When the world seems to be going to pieces, I go to the pond.
That's where I was before sunrise one morning this week, hoping to find evidence that somewhere, the natural order still was intact. Call it denial if you wish, but I had heard the terms "economic crisis," "700-billion-dollar bailout" and "Freddie Mac" just a few too many times.
I must not be the only one who seeks such solace when things get frizzy. The late wildlife and nature photographer, Les Blacklock of Moose Lake, wrote about a log he would go sit on when he needed to put his world back in perspective.
And I remember talking to a young woman wrangler at a ranch in North Dakota who would ride her horse up onto a grassy plateau when she needed to rise above the daily fray.
The pond never lets me down, especially early in the day. This time of year, Canada geese usually rest there at night. I figured they'd still be around when I arrived.
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The cool of the valley drew me in the moment I left the car. The air was heavy and damp, and it smelled like the beginning of green things dying.
I paused just for a moment under the ancient willow at the little foot bridge. "Mother Willow," a friend of mine calls it. The thick branches of the massive old girl reach out and down, like a hen sheltering its brood with her wings.
Clearing the little rise, the pond unfolded before me. Breaths of mist rose from the warm water and twisted slowly in the morning air. A couple of grebes glided by. A kingfisher swooped through, chittering about whatever excites kingfishers.
And there, preening and flapping in the mist, rode the Canada geese. One flock of about 20 rested in the foreground. Down by the beaver lodge at the far end, another group gossiped among themselves.
The scene was a study in gray -- the lake reflected in an overcast sky, the slate gray bodies of the geese, the light gray shreds of mist through which they swam.
These shades of gray were good, I thought. Maybe that's what's missing in our world these days. Shades of gray. We seem to live life at the extremes, at far ends of the continuum. Left, right. Liberal, conservative. Pro-life, pro-choice. Surely, we have more in common than we want to admit.
The yellow dog at my side cocked her head at the honking of the geese, then looked at me with the same expression. She seemed to wonder why we weren't moving down the trail finding new scents to unravel.
Finally, the honking reached a crescendo, and the geese were off, splashing across the water on their big, black feet, filling the air with the rush of their wings. One morning soon, or one evening, I'll come here and the pond will lie silent. The geese will be gone.
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The dog and I will still return, though, seeking peace and order in our lives. Seeking the timeless cycles of the seasons. Seeking shades of gray in a black and white world.
SAM COOK is a News Tribune columnist and outdoors writer. Reach him at
(218) 723-5332 or scook@duluthnews.com .
