The First Hot Day
May 24 2015


The first hot Sunday
and the place is festive with boats.
No motors here
on this self-contained lake,
small enough to circumnavigate
human-powered.

Calm blue water,
where canoes and kayaks bob
in a rainbow of primary colours.
Where silver rowboats
muscle by,
oars, squeaking drily
thudding against the gunnels.
Aluminum, glinting brightly

hot enough to fry.

But it's been only a few weeks
since the ice went out
and the water's still freezing cold.
Where only dogs
are foolish enough to swim,
too excited to notice.
How quickly seasons change,
the stillness of winter, replaced

by summer's manic leisure.
But this is how it's always been;
because northern people
do not leave good weather to waste,
this brief interregnum of heat
the seemingly endless days.

Bug-free
until the first good rain.
When the air will buzz with life,
hit-and-run mosquitoes

blackflies' bloody bites.       
And we will flee indoors
or far from shore
out on the cool bay.

Colourful boats
look like fantastical toys
in a world devoted to pleasure.
As if to say
come out and play
on this perfect Sunday in May.
The first hot day,
when the fishing is good
and the walleye are hungry
and everyone's gone to the lake.

I don't think I've ever seen the lake so busy as it was today.

It's a Conservation area, so motorized vehicles are prohibited, and only a privileged few get to live on its shores. My house overlooks a narrows, which is like the bar connecting two rough dumbbells: a large and small one on either end. So the brightly coloured boats funnel through, like intermittent processions. It's as if no one has the patience to wait a few more weeks, even though the water is still freezing cold, and dumping could be dangerous. (The dog, of course, doesn't hesitate. Over-heating in her winter coat, she wallows in every puddle and ditch, and launches repeatedly into the lake: kamikaze-style, chasing balls.)

The day started out bug-free, a rarity this time of year. But it's been dry, and the bugs are behind. Which is a close as you get to paradise on earth. So no wonder everyone's gone to the lake! ...Except I cleared some brush, and stirred some up: so the blackflies are here, after all; lying low, waiting for rain. Oh well. Still, close enough to call it perfect!

I think I managed to capture the impression I set out with: the sense of care-free festivity; the toy-like boats, in all their multi-coloured gaiety. Although my favourite bit is manic leisure. I like the tension in its oxymoronic illogic. But also its absolute accuracy. Because that's how we are in our short sharp summer: greedy, intense, all too aware of the season's precious brevity. (And the bug-free part, even more brief!)

I don't fish. I don't even know if fishing season has officially begun. So the reference to walleye (also known by the less evocative name "pickerel") may be a bit of poetic license. Not to mention that most of those rowboats have electric trawling motors: the only muscling going on is the lifting of cans of beer!