Keoka First Morning

by Heidi Schellenger

Keoka Lake is one of dozens of glacially carved and spring-fed fresh water lakes in the

western foothills of Maine.  For me, it’s so much more than a place to go swimming on a

hot summer day. In the words of the immortal Jimmy Buffett, “let me take you there

right now if I can”.

The limited and precious time I get to spend at our lakefront A-frame (affectionately

known in our family as ‘Camp’), is preceded by a three day journey from across the

globe.  The time difference always helps me rise early on the first day. Camp has been

closed up all winter and needs to be aired out and thoroughly vacuumed to remove all

the evidence of the winter’s mouse-house parties, but getting rid of the “musties” will

have to wait. I creep down the creaky stairs and quickly make a pot of coffee. 

It’s still barely light when I open the slider and walk down the steps and across the pine

needle strewn yard to the dock. I settle comfortably into a cushioned Adirondack chair

and breathe in the scents of fresh lake water and coffee.  The lake is a mirror: reflecting

the dawn sky, towering pines, and Mount Tir’em.  The loon show comes by, with Mama

Loon constantly diving and returning to the surface with a beakful of delicious muck for

her single surviving loonlet. I know when a bald eagle is about to appear overhead

because she raises the loon alarm, calling her husband to come help. He always

seems to be off gallivanting somewhere like McCloskey’s Mr. Mallard (“I’m off to

explore, Mrs. Mallard, take good care of the children!”. The eagle circles in the now

sapphire colored sky once, twice, and then a third time right over my head. It’s a

juvenile, and its head is not yet the white of its huge parents who live in the enormous

nest at the other end of the lake. Finally, it flies off, leaving the loons to continue their

breakfast.

Even after the loons have passed, I’m not alone out here.  Other early-rising humans

are out absorbing the peace as well – either paddling their boards or kayaks or getting

their daily workout rowing that gorgeous handmade wooden skiff. Silently, we agree

that now is not the time to reconnect or make small talk. Rather than disrupt the quiet,

we simply nod and exchange a little smile that acknowledges our shared gratitude for

the richness of the morning.  Too soon, the sun rises above the trees behind me, and

screen doors begin to slam on the camps on either side of ours. The air heats, and

begins to smell like warm pine. My family arises and joins me, and we share buttered

english muffins and bagels with cream cheese (such luxuries, coming from where we

live) on the dock as we plan our day. The wind comes up, and the lake turns to ripples,

ready for the windsurfers, motor boats, and tubers, but I relish in the knowledge that

tomorrow morning I’ll be able to soak in the quiet once again.