What floats my boat

I love nothing better than to push off from the shore of a broad, shallow lake and float out into its center--
the entire body of water around me, quiet and still.
Sitting low to its surface in my kayak, the sky above it all seems even more huge, its open space a giant dome across which birds and dragonflies course—
while I drift as a lone, small speck below.

Bald Eagle above Salt Fork Lake

Onto the quiet water in a small arm of Salt Fork Lake, a reservoir encompassing nearly 3,000 acres of water within Ohio’s largest state park, I floated with 2 friends in 3 small crafts—
Julie's 2 canoes and my kayak.

T.R. and Julie on the Lake

Fanning out from this hidden shore, we spread across the water, the entire space in this small corner ours alone.
Each carving a distinct path,
each finding his own perfect treasures to explore,


we paddled beneath the wide, arcing flight of a young eagle.

And were held in orbit around a tiny spot of color as she rested on the darkened remains of a flooded tree stump, now a pint-sized island sprouting elfin versions of the earthbound greenery along the shore.

Julie & ?

Question Mark butterfly on submerged stump

T.R. & ?

Bit by bit, we’d drift apart, pirouetting across the water to look into the face of a dancing fox hidden in weathered wood,


exchange a smile for a hand-delivered sandwich,


or paddle buoyantly--
because the freedom of water and waves feels like nothing else.



Then fall into line and speed to the opposite shore as one up ahead spotted a distant object standing motionless in the shallow water—


and knew all three would want to see.

Great Egret

As we watched the great white bird, a light rain fell across the glassy surface, and we sat in silence--
alone with the lake, but not.

My paddling companions:

Julie Zickefoose, author of Julie Zickefoose on Blogspot, writer, naturalist, NPR commentator, watercolor painter, gardener, packer of wonderful lunches, Mether to Chet Baker, fellow Ohioan,...friend,


and T.R. Ryan, author of From the Faraway, Nearby, photographer extraordinaire, talented journalist and writer, world traveler, conservationist, Oklahoman,...friend.

The road to a friend's house

From the southwestern corner of the state, I drive east, along a highway laid straight between planted farm fields all around. Flat and sprawling acre upon acre, they are green now with corn and beans or stand bare while the glossy stubble of harvested wheat fades to gray beneath the bleaching rays of the sun.

Mile upon mile, as distant clusters of barns and sheds tucked neatly between the broad expanses slowly disappear from view, a heavy flow of traffic travels this long straight path—a racing river of cars and trucks linking Ohio’s largest cities. Until on the horizon, from behind a row of trees, the hint of eastern hill country first appears in rolling pastures, steep slopes bathed in the amber glow of a summer evening, the steeple of a small white church that rests amid a stand of pines stepping down the ridge.

One after another, fellow travelers exit the highway. Four lanes have dropped to 3 and before long, shrink to 2. Aside from the few cars that trail behind, the road is mine now as it rises and falls along its heavily treed course toward the Ohio River.


From here I will take a smaller road that winds and dips, plunging into the hollows and returning to ride the ridge. Then meet the worn gravel road flanked by hay fields, sweeping a wide arc beside the uncut grassy meadow.


Because the road to a friend's house is never long.



Surrounded by a wildness that with each season brings new beauty—
by woods adorned with spring’s first wildflowers,
a meadow ripe with summer song,

katydid in grass

smooth sumac, Rhus glabra
in flower

flowering spurge, Euphorbia corollata

she surrounds herself with flowers that tell of her great spirit--

keeper of the innocent,

one who is gentle and kind,

one who is bright and warm.
(and smart and funny and strong...)

No, the road to this dear friend's house could never be too long.

Julie Zickefoose

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