A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable. ~William Wordsworth

The last post was all about noticing the moment we’re in while we’re in it, so here are a few of our recent moments. We’ve been heading back over to Sunapee for the weekends, since it’s not much more than an hour on beautiful winding country roads. So picture us here:

Last weekend, while cruising around Herrick Cove, we saw this guy . . .

. . . who very delicately stepped back behind this boathouse . . .

. . . apparently to avoid the paparazzi (me), and peeked out at us through the back door. Excusez-moi!

You may be noticing that my favorite Sunapee weekends include being on the water. This past Saturday morning, David and I took the boat out before breakfast to catch a shot of Brittany’s favorite picturesque boathouse while the sun was still on it . . .

. . . and discovered that we really need to institute a new Sunapee tradition: breakfast cruises. It was glassy calm, only occasionally rocking us a bit when the early water skiers went by, and even then with a mesmerizing undulation, the surface of the water like molten silver, the sun warm and easy. Paradise. We puttered home as slowly as possible, and only headed back when we did because David was missing his coffee.

I’m not alone. Yesterday was “Love Your Lake Day” on Lake Sunapee, including the Antique Boat Parade, and all the antique boats gathered here in Gardner Bay to . . .um . . . circle the wagons? . . .  get their ducks in a row? . . . I’m not sure, but they went round and round for a while, not quite close enough for a great shot, but close enough that we could see that some people on Lake Sunapee have some beautiful old Chris-Crafts.

And a bit later on Sunday, we had the privilege of witnessing the maiden voyage–post-restoration–of Eb’s old wooden boat:

Besides “messing about in boats,” what is it about water? It captivates me in a way few other things do, the changing light and colors, the soothing rhythm of waves and ripples, the peace of mist rising at dawn.

I have been overcome by the beauty and richness of our life together, those early mornings setting out, those evenings gleaming with rivers and lakes below us, still holding the last light. ∼Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Wherever you are, I wish for you water.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul. ∼Psalm 23

 

If you’re willing to brave the deer flies, which are truly, maddeningly persistent, there is a lovely three-ish-mile walk up and down country roads, starting and ending . . . well . . . wherever you choose to start and end, hence the moniker “The Loop.” We start, of course, at the end of the drive, making a sharp left up to a fetching, dim little green path through the woods–the domain of a number of very territorial insects, but oh well. Once past that, it widens into a nice unpaved road which spills out into a quirky little hamlet called Westminster West. It has apparently been here a while:

If you have time for a slight detour–and of course you do: you’re on a country walk in Vermont–instead of a left at the cemetery, continue straight another thirty yards or so to appreciate this:

And a bit further on . . . well, this:

Yes, someone turned a tree upside down. They’re very artsy here in Vermont. We did not hang around to see the massive eagle (or pterodactyl) that laid these eggs.

It may have escaped your notice that Westminster West is an international crossroads (although Sturgis is not mentioned), but if your GPS fails you, you can consult this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once you’ve got your bearings, make a sharp left, back toward the church and the cemetery and you’ll be rewarded with this sight:

Seriously. It’s like calendar photos everywhere you look. A few more sights from the loop:

I’ve just started a book by Alice Steinbach called Without Reservations, in which Ms. Steinbach* says of her own year of adventure, she hoped to learn “how to stop rushing from place to place, always looking ahead to the next thing while the moment in front of me slipped away unnoticed.” That’s what we’re trying to do, too, and sometimes I think we’re even succeeding a little bit.

“When I entered my fifties–the Age of Enlightenment, as I came to call it,” she writes, ” . . . I’d knocked around enough to know that, in the end, what adds up to a life is nothing more than the accumulation of small daily moments.” And although I believe there’s also something mysterious and transcendent, and sometimes even holy, that can infuse those moments and make them not really small at all, I agree with her that the moment we’re in is all we really have. Here’s wishing you transcendent and even holy moments, every one of them fully noticed.

*I have a feeling Alice Steinbach will soon be appearing on my quotes page, so keep checking.

We’re in Vermont now, at a super-charming, peaceful place called Four-Legged Farm, and it seems like just the kind of place we all need about now. David and I seem to hear daily of new struggles and challenges facing so many of our friends and family, not to mention the world. I hope this post can be for you a tiny respite of serenity and beauty. Know that you are never far from our thoughts and prayers. So imagine yourself here . . .

. . . and I’ll give you a tour:

This place is quirky and artistic in a GOOD way, not like the garage/apartment near Paris.

And the location is about as far from sketchy as you can get. No barred windows and double-bolting needed. Here’s what’s outside:

And this little lady who definitely wanted her picture taken:

View out our back patio door. (More on the horses later.)

This place is a tonic for the soul, with beauty everywhere you look.

I love the blending of skill and artistry that goes into a New England stone wall. My dad commented recently that we seem to make friends wherever we go and asked how we do it, and I’ve been pondering the question ever since. We have met some wonderful people, and I wish I had a wise answer, but there’s a mystery to friendship. Maybe it’s a bit like a good dry-stack wall, with labor and art and balance all playing a part, with a need for good raw material and attention to detail, but not perfectionism. I’m afraid I really don’t know. I just know we love meeting new people and hearing their stories, sharing a bottle of wine and a beautiful evening, like we did tonight with Shawn and Diana, our hosts here and our absolutely newest friends. I hope they enjoyed the evening as much as we did.

So peace be with you, friends old and new. You will always have a place in our hearts.

 

. . . and one who is, but more on that later.

This past week, David and I had an opportunity to sit in on a Big Band and Swing music class with Helen and John and about twenty other octogenarians. Lots of reminiscing and YouTube videos of smooth singers and timeless tunes. Must have been that that made me think of the title for today’s post.

David and I are behavin’–sort of. Admittedly in a vacation-mentality kind of way, meaning too much rich food and strong drink and not nearly enough strenuous exercise. We are walking some–not nearly as much as in France–but the most strenuous part is swatting at mosquitoes and deer flies and flailing with the zapper racquet trying to defend ourselves. Despite that, we are definitely enjoying this leg of the adventure.

The weather is behavin’ most of the time, enough that Helen* could open the roof deck, and I could get this shot of one of my favorite rooms anywhere:

And it was nice enough to tempt a loon out during full daylight, close enough to the dock to get a semi-decent shot:

The wind was behavin’ enough that the sailors were happy.

(Cousin) Jennie’s dogs were behavin’ enough to get a float-ride:

But THIS guy is definitely misbehavin’ every chance he gets.

He must have read the last post, especially the part about never giving up, because he is relentless. I could learn from him (the persistence, not the thieving).

*David’s mom Helen is still camera-shy, sorry to report, but behavin’ at least as well as the rest of us!