Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by.
And that has made all the difference.
~Robert FrostAnd that has made all the difference.
Jackson Lake has broad shores, where water lilies fill the shallows and yellow birch step down gentle slopes to the water’s edge.
Small, well-kept camps line most of the lake, each staking claim to access.
Weathered docks reach like crooked fingers beyond the land—out, into water.
Here, the human element is evident.
Hidden by low, leaning trees, a narrow passage winds its way back, from the open water, into quiet. We paddled on, into the shade, cool on this very warm day.
Cardinal flower—its scarlet blossoms like miniature cranes, their wings outstretched.
Standing on spikes, to reach toward the sunshine.
On this little island, where I stand to stare at flowers, the growth has been trampled. As if someone with muddy boots wove a trail, with a heavy, careless step.
And wandered among the trees.
Ahead of us, small channels cut back and forth across another narrow grassy bar, becoming a network of paths linking shallow to shallow. More muddy steps wind to the bank, and slip down, into the water.
I see it now.
A beaver’s home is here.
Back in this sheltered area, where brilliant flowers bloom.
And dark water is still beneath a canopy of leaves that bends nearly to the water's surface.
Hidden from most.
Seen only by those who might venture to glide beyond the open water--to the places most will not go.
Jackson Lake State Park
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