I think I am about to jinx myself, but I have not seen a single dock spider yet this year. Maybe my secret voodoo helped? Who knows. Anyhow, I am sure a vindictive army of them will greet me for my morning swim tomorrow, just to prove they do in fact exist. In contrast, the Eurasian milfoil is astoundingly prolific, especially owing to the wake boats that wreak their havoc, churning up the nether regions of the lake so that the weed detritus blankets the shoreline, overjoyed with the opportunity to spawn new growth from the guillotined plants. Sigh.
Another AWOL thing of note: I have yet to hear my local owl this year. Maybe I have been sleeping too soundly, but I do miss his (her?) woot-to-woot when I wake up at four in the morning, doomscrolling in my head about something that will likely never come to pass. Our heron has also seemed to have ghosted us. Was it something I said? Or did? Or didn’t do? On the other hand, the otter or whatever eats zebra mussels, which apparently come right out of the digestive tract without consequence to said mammal, is in fine form and very much enjoying her (his?) outdoor outhouse on the dock. Sigh.
My hummingbirds are being the usual assholes, chasing each other away from the feeder, even though it isn’t even close to migration season. Maybe they are mad about the ants. Sigh.
I finally did see a lone Monarch butterfly! They are my excuse for letting the milkweed run rampant near the septic bed. Milkweed should, of course, be entitled to aid and abet butterflies with abandon, but (and you probably knew there was going to be a but), sometimes it takes too much advantage of my good graces and I have to yank out several dozen offspring lest it choke out the daisies. I am not ashamed to say that’s the most gardening (if you can call it that) you’ll ever see me do. I just let nature take its course, which is a self-justifying way of saying I like the idea of gardening more than gardening per se.
The only thing that’s reliably abundant is the park people. The Provincial Park sits at one end of a very long, very wide bay and my cottage is at the other end, high on a hill with a vista overlooking said bay. Park people should, of course, be entitled to full enjoyment of their camping experience. One way they do this is via obtaining canoes and kayaks from the park’s rent-me facility. I’m sure this puts many pennies into the government’s piggybank so I’m in full support of these non-motorized endeavors, but (and you probably knew there was going to be a but), couldn’t the park let the canoe newbies know it works better if both paddlers are pointed in the same direction instead of facing each other? If I happen to be down at the dock and see any of them flailing about trying to get their conveyance to move in a straight line, I point this out. To no avail. Also, could the park please tell the happy campers the prevailing wind comes from the northwest, the direction in which they must make their way back after a day of self-propelled boating. While the swells don’t approach Lake Superior peril, the afternoon headwind is not to be trifled with if you were hoping to get back before dark.
There is no denying that the sun doesn’t wakeup as early as it did in June and packs it in at a toddler’s bedtime these days. But I console myself with the joys to come in September, when the days on the lake are quiet and the water is still swimmable. Please make it so,