Waves from Lake Macbride

I forgot that fishing is a past-time activity here. This evening, my neighbor and I went to Lake Macbride for a picnic and escape. We walked up to the boathouse just as they were closing for the season. I expressed disappointment that I would not be able to rent a canoe from them this year, the attendant expressed relief that the summer was over.

Amanda and I consulted a map to find a quick hike and spotted a trail head very close to the boathouse. The map was informative, denoting hiking trails, picnic tables and even fish habitats in the middle of the lake. On our walk, we spotted three dear. Amanda took pictures of them with her phone, both of us lamented leaving our real cameras back home. A father was out on the lake with his two daughters, the youngest waved to us. We waved back. With fishermen doting the surface of the lake, the evening was very peaceful. The lake prohibits speed boats and I don't think anyone minds.

On our drive out of the park, I discovered one of my new favorite things about Iowa. Around a bend, overlooking the lake, we found a porch swing. Well, a porch swing without a porch that is. A beautiful battleship gray swing, hanging from a matching frame, build with purpose. I don't know if it was an Eagle Scout project or the brainchild of a thoughtful ranger, but it provided enough novelty for me to stop the car immediately.

From the swing, we watched the patterns on the lake dampen and the light before us fade, like looking at the world through a tent screen. A single fisherman gracefully boated by, perhaps trolling for catfish or bass or maybe just some solace. The boat's wake was gentile, hypnotic and massaging to the mind. We watched the waves and troughs move over the resting lake. Resembling rows of corn or just simple stripes, equidistant and precise, they glided their way to the shore. The waves rippled for ten minutes after the boat left the area. Your simplest motions may have lasting beauty and you may never know it.