Fall in New England.
Humid warm air rolls through the house. The leaves rustle as the stiff breeze blows. Some fall to the ground. Yellows. Reds. Oranges. And a few green.
It is fall here in New England. But an unseasonably warm one.
Growing up on the lake. Fall has been one of my favorite times of year. But also the saddest. The lake transitions from a bustling playground. To a quiet sanctuary. Boats are pulled out of the water. And docks join them on the shoreline.
The new population of lake visitors are just as loud as the summer goers. But the sounds are bit different. Mallards, geese, bald eagles and blue herons take over. Claiming ownership. Their calls echo from shoreline to shoreline. Letting those of us still out and about. They are back.
This past weekend the lake came alive for one last hurrah. The weather delivered a summer like day. With the temperatures flirting around 80. A few boats made laps around the lake. And the new resident population seemed to honor the weekend warriors. Heading back to the coves as if to watch and admire.
For me. It was a surreal setting. I’ve been on the water pretty much non stop since the second week of October. From windy days to calm ones. But today, my family joined me on the water.
The lake resembled a mirror. The wind took a break for the day. Making for the perfect paddleboard experience. Dad, sister and nephews. We took a lap around the island. Then headed over to my cousins house. We all were in awe and grateful for this late summer gift. And soaked up as much time outdoors as possible.
Today. As I write this. The last warm day for sometime maybe upon us. And fall seems to be entering into it’s final stages. Before its transition into winter.
And just another reason why I am grateful I was able to stand up paddleboard with my family one last time this season. On the lake that has been an integral part of my world.