Out on the lake early this morning, searching for invasive milfoil. (Our lake has been one of the winners of the invasive weed contest since 2013. We discovered this fun fact when we bought our house in 2014. Our luck at finding a foreclosure with lake front was the poor fortune of a family whose children inked their names on the back of a garage stair case at some point before departing. Defiant gesture, perhaps, made my children with no control over the whims and weaknesses of the adults trying to raise them. To this day – literally this day – we find golf balls embedded in the back yard and the woods – smashed into the air by the father who couldn’t hold it together for his family.)
But back to the milfoil: A small team of volunteers scours our lake for several months each summer to help the professionals to help us. Searching for milfoil in a weedy cove from the seat of a kayak is slow work. I bring my camera and have it at the ready to add something for me to the task. At the front of my short, non-tippy (sit-on) kayak I have several milfoil buoys attached to anchors. These are ready to be tossed if I find what I don’t want to find. Then between my knees I have a bag with my camera, sunscreen, and other odds and ends. Coffee mug is busy wobbling around in a cup holder that is much too wide and insufficiently deep. (Maybe it is meant to hold a burger?) And all this only after I have managed to get myself into the kayak without tipping over into the lake. (Seriously, how does one do this gracefully?)
Then off I paddle, looking for milfoil and scanning for my animal friends. This morning I watched the osprey snag weeds for the nest (pictures coming soon). Watched small birds chase a great blue heron for a few quick moments of brave flapping wings. Heard my red-winged blackbirds. Didn’t mind when a small pale spider with a pot belly crawled across my leg and damselflies landed on my head, arms, feet. Watched my muskrat buddy munching on lake weeds in his usual spot. And my loons. Always my loons. No chicks this year, from what the loon count and my observations tell us.
And oh, the turtles! Turtles on logs. Turtles on rocks. Turtles lazy-paddling through lake weeds; turtles wriggled into lake bottom mud. Snappers that may be closing in on 40 years old. Painted turtles new to the world, or tired from three decades of enduring. Along the way I found this darling baby painted turtle. About twenty feet away I spotted an adult painted sunning on a rock. Turtles startle easily, so I was thrilled to get a handful of pictures of this little fella. (Hooray for my zoom lens!)