Beautiful Things

“I surely wish Ma could be here to see this
for she loves beautiful things.”

It is a line borrowed from one of the Louis L’amour Sackett novels. A wish voiced by one of the boys as he breaks out over the crest of a hill and describes the country he sees in front of him.

The line repeatedly comes to mind during my ride home. Often I have wished someone was with me on the journey particularly one of those that frequently asks me why we live where we do. A short line that summarizes everything without going into great detail on what it is like to live at the lake is hard to come up with whereas one trip in the passenger seat would say it all.

As I am writing this, the expanse of Lake Laberge is visible through a very large picture window in front of me. The window is easily 20 ft. off the ground in amongst the tops of the tall Aspen and Spruce trees that cover our frontage to the water. I am eye to eye with a number of bright colored birds that are invited to share our winter. There are a variety of well-stocked feeders put out for them. Through the treetops I can see the white-capped mountains on the east shore of Lake Laberge. It is morning and they are backlit by the most beautiful colors, a mixture of red, orange and yellow that signal the early March sunrise. The bright colors are reflected off the clouds drifting above the mountaintops and the entire scene is turned into a natural painting. Hesitantly, thin slivers of sunlight come into the room, dancing around nervously as the swaying treetops break up the light rays. The show is a kaleidoscopic display of dancing colors that flits around the room in such a natural exhibit that it freezes all other activity until it is over and the arrival of day is complete.

Later I take the two dogs for a run on the frozen lake. Here and there the snow has melted and re-frozen into sheets of sheer ice. Side by side they run, belly to the ground into the middle of the lake. There’s a tussle, a wide swing and they’re streaking back and come to a four paw sliding halt beside me. Bath time! On their back, four feet into the air they gyrate and roll around in the snow occasionally scooping up a mouth full of the white stuff to fuel their enthusiasm.

“OK guys, that was fun”, I say gently so as not to break the spell. “It’s breakfast time”. Obediently, albeit reluctantly they follow me back to the house where I stoke the wood fire and move into the kitchen to prepare the first meal of the day.

There are many such seasonal scenes that that boggle the memory banks, some impossible to put into words for the words would sound inadequate. There really is no easy one-liner that would cover it all and I have opted for a simple reply to the question of our life at the lake.

“Because we like it there”. The ongoing, peaceful and satisfying buildup of memories is a bonus and the private privilege of being there.