The Way Forward by Glenna Agnew
I rested my paddle against the edge of the canoe for a few moments and just gazed in awe at the panoramic view that spread out before me.
The weather was crisp and just slightly chilly although I knew that by mid-morning it would be considerably warmer; but now I was thankful for my blue fleece lined jacket. My bright orange lifejacket added an extra lawyer of warmth between me and the raw chill that I tried to tell myself invigorated the morning.
Behind me I could hear my sister in the stern, breathing regularly as she bent and dipped her paddle in and out of the water. The same repetitive pattern, breathe and dip, breathe and dip, in and out, in and out. It was somehow calming, cathartic if you will. God, I needed that.
The clouds overhead were not your fluffy white cotton candy variety of clouds, they looked angry and somewhat ominous; as if any moment the sky would part and the heavens would open sending a deluge of torrential rain down upon us. Maybe I secretly wanted that, maybe I needed that too. A way to wash away my troubles, maybe even cleanse my soul, although I somehow doubted that was even possible.
There was a plethora of fir trees on the shore in front of me, dark and dense. Interspersed amongst the coniferous trees were deciduous trees that had not yet started to change with the fall colours. The chill in the air was a good indication that autumn was upon us and that soon the bright colours of red, orange, yellow and brown would infiltrate the forest in a glorious splash of colour. Ontario was always at its best when dressed in this magnificent array.
As we came to the half way part of the little lake, the water became choppier. I noticed how the lake had taken on myriad shades of blue; lighter in the distance and darker where it splashed against the bow of the canoe. I remember as a child how I had always painted lakes one solid bold swipe of blue, but now I could see the gradation of shades that surrounded us. Ripples of azure, aqua, cobalt; touches of teal and ultramarine. I suppose with age comes more discernment, more awareness, more perception. At least this is what I think is supposed to happen, my current situation obviously negated these character traits.
Here, mid lake, the wind picked up and I tucked behind my ears, the loose tendrils that had escaped my single braid. The canoe began to rock gently, small waves lapping against the sides. The rocking motion somehow reminded me of the times when, as a child, I would crawl up into my Grandmother’s lap as she rocked in her ancient rocker on her front porch overlooking this very lake. She would hold me close, set the chair in motion and start to sing softly in that melodic voice that was always so soothing and she would wipe away all my tears, fears and sorrows. Oh Grandma! I miss you. I need you so much now. My emotions were as tumultuous as the brooding skies and the storm that was sure to develop later in the morning.
As if reading my mind, my sister started to hum softly. I recognized the song immediately. It was one of the songs that Grandma used to sing to us when we were little. She did not sing the words but I knew that both of us were singing the words in our minds. The unspoken words resonated in my mind, strong and clear.
My knees started to ache as I sat still in the bow, knees tucked up tightly under the seat. I placed both hands on my paddle as it rested on the sides of the canoe and distributing my weight carefully, I adjusted my position.
To the north I could hear the sounds of the Canada Geese as they flew in their famous “V” formation. We watched them as they came closer. They were on a mission and they knew where they were headed. Loudly, obnoxiously, persistently perhaps, but definitely with a concrete goal in mind. They obviously had their ducks in a row, I thought with a little humour and irony. If only it was that easy. If only I had that tenacity, that sense of purpose, that goal. My life, in comparison, seemed so purposeless, so uncertain, so unsure. So totally screwed up.
As we continued on, the smell of a wood fire drifted over the water. Pungent. Memorable. I turned my nose to the sky and drank in the scent, inhaling great bunches of goodness. Then, wonder of wonder, seconds later the smell of bacon frying over a campfire. I could almost taste it, I could envision it, greasy strips of bacon, sizzling in a black cast iron frying pan, becoming even more crispy as the pan got hotter. Grease bubbling, bacon crisping, my senses on overload, pleasant memories stirring.
We finally arrived at the far side of the lake. It was time to turn around. It was time to head home. We had crossed the lake, yet I felt like we had crossed some great divide. As one, my sister and I dug our paddles into the water and in a few strokes, turned the canoe around to the direction we had come.
There was a peace within me that I didn’t quite understand. I had come on this trip filled with dread, filled with indecision, filled with….. Yet somehow, mysteriously, maybe even miraculously there now was a harmony in my soul. My soul no longer felt lost, no longer felt dark. No longer felt adrift. There was a sense of peace. Where once there had been darkness now there was light. Small, flickering, a fledgling speck of light, but still, nun the less; there.
Not a word had been spoken, our journey was one of silence. My sister and I, always as one accord; knew what the other wanted, what they needed. My senses once on overload now were at rest,
I somehow, now knew … the way forward.