Lower Lake Kaubashine

A premonition of sunny days
And panfish in the lake,
Halts my truck at rented cabin,
High above Lake Kaubashine.

A musty cottage, no windows open,
Drawing iron water to stained sink.
The absent owners live in Colorado,
Drawing shower water they can drink.

We unpack food to frig and cupboard.

Let the screens bring in fresh air.
Sense how pines and lakes surround us.
Know we have two weeks to share. 

A neighbor knocks with driveway news.

Two speckled fawns play in between,
As he leaves for his vacation,
Much farther north to Bayfield.

Captured moments form their story

Hanging over paneled walls.
Smiles made into snapped old cameras
Have exposed the owners’ faults.

No photo shows her standing,

Save for one against porch railing.
She clutches with two steely grips,
Fingers wrapped around wooden posts.

Can a tragic tale during marriage

Be now told by picture frame?
Seems his love endure her image
After later photos changed.

Scripture and psalm wait at my bedside,
As if all cabin visitors were there to seek.

Prayers lay in drawers not to be opened,
Unless someone curious decided to peek.

39 steps down to a sturdy dock

Rests Jeff and Kate's fishing boat.
Against a tree filled bluff.
Touching lily pads.

Feet walk slowly down the well worn steps.
Hands release ropes from poles at the pier.
One small push button awakens the starter.
My final push-off backs boat into lake.
The last toggled switch sends boat into drive,
Leaving 2 cycle smoke at the dock.

My camera stands ready in fishing boat,

While I search in the sea and mid summer sky,
To snap lake eagles, loons and herons,
On calm morning waters while I ride.

2 bicycles complete a day.

When not fishing and not reading,
We find the Bearskin Trail pleasing,
Under a canopy of trees.

Match and lighter fluid start the supper.
Chicken and brats lay smoking on grill.
Charcoal turns from black to white powder.
Family talks through the front screen door.

Walking the streets toward evening,
An Art Deco gas station stands.
Once a business near some trains.
Now alone with bikes out front.

Come next day my rear tire flattens
At our farthest distance out.
Rosie peddles back to cabin
To retrieve my truck and drive
Into town for an Art Deco patch. 

On a visit to Lake Seventeen,
We cruise in Andy's pontoon.
Into the windy blue lake I loose
My large Tilley hat, where
Holly nets the monster.

During a trip to Boulder Junction,

Waiting for Rosie and Kate
To finish their morning shopping,
I sit in shade on steel park bench,
While day dreaming of fresh sauerkraut
And pickle spears
At Mad Dog Jake's,
Once we end our street circle route.

They take so long to shop,

My reason for spending time
With the owner of an art gallery-
Throwing tales out where she lives
During her winter months,
When art does not sell.

An ice cream ride today

Brings some to old Mckay’s.
Under pine trees four can eat
Or three in truck, now that one
Takes her dairy lactose free.

Family bustles until gone-

The quietness then haunting.
On another sun lit day,
Toward the end of our first week-
Such saps we are,
Rosie and me,
To miss our grown kids
Like it’s their first day at school.

To sit on dock at sunset.

To take in lake so pure.
My hand with drink or fishing pole.
My sockless feet stretched far apart.
Do the heavens also watch
The beauty they've created?

She faces east in sun glasses.
Her head rises from delight.
Limbs drape over chair she passes.
My spouse warms next morning's light.

Brother David brings his gear.

So begins my second week-
Sharing stories with each other.
Throwing bait out with our lines.

Friend Harold arrives late week.

We park near shadowed waters.
The waves that buffet our fish boat
Bring in panfish whoops and hollers.

With my body in a relaxed mode.

With a silence through the cottage.
Not much use in staying longer.
Not much packing left by supper.

A note is written

As cottage notes go.
Stating all the positive.
As if it were my duty.

Venturing into evening shadows

To pick up gas and more ice cream,
I choose a place that's close at hand,
To Charlie’s Cheese, in Hazelhurst.

She dips down deep for chocolate swirl-

So low I cannot see her.
She scoops one and one half for me.
I search for how to pay her.

I break a five, then step outside

To trim the edges clean.
Up into truck with napkin placed,
In review mirror I beam.

Alone on the highway with a lick,

Hesitation held at bay,
Let the clock worry about each tick.
I'll stay focused on each day.