Built to Last

 

An extended, cool, wet spring leaves me longing for warm walks on a south Lake Superior shore; eyes roaming over smooth stones for just the right choice. Some days it's white with just the faintest speckle to give texture, and others pure and smooth like eggshell.  There are times I look for the ochre-buttercup-sun-golden yellow or slate gray with faint smoky ribbons. But it's truly the contrasts among them that make the beauty.

 

And I long for hours digging in the sandy soil at the top of the river bank, adding another perennial or trying to decide if the wild daisies should stay just where they are. The window boxes are more tame; tribute to sweet Mother Elaine. Deep red geraniums or wave petunias in salmon or coral. 

 

I can almost see the river, lazy along the bank. No great changes seem to happen from year to year, but the boathouse leans a little more. Taking down an old birch turned to surprise one summer when it split early and bounced on the boathouse before breaking with a crack. While felling the aged birch failed to shatter or shift, the slow settling of the earth itself has taken it's toll over time and the old boathouse leans.  I am thankful for the hands and shoulders that toiled to raise this sturdy riverside shelter which houses paddles and oars, life vests, fishing poles, inner tubes, butterfly nets, bicycles, gas cans & an occasional possum. Summer river life.