Yup, it was unseasonably warm up north. No, not all the lakes were iced over, just the ones I wanted to fish.The word was all of the lakes had already frozen but had since melted off. All except the smaller ones, the canoe lakes. Even if they were open, the wind was up and the water was cold and I'm growing a sane streak up my spine, kind of an off-yellow. Maybe that's just age melting me down and a strong desire to get even older.
Walking was restricted to the sand roads. Down the middle with blaze orange on. Biking was the same. Hardly anyone out and about besides the deer hunters. And they weren't on the roads.
A half dozen times each hour rifle reports would tell of a sighting or boredom. All directions of the compass. I'm familiar with the cracks of an AK47 and an M16. Not much different from your typical, slightly deeper throated deer rifle. But every so often I'd hear a whole 'nother animal. Sounded like some of the boys out in the woods were sportin' buffalo guns. Could be the idea behind the big guns was a near miss shock wave would knock the deer down and give a poor marksman a second chance. Or a lonely one a chance at un-natural love.
As it turned out I had a fine time. Gathered and split some oak. Squared up a couple of aspen and birch log slabs. Both leftovers from mantel making. Brought them home with the idea of re-sawing them into full two by twos, followed by the embarrassment of shaping out some more little artsy-fartsy trees. Those that have seen them haven't laughed and have even asked for a couple. Good gifts.
The hours of my day were never enough. But the pleasure of an evening's reading with nothing better to do is to be savored. Meaning in life? I let you know if I find it. 'Til then the shush of the wind bending the white pines will have to do.