Green Mystery

     A lake is a mysterious body of water. Those of us who live around water know of a familiar feeling flavoring time spent on the surface. The sense of being close but never able to solve a mystery.
   
     Lake people know mystery in a physical sense. Running a boat across a lakes’ green surface is to feel mystery lying just below the smooth metal or wood shell of the boat; lying just below your bare feet. Even the slow progress of a canoe paddle can only cut green surface water like a knife breaking skin. You only see the paddle gliding along the middle of a lake. In the middle, waves flop against the surface stirred into different directions by combinations of complex signals; wind, depth of water, boats. The deep water surface of a lake does not reveal clues to the mystery.

     The relentless motorized roar of a motorboat can stir the lake into ruffled waves. To ride fast in a motorboat is like flying above water. To ride on splinter strewn and chipped paint wooden seats of a classic fishing boat with an old outboard motor spewing oil and smoke is to feel waves of water pushing up beneath your feet. I favor boats with wooden seats.

     Wooden seats mean a plain boat. A dented aluminum floor is strewn with old fishing line, dead minnows and empty candy wrappers. Diving impetuously out of such a boat into the deep middle water of a lake is harder. The boat rocks away from you, I imagine signaling indifference, to the voice of fear.

     Dive in anyway, you land locked folks might say and explore the mystery. But, there is no light to guide you. There are no landmarks. Fish brush by in a silent swirl. Our brains guide our eyes to look for patterns, so the scientists’ tell us. We are drawn the predictable in our lives. A lake resists this effort.

     Diving into lake water is to wake up. Really good lake water is nourishing, flavoring the skin, washing over and leaving the wild lake behind. Washing in a lake doesn’t leave you clean but different. Its like bathing in a wild soup garnished with greens. Sometimes, I force myself to float, almost blind in the deeper darkness. It is the closest I can come to feeling time pass; constant change in constant motion.

    There are clues to the lake's mystery. The bottom of a lake is visible in shallow water. You can dive or walk in with eyes open to illuminating sunlight, seeing and touching the sandy bottom strewn with floating tendrils of dark green fronds.

    Under the water, you can’t clearly hear the world above. Sound and sight are muffled. Open your eyes into the liquid green tint of a lake. Tiny particles of this green soup drift all around you. The force of holding your breath takes some of the strength from the act of seeing. Longer hair twirls as the current brushes by. Pressure builds against your face. Play the game of underwater tea party. Two girls holding pretend cups, sipping while resting on a soft sandy bottom.

     I, a Minnesotan by marriage only, like the mystery of the deepest part of a lake. I think Minnesotans are lucky to grow up regularly diving into darkness. They grow up comfortable with mystery. Comfort with mystery is a gift in these times. A gift to nurture in the summer with frequent dives into the lake.

published in Lake Country Journal but much revised since then.