s too bad! Poor little guy, I bet he can’t fly too well."

"That’s OK mom, I’ll look after him."

He then went down to the pier to introduce his new pet to my brother and sister-in-law. As I continued walking up the hill I could hear my brother launching into an explanation of the four stages of the dragon fly....

"Jack did you know that the dragon fly starts his life in the water..."

Jack kept carefully stroking his three-winged friend, telling him he would help him out in life, and that he didn’t need to worry about only having three wings; when the dragon fly decided he needed a "break" and tried to take a stab at flying.  Being a disabled flyer, it dove straight into the lily pads, just off the pier.

"Oh no Jack. That’s a really bad place for that dragon fly to land!?"

"Why Uncle Bill!?"

"Uhh, because fish really like to eat insects and..."

As my brother was finishing the sentence, a bluegill hit the surface of the water, and in one violent slurp, sucked up the ill-fated three winged dragon fly, and disappeared without a trace.

Bill and Jane sat frozen in silence, not knowing what to say in light of such a tragic moment. My brother was trying to keep a straight face, when Jack launched into a pensive eulogy about his friend, the three winged dragon fly.

"Yeah, that was my friend. And even though he only had three wings, I loved him...at least he had one good friend before he died."

That’s the lake. Life and death swarm around each other in priceless little stories like that.

And tomorrow, "real"  life marches on.  Jack starts 2^nd grade, and Joey begins Pre-K. This momma loon is going to start working on the nest, and might even take a few day trips here and there.

Time to kiss the summer goodbye...