The forever waves

We’re back at the lake again, here for just a few days.  So I’m writing this while sitting lakeside, the wind heavy on my back.   (Cindy's photo caught me talking to Meghan on my cell.  Ah, technology!) 

It had been a quiet visit until yesterday.  The lake was calm; wildlife that rarely appeared seemed to pop up more often – the blue heron, a pileated woodpecker, deer.  Plus the usual ducks. 

Part of the quiet was the absence of neighbors, especially those to the east, whose youngsters like to beep boat horns first thing in the morning. The busy tourist season here runs only to mid August.  After that, cabin dwellers are pulled home by the obligations of school and work. 

Sometimes that’s good. Nature’s residents then seem to take over. We marveled at the quiet.  At their quiet – the ducks' soft quack, the seagulls' distant call, the hum of the pair of hummingbirds.

Yesterday, though, a squall moved in from the north.  The rains fell, not in big drops, but in thin, diagonal curtains pushed hard by the wind.  It was a raw rain, accompanied by colder temperatures. 

Last night, I struggled to catch a fire in the fireplace; the winds were so stiff that the smoke puffed back down the chimney into my face.  We soon realized, based on the smokey clouds that soon hid the ceiling, that our fire alarms needed new batteries.

Eventually the fire blazed and the chimney warmed, creating a strong up-draft.  The cottage stayed comfortable … and yes, smoke-free.

It’s on such nights that I sleep best.  Outside, the winds howl; the water becomes a black frenzy of white caps. Inside, the waves soothe as they methodically come ashore, the sound muffled by the partly closed window. You can hear the broader ones march down the shoreline’s length, from west to east, echoing along the way - like quiet thunder rippling across a landscape.

Okay, a confession:  I need what’s known as “white noise” to sleep. Usually it’s a fan blowing in the summer; in winter, a humidifier.  When I have neither, and its loudly quiet, I turn to an “ap” on my iPhone that offers a variety of soft sounds – crickets, surf, trains, rain, etc.  Crickets are best.

But last night’s lake sounds were pure bliss. 

I’m reminded of trips to the ocean shore, sure.  But more than that, the surf is the cottage’s most tell-tale sound of place and purpose.  After all, the cottage exists precisely where it is – and holds so many memories - because the lake is a mere 50 feet beyond its door. 

Absent the lake, it would be a four-room, squat structure of little significance. Certainly Dad and Mom wouldn’t have bought it back in 1974.

It's a sign of summer's end that the winds this time blew from the north, bringing cold.  You can see the clues in a variety of ways:  Some trees already are ever-so-slightly turning color; the locals seem wistful about the coming fall.

As for us, we’re here because it’s Cindy’s 50^th birthday.  What better place to celebrate. Monday, we will hike the dunes all the way to Lake Michigan – a tortuous journey up slippery sand and down.  It’s our poke in the eye to the AARP and all the others who hasten the notion of “getting older.” 

   

You see, the cottage becomes a measure of time for us.  We were newlyweds here. We’ve seen our children grow here.  Today, we celebrate an important birthday.

Tomorrow?  Well, we know the cottage will be purchased, then eventually knocked down, so nature can regain its grip on this little plot of lakeshore. 

But the lake, and the pound of its waves, will endure.  Far beyond our own time.

There’s something very comforting in that. 

Paste, 55 and counting

Folks who follow the occasional nonsense on this blog know that I’m a fan of Paste Magazine.

It’s a great publication. Each month it gathers what its staff thinks are some of the more interesting new songs, mainly from Indie artists, and packages them in a sampler.

As a subscriber, I used to get the sampler as a CD in each issue. Now I get it as a download – Paste’s way of saving money.

Paste, in fact, has been forced to be a bit creative as it wrestles with the economic downturn. Advertising is way down, so Paste reduced the dimension of its magazine while also asking its fans to donate small sums so it could weather its cash-flow crisis.

I donated … and I think Paste will make it. I, and thousands of other subscribers, hope so.

But Paste is a topic today because Sampler No. 55 just arrived. It’s really good.

I’ve subscribed now for 13 issues – so 13 samplers. The first sampler I received remains the most magical for me, because it helped me learn about a range of music I’d been oblivious to for years. It also came at a time when I was just being taught how to share music.

But No. 55 has to be one of my favorites since. On it are 21 songs, most of which are simply great. Economists talk about “little green shoots” popping up here or there … economic statistics that show a slow rebirth of the economy. I liken this song collection to Paste’s own springtime -- a resurgence of spirit timed with a surge of fresh material, just when we thought Paste’s dark nights were going to continue.

So what’s on No. 55? A rich mix of rock, blues, country, folk.

Some favorites:

- “Highs and Lows” by Mindy Smith: Nashville has created a lot of female country artists who are so twangy it hurts, but Mindy leaves twang at the door. This is from her new album, “Stupid Love.”

- "To Kingdom Come” by Passion Pit: Ah, youth. Okay, the music video’s kind of hokey – love those mustaches! – but the music is solid and original. The keyboard work is, well, key.

- “The Walls Are Coming Down” by Fanfarlo: This United Kingdom band is full of fun … besides the usual guitar, drums, etc., you’ll hear horns, chimes, glokenspiels and more. But the lead vocalist is notable. A mature voice in a young lad.

- “Days Like This” by Kim Taylor: This Ohio artist calls her stuff country/soul. It is. What makes it work is her slight, just-a-bit rough voice and beautiful guitar work.

- “Coal War” by Joshua James: James is from Lincoln, Neb. – heartland boy! -- but resides now in Utah. He credits his folk style to something between Dylan and Neil Young. Paste swoons over this guy’s new album. As it should. Coal War has a negro-spiritual quality to it.

- “Song Up in Her Head” by Sarah Jarosz: No. 55 seems replete with country influences, this one included. But Sarah’s a young 18, a product of the Austin, Texas, scene. She learned the piano at 6 and the mandolin at 10; her voice, though, belies her youth – confident and rich

- “Ancestors” by Throw Me the Statue: This Seattle group got its name from a mix tape that band leader Scott Reitherman created for a friend. What’s fun in this tune is the lead guitar – a flipped-out backdrop to some good vocals.

- “Three Days in Bed” by Holly Williams: More country, but in this case a Paris fantasy involving a little danger and risk-taking, as she describes it. The lyrics are haunting; the tune also.

And there are a bunch of others in this mix, including Shawn Colvin doing a version of “Crazy.” Folks know Gnarls Barkley’s take on this tune best, but Colvin’s live version takes it in a different direction.

Paste – good for what ails you!

A brush with the mountain devil

“Now, you watch out for that cougar,” I was told.

Normally such words make you stop and reconsider a placid walk in the woods. Not then, though.

We’re up in Michigan now, at the cottage. Last night, I took the dogs for a walk along their favorite road. It’s a tree-canopied, isolated stretch of dense woods impassable during winter. But during summer, it’s a dog’s delight.

The cougar warning actually was made a few years back, as a send-off to the same walk with the same dogs along the same stretch.

That day’s walk could have ended so badly. It didn’t, which is testimony to luck, patience and the mysteries of a dog’s instinct.

First, the road. It’s single-lane and sand-covered, enveloped by tall, thinnish trees of towering green leaves and needles. The woods on either side are so tight-knit, the sun’s rays barely slip through. When they do, they project stark, spotty shadow puppets on the road, tree trunks and thickly-carpeted ground.

The road connects two county highways. Locals use it as a shortcut, though rarely.

The dogs – Linus and Riley – love it because of the freedom they have to run, plus the earthy smells of decaying wood, wet leaves and, probably, animals that foraged nearby.

On the day of my cougar warning, the three of us set out for a quick walk. We were to head back to Kansas City within hours, so this was the last chance to enjoy the road before a long trip in the car.

All along the lake, word of the cougar sighting had spread. Our neighbor to the west, whose cabin sits hard by the forest, thought he’d heard its fierce growl. (The sound of a cougar is indeed frightening. Try it.) Others heard of others who had heard of others who had actually seen it.

“Cougar!” Also known as the puma, mountain lion, mountain devil, the red tiger.

It wasn’t quite cougar-frenzy along the lake, but it was close. After all, we’re used to more docile wildlife up here – deer, the frisky beaver, occasional ducks, garbage-loving raccoons. Perhaps the geese are the most aggressive, but only if the dogs taunt them first.

A cougar, though – why, that’s serious stuff. Stealthy, strong, fast, with big teeth and sleek eyes … a capable and deadly hunter.

With that context, we began our walk. The dogs lept out of the car and raced up the road. I followed along.

Here I need tell of the two dogs’ different natures. Linus, the terrier mix, is small, quick, feigns to be fearless and is always on the hunt. On our walks, he immediately jumps off the road into the dense woods, occasionally popping out to look back to make sure I’m still in sight.

Riley, the Golden Retriever, sticks to the road. She races ahead about 50 feet, turns around, and races back to my side. Then does it again … and again. Rarely does she venture into the growth, and usually then only behind Linus.

All seemed fine this time. I was walking fast for exercise, though I was alert because of the alleged cougar sighting. Indeed, the road seemed more threatening this time – like I was Dorothy with my dogs Toto. “Lions, tigers, bears … ”

Oh my!

“Where’s Linus?” I asked Riley, who had just bounded back, sloppy tongue flopping about. I realized I hadn’t seen Linus the last three minutes or so.

I looked south, to where we were going, then north, to where we’d been. No sign of him. I listened hard, over Riley’s panting, for some snatch of Linus rustling through leaves.

Silence.

“Liiinuss!” I yelled. The forest soaked up the sound. I yelled again – this time, more urgently: “Linus … come here, now!!”

Nothing. No movement, no rustling … nothing.

Riley began to whine, sharing my concern. And I began to panic.

The cougar! I could imagine it had swiftly moved behind the woods’ shadows, following our trek south step by step. It would be silent … that’s its nature. And it would size up the dinner opportunities:

• The noisy man, arms flailing as he walked. "No, the meat would be too tough and gamey."
• The red dog, then? "No, it’s big and might put up a fight." (If the cougar only knew …)
• So the small dog? "Yes. He's only bite-size, but the convenience … he will come to me."

That was it, I thought. The cougar had Linus.

Okay, even at best, Linus was merely lost. But that was a huge problem. I had no cell phone. I couldn’t leave to get help. Linus might return, find me gone, then race through the woods in search of the cottage a mile away.

Plus we needed to head home. How could we get in the car without Linus and drive 16 hours to Kansas City knowing he might be wandering the Michigan northwoods alone? If the cougar hadn’t gotten him now, it surely would then. Imagine the torture of that trip …

I yelled some more … on and on for 15 minutes at least. I strained my ears over Riley’s whining in hopes of hearing twigs snap or the shuffle of leaves.

My despair grew by the second.

Then behind me – small, short, rapid-fire panting. I turned. There, looking up with wide, panicked eyes was Linus, clearly out of sorts.

“Linus!!,” I yelled, my voice a mix of anger and relief. “Where have you been?!!” My shouts compounded his panic. He knew he screwed up, big time. He looked frazzled, exhausted, now confused by my outburst.

Where he’d been is still a mystery. My guess is he did indeed get lost. Perhaps he picked up an animal scent, bounded ever-deeper in the woods, then suddenly found he couldn’t see his way out.

I suspect my yelling brought him home.

Of course, he might have encountered the cougar, and in a show of fierce bravery and loyalty, somehow convinced the cat to shop for dinner elsewhere.

I’d like to believe that. But I don’t think so. Because ever since that walk, Linus sticks closer to me. He ventures into the woods, yes, but perhaps 10 feet or so and no more. That was the case last night.

A true cougar-slayer, like a good scout, would fearlessly guard our flank along the cougar’s path, which we know is deep and beyond sight.

No, I think instead that Linus realized his limits that day.

I’m okay with that.

Linus is, too.

(To see more photos of the road, click here.)