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Author: Anne Cassidy

Campfire After Dinner

Campfire After Dinner

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A requirement of any lake trip is a campfire after dinner and the promise of some sticky, sweet s’mores. The children had a chance to eat these treats, the rest of us, too — although I cheated this time and just nibbled on a few squares of chocolate, forgoing the graham crackers and marshmallows. 

But I found the greatest pleasure in staring at the fire. Watching the flames flicker and dance, marveling at the colors, savoring the warmth, too. (It’s chillier here than back home.) 

We sat by the fire until it burned to embers, an owl sounded behind us, and daylight faded to black. 

The Paddle

The Paddle

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The wind finally eased enough to make it possible to kayak around the lake, or at least our small portion of it. A brief rain squall engulfed us as we made our way to the dock, but it passed just as quickly. 

And then … I was on the water again, moving in that way that only water provides: bobbing and slicing. There are more motor boats in this location, and their wakes kept me on my toes. They also reminded me of how much I need to work on my upper body strength. 

All in a day’s work … or at least a vacation day’s work. 

(The lake in the distance, with a bucolic foreground.)

The Shortcut

The Shortcut

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When I reached the top of the hill, a rise barely perceptible when driving but all-too-noticeable on foot, I could go straight or go back. Turning left or right wasn’t possible, due to the high volume of traffic and distinct lack of shoulder. 

I wasn’t ready to go back, so I forged ahead, onto Toothpick Road. There were trees and homes tucked away in them. There was a steady descent. Most of all, there was the promise of the park at the end of it all. A small brown sign I hadn’t noticed before pointed me in that direction. 

And sure enough, two brief turns later, I was crossing the bridge that leads to the park. Water to the left of me, water to the right of me, all shining in the late-day sun. 

I thought about the route I had been taking, which was several miles longer. I couldn’t wait to get back to the house and tell everyone about the shortcut I’d found. 

But my news was greeted with confusion. Everyone else had already discovered Toothpick Road. Their GPS programs had routed them that way from the beginning, whereas I, well, I hadn’t been using an app to get to the lake, thinking I knew the way from last year. 

Still, a shortcut can be a glorious discovery, even when it’s old news.  

Lake’s End

Lake’s End

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An early-morning walk on an unfamiliar road, each turn a revelation, each house a mystery.

The tentative goal: to find the dock where we can park kayaks. But that’s just an excuse to explore. 

People wave and smile as they take out their trash or water their plants. I wonder if they’re native to this place or tourists here like us. 

Fifteen minutes down the way, I come to the lake’s end. Or at least the terminus of this inlet. It comes to a gentle stop, this water; it empties into a field of green.

Their Summer Vacation

Their Summer Vacation

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Alfie and Toby were not invited to Portugal or Florida or Virginia Beach. They are also not invited to Deep Creek Lake in Maryland, where the family is now gathered for a week of intergenerational fun. 

But they did have a couple of hours al fresco over the weekend, when brownies baking in a nonstick pan required their temporary removal from the hook in the kitchen they call home. (Nonstick coatings can be lethal to birds.)

The daring duo seemed to like it outside. They surveyed the backyard, reveled in the oppressive humidity, and sought each other’s company when the bluejays squawked. 

It was a brief change of scene, but sometimes that’s all you need!

(Alfie in blue on the left and Toby on the right, his green plumage almost camouflaging him.)

No Shades

No Shades

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So far, today is looking cloudier than most in these parts, so I may be able to make it through without wearing my sunglasses. If so, it will be a rarity — and a welcome one. 

The world is greener and more luxurious when I don’t view it through tinted plastic. But my eyes appreciate the barrier when faced with a searing sun. 

Best of all is glimpsing pools of light from inside the green cocoon of the rose arbor.  It’s filtered light that spares the naked eye. And it’s beautiful, to boot.  

A Scorcher Begins

A Scorcher Begins

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I’m just back from a walk through the rapidly warming morning. It isn’t a scorcher yet, but it has every intention of becoming one. Checking the forecast now: ah yes, a high of 96. That’s why I met so many dog-walkers and early runners. 

There’s a feel to the air in a morning that’s moving toward high temps but has not achieved them. It’s the last vestiges of cool lingering in the shadows and the dips in the road. It’s the cicadas gearing up for a raucous recital. 

It’s the summer, full bore, and those of us who don’t mind the heat, who thrive on the long light, are reveling in it. 

The Ones That Got Away

The Ones That Got Away

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By the time I got upstairs, all I could remember was that it was one of the best ideas I’d ever had. Down in the basement it had seemed revelatory, perfect for a blog post or even an essay. But by the time I’d climbed two flights of stairs to jot it down, it was gone, lost amidst the grocery lists and other to-dos in my mind.

Such is the fate of what seem my best ideas. 

What to do? Ought I to wear a pen and notebook around my neck? Practice better memory hygiene? Learn the mnemonic devices of the ancients? All of the above? 

Or, should I just let those brilliant ideas go, have faith that they’ll return again soon, perhaps when I least expect them.  At which point I will realize that … they weren’t so brilliant after all. 

In Kentucky, Rain and Tears

In Kentucky, Rain and Tears

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When I was strolling on the beach recently a fellow walker greeted me with “Go, Hoosiers!” I almost cheered him on. There are plenty of Hoosiers in my family and I went to college in Indiana for two years. Then I realized what he was up to. I’d almost forgotten that I was wearing my Kentucky T-shirt that day. He was asserting dominance. 

There’s been no forgetting my home state these last few days. As more tragic reports flow from the flooding in Whitesburg and Hazard and other Appalachian towns, it’s hard not to think about the dire straits in which my fellow Kentuckians find themselves. 

These people had so little to begin with. They live on steep mountain roads with creeks in their backyards. The rains that triggered floods and mudslides are supposed to happen once or twice in a thousand years. People weren’t expecting creeks to become raging torrents that lifted up refrigerators and cars and, worst of all, swept away children and parents and brothers and sisters. 

More rain fell last night in Kentucky … and more tears, too. 

(On dryer ground: a photo taken last year in central Kentucky.)

Of Egrets and Storage

Of Egrets and Storage

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It’s a new month and I’m starting it off by cleaning up my i-Phone. This is seldom a task I enter into willingly. Usually a storage crisis sends me into a tailspin and forces me to delete large attachments (often photos I already have but had sent others) or uninstall apps. 

A painful process, indeed. But I remind myself that it’s no more than editing: what I’ve done throughout my career — removing the extraneous. 

But deciding what’s extraneous … ah, that’s the rub! 

(What does an egret have to do with i-Phone storage? Not much. It just reminds me of elegant simplicity, something I strive for in my data storage!)