Everyone around here seems to have spent the last couple months and weeks waiting eagerly for the ice to break up. And by “everyone around here”, I mean us and our feathered neighbors.
The swans have been patiently spending their days here for almost two months now, two faithful white lumps out on the ice standing guard over their nesting grounds. The eagles began checking in next, periodically soaring in to keep tabs on the status of the frozen mass obscuring their fishing grounds. Then the geese arrived, honking in and out (far less devoted than the swans), and the ducks, squeezing in to paddle around the tiny puddles opening up along the edges.
And finally, just yesterday, the loons arrived with their wildly haunting calls. They never show up until there’s a long enough runway open for their lengthy takeoffs, so it this was the surest sign yet that ice out was imminent. 
Today, there’s a giant pancake of ice floating out on the lake, and around it’s edges, the waves are moving again for the first time since November. The wind is shifting it from one side to the other, slowly crushing, consolidating and wearing away at the ragged edges. I’m watching it recede before my eyes as the day wears on. In a day or two, or maybe even by morning, it will be gone.
I can feel the exuberance of the waterfowl in my own soul as I watch the lake come alive after it’s long winter’s sleep. I, too, have missed the twinkle of sunny waves through the shoreline trees, the soothing movement of the ripples reflecting the colors of the sky, the energy of the waves driving before the wind, and the smooth glimmer of its liquid mirror on still evenings. I think I am surely just as happy as they to know that the reward of our mutual long and hopeful wait is right around the corner.
But I wasn’t worried that it would come, because the promises of God are always true to those who wait for them. That goes for the change of seasons, as well as a lot of other things too numerous to list here now. It’s good to remind ourselves of that, especially right after Easter. The story isn’t finished yet!
“Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.” (Hebrews 9:28)
It all began with a few simple needs that could be easily taken care of at a Walmart. It would be a quick errand, I thought. The only (small) problem? I didn’t know where Walmart was in this unfamiliar city.
“After 50 feet take a left turn onto 8th Street,” the confident feminine voice instructed. Still rattled from the close call with street signage, I sailed right past, missing my very first turn.
But we eventually got there, that big truck and I, surprisingly all in one piece. We went around the block to get back on track instead of making the U-turn. We survived the road construction. The voice from my phone carried me through, calm and unruffled through all my missed turns and second-guesses.
Sometimes, the right way to go in life is a little like that, too. You know, not quite as direct and smooth as we’d like? And sometimes, even if you’re asking the right One for directions, it’s easy to mistrust and question whether He really knows where He’s taking you. Sometimes we even go so far as to strike out on our own, hoping He’ll change his mind to suit our preferences
“Why are there ducks zooming around and around our house?” I asked my husband between bites of pizza. It was our youngest daughter’s first birthday, and we were celebrating out on the porch. There was a chocolate cake resting in state on the kitchen counter, awaiting its demise, and the sunshine of a splendid June day was slanting long across the green fields. She was grinning happily as blueberry-purple-carrot puree dribbled down her chin onto her bib, oblivious to the fact that this was all supposed to be about her. “It’s almost like they’re playing or something.”
I began creeping my way across the yard, in hopes of catching a photo during one of these chimney pauses. And then the plot thickened: as a couple of them were fluttering about, one landed…
poked its head in the chimney…
…and then disappeared! What?!
There’s a breeze coming in off the lake, this hot afternoon in early June. There’s blue sky smiling down at me through a lacy frame of green, green leaves. Summer is in the air, and I am, appropriately, drinking it in from the luxury of an airy vacation hammock. If the air is full of summer, the views are no less so—and so I offer you these vignettes, all visible, more or less, from my leisurely post.
A kayak,
A jeweled beetle climbs relentlessly upwards
Relentless waves
Bare feet,
Ducks dabble along the quiet green edges.
Great clouds sail sedately by,
Every spring, there’s this short window of time, just before the ice goes out, in which there are little open areas of water around the edges of our lake. All the waterfowl congregates in these puddles and pools to forage for food and paddle around in one great companionable waiting game for the lake to open.
The ducks and geese seem to have a mutual agreement that it’s a nice little community event, too, and mingle quite nicely.
Such a fuss we had from them, of fiercely territorial wing-flapping, neck-bobbing and trumpet-blasting, particularly when another pair of swans would come in for a landing (on a multi-daily basis). It was all very exciting, and we’re going to rather miss it now that the lake is open and the spring festival is over.
Rejoicing Hills 