Last summer I wrote about my experiences learning to canoe; well, I may have created a monster – me. I enjoyed canoeing so much that I decided I also need a kayak. So I’ve ordered my first kayak, and I’m ridiculously excited, can’t you tell?

 

What I find most appealing about kayaking is that I can easily strap it to the top of my car and go on a whim. If my canoe is near the water, I can manage it okay, but it’s 16 feet long and weighs 75 pounds, so it’s a bit unwieldy. So I guess the kayak represents freedom and the ability to be spontaneous. I’m already fantasizing about a sunrise paddle to the middle of Bismarck Lake at sunrise to enjoy a cup of coffee. I know, it’s only March, but I can dream, can’t I? It’s probably a good thing the kayak won’t be here for at least a month.

Today while washing windows, which is a very meditative activity – just ask the Karate Kid – I pondered on the fact that while people that visit us here at our home outside Custer profess to love the view we have and express envy that we live so close to nature, they never really want to venture outdoors. Yes, our view is lovely, but what drew us to this place wasn’t just that we could look at nature, we could actually experience it. However, most of our guests seem content to peer at it through the windows.

                                                                                         

I don’t expect that everyone who drops in for coffee on a Saturday morning is going to want to go for a hike, but for those who stay overnight or spend a weekend, I would think would want to at least take a walk. We live just over a mile from the Custer State Park boundary; we’re less than a mile as the crow flies from Bismarck Lake; about half a mile up the road is access to national forest land connected with the Norbeck Wildlife Preserve and Black Elk Wilderness. For some reason, it doesn’t draw our guests as I had assumed.

 

Even barring those excursions due to time constraints, there is a pond across the road from our house. If you stand at the edge of our front yard and throw a rock you can hit the water; I point this out to illustrate that it’s very close. There is an excellent view of it from our living room, but less than one in 10 people actually will walk over to it for a better look. It’s the home of ducks, geese, herons (well, their lunch spot rather than home), turtles, and frogs but few people seem to want a closer view, and no one has asked to go out in our canoe.

 

What has happened to our collective curiosity? Are we so lacking in vigor and imagination that we can’t muster the energy to go outdoors even when the opportunity presents itself? There is so much nature to enjoy, but I worry about its future if the public remains so apathetic.

 

Ever since we moved to our Custer home, which is situated across the road from a pond, I wanted a canoe. Finally, after two years, I bought a used canoe this spring. Not that I knew how to canoe, but my desire silently paddle about the pond was strong. After I became proficient, I was pretty sure I’d haul the canoe to nearby Bismarck and Center Lakes and do more “serious” canoeing.

 

My 13-year-old daughter, who had been canoeing once at Outlaw Ranch, taught me how to canoe. Whereas I was little nervous about tipping it over and “landing in the drink,” she was very calm and happily took the bow position in the front. We both wear life jackets and are strong swimmers (perhaps not graceful, but strong), and the pond isn’t that deep, but it’s got a mucky bottom and a lot of algae – I had no desire to slog out of the pond looking like Medusa on a bad day. Well, we didn’t tip it, and pretty soon I got the hang of it. She was a great instructor.

 

I have yet to “seriously” canoe on a lake; it’s such fun just to paddle around here. Maybe we’ll get around to it yet this summer, but if not, we’re happy gliding about watching the ducks, geese, herons and trying to catch glimpses of the turtles.