The land is fully lit long before the low
December sun rises over the horizon. The lake is calm, like
glass. The beauty of the forest along the shoreline is
reflected in the perfection of the morning stillness. Floating
islands of frost break the reflections, as does the odd breath
of wind on the lake surface.
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VIKI MATHER |
I think it is time to go canoeing. The ice is
coming soon. Opportunities to paddle are diminishing. The cool
smooth surface of the lake beckons, "Come paddle! Come see the
birth of the ice crystals that will soon put the lake to sleep
for the winter!"
I'm ready to go. But then I stop a moment,
and listen. There's the sound of wind in the distance - a quiet
shhhh of wind in the treetops.
Only hints of this wind make it to the
surface of this protected little bay. If I were to paddle out,
I would have to fight this wind to get back home. This
prospect is less appealing in December than
it is in July.
With the lake temperature hovering just above
the freezing point, I have little desire to interact directly
with the water.
Still, I am drawn to the lake each morning at
dawn. What's new? Has the ice around the fringes of the lake
expanded or retreated? Is there more ice than yesterday, or
less?
This morning I see the edge of the old ice
has been pushed back. What was a hundred feet of ice at this
end of the bay is now just 50.
The north-west wind blew all through the
night, breaking away at the tenuous grip of ice. Still, that 50
feet of ice tucked into the smallest part of the bay holds
strong. It likely will stay until April.
Now the wind has shifted, leaving our little
bay calm and still. The ice crystals begin to grow immediately.
They reach out from the shore, where the water is shallowest.
They reach out from the dock, and they spontaneously form in
the space between me and the island out front.
These shards of ice are as thin as tissue
paper. They grow and bump into each other. They form delicate
lacy patterns of ice, decorating the surface of the lake. With
time, and in the absence of wind, they will continue to grow,
and get thicker.
But the north wind is sure to blow again,
pushing the ice back. And when all the winds die once more,
I'll venture out in the canoe just one more time.
Viki Mather lives by a lake near Sudbury.
