STILLNESS

                                                                                  

Listening to the quiet in the north woods is deceptive. All around it is quiet, but not as quiet as it first seems. I hear occasional puffs of wind in the trees that surround this house on the lake. The lake is as still as a sheet of glass, shining brightly in between the trees. Nearby there is a summer camp for children and the happy squeals intersperse the silence. A lone dog barks. Eagles and ospreys occasionally fly past. Turtles linger amongst the water reeds and water lilies. Occasional plops tell me there are frogs here that I can’t see. Sadly I can hear distant traffic, not much, but on such a still day it is there.

This place is quiet and it is quieting. We are visiting pour friends, who built this retreat, mostly with their own hands.  ‘It’s for our retirement’ they say, which seems to be a few years away yet.  But it’s a dream come true--a house on a lake ‘Up North’ in Wisconsin.

Loons are on the lake, and they call to each other in the early mornings and evenings. We all love loons—they are strikingly beautiful birds with white spots on a black background, an elegant long neck and ‘eagle eyes.’ They turn their heads from left to right, searching the wide expanse of the lake. Their sharp beaks serve them well for underwater fishing.

At home in Madison they arrive every year at the time of the equinoxes, about September and March. They settle on our Lake Monona for two or three weeks before taking off, either northwards or southwards.

Loons are my measure of the seasons. At the end of the long winter, their arrival reassures me that indeed, spring is coming. In the fall, they let me know it is time to pull myself inwards, bring in the plants that have been enjoying the long summer days, ‘put our little garden to bed,’ and start thinking about winter clothes again. There is something approximating relief in the fall with the cool days, the oncoming winter, and the beginning of the quiet months. The hectic celebratory summer time is now spent and the children are thinking of school challenges and the thrill of growing up, inch by inch, year by year.

Our grand-girl has a birthday in October. That means she will hold up four fingers when asked how old she is. There will be a party, and gifts. Her preschool classmates will sing for her. We will be festive with balloons and cards, and she will experience the joy of being the focus of everyone’s attention. By October the days will be much shorter and darker. Frosts will come and we will grumble about needing to turn on the central heating. But it will become increasingly quiet without birdsong, without frogs and insects making night music, and without the whining of mosquitoes in our ears.

In the deep quiet of a Wisconsin winter you learn to simply be alive, grateful for the beauty of the white world outside and the central heating that allows us to live here.