A simple plainsong, floating into autumn

 

By Mary Kay Roth

Scrambling into my kayak on this balmy September afternoon, the craft inevitably endeavors to reel over with a precarious teeter. I pause for a moment to find my balance, then push off from a shore of russet grasses and weary sunflowers. Scooching the boat through the shallows, I paddle unevenly for a few strokes, drifting away from solid ground.

Eventually I straighten out and find my tempo, a consistent dunk and splash, dunk and splash. Breathe in, breathe out.  The kayak glides over the still, sparkling lake, out of sight, out of reach.  

I promised myself one more warm boat ride before the chill settled this year. And on this gorgeous day, clouds are high and proud, reflecting off the surface of the water as if I’m paddling through the sky. 

Carried on a whisper of a breeze, dry yellow leaves sail atop the lake and brush against my boat.  Forest green lily pads drift everywhere, but the water lilies have long since faded.  Here and there, the tips of tree branches have been dipped into autumn’s paint bucket.

Curious herons linger nearby. Young ducks and geese – now gangly, overgrown adolescents – come crazy close to my kayak, right along with newly arriving migratory intruders of various stripes and persuasions.

Fall is now upon us, the season of plainsong.

Dawn comes later, dusk comes earlier, bringing an inescapable sense of time passing – a mist of drowsy, sweet melancholy and meditation. 

A kayak seems to melt seamlessly into the golden landscape of fall, somehow perfectly suited to the season.  Unsteady for some, the seat of a kayak is where I find my place of equilibrium in this wobbly world. 

Once upon a time I loved speed boats.  My daughter has one now and she calls it, “BOB,” named after my dad who loved fast cars and fast boats.  I can close my eyes and still feel the rough texture of ski rope in my hands as my dad’s boat pulled me along the face of the water, skimming back and forth over the wake.

When my daughter bought her speedster a couple years back, I managed to haul myself up on water skis and feel that power once again. Yep, ski boats roar and rev through the summer with a hearty, raucous blast. 

But these days, thank you, I’ll take fall and a kayak, stunning and still, spinning a spell for searching souls.

Kayaks were invented at least 4,000 years ago by the Inuit and Aleut people of Arctic North America who created a design that differs from a canoe.  A kayak has a lighter hull, covered deck and shallow base, resulting in a boat that proves more agile and nimble, as well as ensuring icy water doesn’t enter the boat.  

I learned how to kayak during COVID when there were few other lessons to learn.  I had tried canoes but struggled with the bulk and frankly the necessity of paddling in sync with someone else. I have always been more of a solo gal, so going out in a kayak better matches my spirit.

It was love at first float, an intimate ride, sitting atop the water separated only by one slim layer of fiberglass.  

After I took those initial kayak lessons, I first dipped my toes into the water with an inflatable – but soon wanted something more substantial.  Next, I toted an array of kayaks around sports stores, walking laps to see which one I could carry – finally brought one home and named her Scuttle from The Little Mermaid – bought an ancient Ford pickup truck to haul her.

In the past few years, I’ve kayaked in torrential rains and through windswept currents – in spring, under the glowworm-lit caves of New Zealand and in summer, alongside whales in Canada. 

And as autumn arrives at Nebraska’s lakes and rivers – firesides, crisp apples and a simple quiet quite different than any other time of year – the stillness practically calls out for my kayak. 

Sure, each June I will salute summer’s sun-baked glow and riotous splash.  

But I’ve come to terms with the reality that I’ll never be a “California girl.” I’m a child of autumn who belongs in the arms of a kayak, rowing softly into the sweet surrender of chillier waves.

So, on this very first day of autumn, my wish is this: May you all find your own place of peace, somewhere out there.

As for me, I’ll be pushing out from shore into the hushed, gilded tapestry of this most precious of seasons, paddling unmoored with the rhythm of an open heart.