nature

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Seasons Change

There is something very special about mid-September. The sun sets closer to eight pm than nine and the from one day to the next the air cools and warms and cools again until fall officially arrives sometime in October. In the garden, huge Hosta blossoms shrink to less than their average size as does every perennial sharing the garden beds. The potted annuals start to bloom less flowers and as the days get shorter, they shrivel and die.

It is at this time of year, I like to play Russian Roulette with the weather and if I wake to blue skies and a promise of a forecast with a high of at least twenty-two degrees Celcius, I throw the paddle board into the trunk of the car and I set off to my favourite lake. What the spring and summer deems an habitual activity, becomes in mid-September, these chance thrills to see just how much more time on the lake I can get with my board. 

Paddling in September is a solitary act. Like the seasons come and go, so do children who grow and then go. At first, when they are little they go back to school then they go off to college, university or work and then they sometimes go somewhere remote and call it home. I cherish every opportunity I get to paddle on the lake with one or both of my boys and in September, I get another opportunity to cherish — the solo drive to my solo paddleboarding destination. 

Alone but by no means lonely, I am terriffic in a partnership, great in a the company of a few and good in a crowd but I really enjoy my own company and appreciate the times when I am alone with my thoughts, imagination and ideas.

Unlike the summertime trips to the lake that are filled with music, snacks and conversation, reflection starts the moment I leave the drive way, turn down the windows and turn up the music and I take in all the changes signalling that autumn is approaching. 

The reddish-orange of the leaves on the maple trees, the yellowing of the leaves of the birch and the way the foliage begins to get sparse along the roadside that allows me more frequent glimpses of the water as I drive to where I need to be. I think of all that I … we… have done this year — new things, habitual things. I think of the amazing and somehow perfectly timed job opportunities that fell into our laps, and the ones that we missed. I think of the people we have met, good friends that are still with us and the ones we’ve lost and the people we have ushered back into our lives and will hold on to for dear life.

Fifteen minutes into my drive, I pass the long driveway where we used to turn onto long before we moved into the area. A glance in the rear view mirror lets me know that there is no one close behind me and I slow the car almost to a crawl and look at the property that belonged to my husband’s parents. I listen closely and I swear I can hear the sound of my sons’ laughter and the melodic giggles of my niece and nephew when they were small, riding on the tractor or on the ATV with my father-in-law. I glance onto the extensive property and I can still see in my mind’s eye, the dogs chasing frisbees and sticks and I can still smell the char of the beef on the grill. And while the essence of everything in that house — my in-laws’ home could have been so much better, the good times still rise above the times that were less pleasant. Now new owners have knocked down the old yellowing house and erected a new, gleaming white and (from the children jumping into the newly installed pool) a happy home and it makes me smile. The season has changed on the property and there is joy radiating from the house all the way to the roadside where I am slowly rolling by.

Driving away, the music and the wind blowing through the car makes me add singing to my smiling and a feeling of peace settles in my heart. I inhale and I feel like I have breathed in three times the volume of air than I normally would and when I exhale. 

I feel light.

I feel, well, I feel uplifted. And as John Hiatt sings Have a Little Faith In Me, I am back on the open air red clay tile dance floor at Sandals Dunn’s River Falls, dancing with my new husband at our wedding before twenty-two of our closest family and friends. 

I think of our life and I feel proud. Yes, I know people usually describe it as blessed and lucky and all of those sugary things but I am proud because we have stood the test of time and boy were we tested. I remember thinking of our life one new year’s eve in our apartment in Montreal and I remember thinking it was perfect — almost too perfect and I remember wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. And when it did, it dropped like a boulder off a mountain top onto a valley village below. 

We had a tough go of it — REALLY tough but I’m proud we were always able to come back to the one thing that bound us and still binds us now. Our love gave us hope and an ability to laugh even when we felt like crying. Our love gave us faith in each other and very often when we found ourselves at the bottom of a scummy barrel of life shit, we would tell each other, “it’s you and me and we will get through this,”. Love kept me and my husband strong through the days of our son’s diagnosis, job losses, financial distress, big moves across the country, loss of parents and the loss of dear friends. Our love got us through things that would have ended most couples and torn apart families and now, the simple things that bring us joy is a constant reminder that love heals and rewards too. We just had to keep reminding ourselves what brought us together in the first place because that was what was going to keep us strong and keep us together.

North Beach Provincial Park Lake Ontario Photo by D. Barsotti

At the thirty eight minute mark, I get into the Provincial Park seamlessly. The usual visitors from Quebec have returned to La Belle Province and though their absence frees up several parking spaces, I do miss hearing their Quebcois banter and the smell of Bain de Soleil. The September beach bums are all local — perhaps one or two from Toronto — and the pace is slow and lazy. I get my board from the trunk, connect it to the pump, assemble my oar and put on my life jacket. Once the pump shuts off, I lock the car and head to the water’s edge. The bigger, longer beach to the right of the parking lot has waves butthey are not very tall and the more enclosed lake on the left side of the lot is completely still. Not a ripple because there is no wind and the water looks like glass much like it does early in the morning in the summer. The water has receded somewhat — another sign that the weather is changing because the beach is wider and I find myself walking faster than usual to get the board into the water..I step into it and immediately retract my foot. 

Yeesh, so cold! A reminder of the bleaky, cooler and rainy days of the two weeks prior. Though the temperature has risen to twenty-six degrees Celsius, even in this very shallow part of the lake the water is icy. Today would not be an ideal day to fall in so my brain knew that my core had to be engaged at all times.

I dismiss the feeling of sharp knives stabbing into my feet and mount my board and I set off and I decide not to do the circumference of the lake this time but to paddle directly across it as there were no jet skis or boats zooming by today. The cottages in the distance are all empty except for one where I see the elderly couple grilling something on the barbecue, the white smoke looks like a snake dancing straight up to the sky. I pass the family of swans, the babies now free of their mucky greyish-brown fluff are stark white like their parents, and I pass two gaggles of Canadian geese who are quietly drifting beween the reeds and lily pads. Today they aren’t honking, flapping their wings wildly or hissing at people on the beach. Like everyone at the lake, they too are chilling in the peaceful vibe the glorious mid-September Sunday has to offer. 

An hour passes and I have crossed the lake twice and I realize I hadn’t thought of anything while I was paddling. I just listened to the gurgly sound of my paddle and my board moving through the water. I listened to the birds , looked at the sunlight gleaming and dancing on the water and I breathed in the air that didn’t smell of burnt wood, diesel from a boat or food being cooked on the beach.

It smelled like nothing. 

It was just clear — like my mind. And when I returned to the beach, tired but happy, I felt the corners of my mouth pushing my cheeks right up to my eyes, almost closing them. I don’t think I ever smiled like that while deflating my board, dis-assembling my oar or ridding myself of sand before getting into the car. .And even with the little pang of sadness in my chest, not knowing if today was indeed the end of my paddleboarding season, I drove along the wavy side of the lake, pulling over to take some photos of this most perfect mid-September moment.

Perfectly clear and clean water at NorthBeach Provincial Park Photo D. Barsotti

Still smiling.

I smiled all the way home and smiled and sang my way through the grocery store because my husband texted me asking me to bring home a carton of milk.

I smiled as I walked across the parking lot to my car and as I always do — and yes, I really always do, I smiled when I pulled into the driveway and saw him standing there waving and greeting me.

Life gets busy and like my husband, I get caught up in work and managing our finances a lot(kid in university), but every now and then and especially when one season fades and another gleams, I remember that this story of ours, the story of Tom and Daniella full of chapters of Adam and Logan; chapters of his family, my family, our immediate little family and our friends. This story of the places we’ve grown up, the place we met and the places we’ve lived; the places we have recently seen and are yet to see…this story, will end one day. It’s up to us (and yeah, fate) how we write it. It is up to us to figure out how we are going to deal with everything this life throws at us and on a day like today — a Sunday in mid-September when I have time to reflect on our journey, I realize that life is a gift measured in moments and I remind myself that these moments are not meant to be wasted on things that do not matter. I don’t know how many more seasons I will have on the lake but I do know this —  I’m not going to waste time worrying about it. I’m just going to live each day until it pops into my life again.

I hope you find moments of peace in your life. 

I hope you have moments in between seasons when you are able to reflect on the times of your life — all of them  —  and I hope your reflection ends in a smile, with the realization that you are still here — still relavant and still alive. 

You still can both give and receive love and that no matter what anyone says or society dictates…know that you are enough and you are blessed with the incredible gift of life with all its lows and it’s highest of highs.

Now, go find a way to take it all in.

Leave a comment Posted on lake life, over fifty,, peace, Taking life one day at a time, zen

Beautifully Perfect Moment.

North Beach Provincial Park — Still-Lake Side Photo D. Barsotti 2024

It’s not a secret I love paddleboarding — yet another of the things I picked up in my fifties that took.

Having new hobbies to replace the ones that physically hurt too much to continue to do, are a gift as we age. And as much as I miss regular rounds of golf or smashing a tennis ball weekly across a court, I am grateful for this zen, back-to-nature gem of a sport that had become my most recent addiction.

Every summer when my second son, Logan, came home from either being away for Junior Hockey or University, paddleboarding was our thing. He taught me how to maintain my balance on the board and how to paddle properly after all, and the conversations we had between mother and son were priceless.

This summer, I’m paddling alone apart from the odd days when first born, Adam, decides he can squeeze me into his busy schedule and joins me on the lake with his kayak or Logan pops home. This year, he is working for his school and has found his heart twenty minutes from there, in a true inside and out beauty, called Sara. He’s earning money, he’s in love and he is enjoying his youth over there, while juggling the scorching hot hurdles and hiccups of adulting without the luxury of coming home every day of the summer to a comfortable bed and already made meals.

Today, I paddled the circumference of the lake which takes me about forty-five minutes…about an hour and a half today with the waves from the wind and the wake of the speed-boat towing the summer camp kids in tubes. It was hot with a nice breeze — a welcome change from the thick blanket of humidity smothering Ontario and Quebec the past three weeks during what is now an annual heatwave in our country.

My Shadow — D. Barsotti 2024

It was a pleasant day for a paddle and everyone out in their canoes, kayaks and paddleboards were smiling and friendly. I never said hello, or exchanged pleasantries with so many people on the water in my entire five years of paddleboarding.

As I hit the home stretch of my journey, I tucked into the lagoon as I usually do (with Logan) in my search for Mr Turtle, or Carl, as every wild creature is called by the members of our family. I made my way through the weeds and the lilypads looking into the clear water for the ginormous beast. As per usual, I didn’t find him because let’s face it, it was probably a one time sighting but about eight feet away from me on a bed of lilypads, was a turtle about the size of both my hands — so 32 cenitmetres (approximately 14.5 inches) — just looking right at me. I continued to paddle towards it and he just stayed there, staring at me until I was about just over a metre (just over three feet) away. In a flash it dived into the water and swam away. I paddled in the general area of the ripples but didn’t see it but what I did have was a big smile on my face.

Even though I didn’t have anyone to share it with, it was a beautifully perfect moment. As the turtle and I eyeballed each other, I felt so calm and at peace all I could think of was how in that short time, everything in my life was just as it needed to be. I wanted nothing, needed nothing and I was fortunate enough to have a wordless moment with another living creature, sharing the lake with me.

Leave a comment Posted on evolving, Mental health, self care

Unleashed

A couple weeks ago, plans with my sister changed due to weather and we decided on a rain check. Looking at the overcast sky and the drizzle sprinkling the back deck, I was about to settle for a day indoors when I realized, it was perfectly still. No wind rustled the leaves of the trees. The air was thick and humid, the smell of the rain soaking into the earth, ripe. Feeling the discontemtment with the possibility of an indoor day, I gave into my urge to be outside and on the water. After all, I was on day two and a half of the eighty two hours I had to myself and I wanted to use this time to unleash myself from my usual routine. There was to be no cooking or cleaning up during this time and knowing that this unusually hot weather (no matter how strange) in Canada should not be taken for granted, I didn’t want to spend all my time at home. The confirmation that I had to get out and do something came from my reflection in the mirror while brushing my teeth. I was checking out the mop of curls atop my head (no hair appointments during covid), and looking at the transformation my hair has been undergoing. In my case, dark strands are turning red and over time, red to yellow before settling into a permanent state of white. Unlike my face, my hair isn’t deceiving when it comes to my age and nothing says get out and utilize your time like graying hair. I got in line with a parade of SUV’s at Starbucks and treated myself to a fancy coffee; went back home, changed and threw my paddle board gear and my stuff (wallet, phone, water bottle, comb, towel and a cotton slip-on dress) in the car and headed for the beach. Listening to lyrics being belted out by Amy Lee and other thought inspiring music streaming via Bluetooth, I was really inside my head, watching the road, of course, but thoughts a million miles away. When I have downtime from work and my family I spend a lot of time thinking deeply about my life, the world and my place in it. Like everything else over the years, in moments like these I recognize how much the deep thinking has changed. I remember times of solitude whether I was driving or just sitting on the deck, my thoughts would would classify more as worry or concern …concern over my autistic child’s future, concern for my other child, my husband, my parents, my marriage, my ever changing ways of making a living…it was all based on concern and problem solving. Now, at 54, I’m in the roller coaster carriage going up the last couple not-so-steep inclines of the ride of life and my deep thoughts bring a smile to my face and peace to my soul. This is the we’ve-made-it-through-the-toughest-times incline and it is the one where we get to experience and truly appreciate the things that make us feel love, happiness and gratitude and although everything that goes up must come down and I know there will be loss and sadness to bear, the ride will plateau and eventually come to an end. If it ends with me feeling the way I feel now, then I would have succeeded in truly living.

As I drove through the county’s winding road to my destination, I appreciated the gift this region was to me and my family. I have never warmed to the town we settled in after having lived in some of Canada’s most fabulous cities. I have never understood or accepted the cliquish and rather frivolous nature of the people who were born and bred here but I’ve learned to live my life in this small place while keeping the small minded at arm’s length. The county is home to some of the best vineyards in the country and best stretches of beach front, cosy coves, inlets of Lake Ontario. Being from the Caribbean, the Provincial Parks in my area draw me to their shallow clear waters and white sands. It feeds my passion to play in the water and hear the shushing of waves as I’d done in mychildhood, albeit without that briny taste of the ocean so dear to me. This piece of perfect real estate is one of the reasons I am able to continue living here. 

In spite of the grey skies and spotty showers, the colours of the vegetation along the way were vibrant and lush and I could see that there was no turbulance on the water in spite of the rain. The water was flat and almost motionless like a sheet of glass and the beaches were not crowded but they weren’t deserted either. It seemed, like me, people were intent on having their day at the beach in spite of the weather. Some people took shelter from the rain grilling their food under pop up tents or canopies while others were enjoying being in the warm water, being baptised by the rain.

I inflated my board and paddled out into serenity, my oar slicing through the water, the sound of tiny ripples overiding the ambiance of music, people chatting and kids playing. It didn’t matter that the drizzle had turned into a shower. It was peaceful and where I needed to be. Not having much experience as a paddle boarder, the initial tense legs and overly engaged core were now relaxed and I was looking ahead at the scenery and not at the water. I thought about the last seventeen months of this global pandemic and what it had done to the world. I thought of all the suffering and death it caused and while I recognize and acknowledge our privilege and good luck, I thought of what it did to my sons. I thought of how their goals screeched to a halt, shattering everything they were planning to do post high school. My sons are on the brink of independent adulthood and 2020 was supposed to be the year that bore the fruits of their labour. But, instead, like everyone,they had to wait and wait and wait some more. They had to find ways to stay motivated and positive and the toll it took on both their mental well-being was overwhelming, especially for my autistic son. And then came change. Some much needed relief in the form of vaccines. Now fully vaccinated, we can do a bit more. We can gather with a select few and we can be outdoors and we can get a taste of the daily life we took for greanted. Two strokes to the left, two to the right I’d covered a decent distance from my spot on the beach. “We did it,” I thought and a smile came to my face. We made it through the toughest sixteen months of our lifetime; especially my sons, especially Adam. We followed the protocol, we kept our distance from everyone outside our family and we found a way to make the lockdowns worthwhile. Those were the good days. I taught the boys how to cook, their father showed them their way around power tools and home renos, they studied, they trained and we all stayed healthy. And then there were the difficult days, especially for Adam. After all those the days when his inability to communicate what was bothering him resulted in destruction and pain, just like the rest of us, he made it through. One stroke on the right, one on the left, I kept paddling and I felt my shoulders drop and the tightness disappear and in that instant I realized that we’re all okay and everything with everyone I love was as it should be.

The pandemic is not over and it will be a while before we have a handle on Covid 19. There is a lot going on in the world along with Covid 19 and it’s repercussions. The climate has changed and the west of our country is burning, while tornados touch down in South West Ontario and Northern Ontario is on fire too. Greece is burning. Germany is flooding. California is burning again and it is easy to think that our planet is just going to turn to ash one day, but in that moment, as I paddled, I was able to unleash it all and let it go. And I felt it leave me too. You see, I might not be able to change the world, but I can do my part; I can do my best to not add to the problems that plague our world. There is still a lot of good and a lot of beauty to behold and therefore, there is hope in spite of all our problems. 

One stroke to the right, one to the left, over and over and over until I felt like I was floating on a cloud rather than on water. I thought of the love of my life and our love that has deepened over the years and how much more I love him each and every day in ways I never knew existed. Paddle left. Paddle right. Love, like life,has evolved. Love is easy, always available and is uncomplicated at my age. Marriage, like me on my board, floats, bobbing over ripples easily. Marriage, is friendship, comfort and well…its home, welcoming me with open arms everytime and it’s where I want to be. Children are grown and starting their adult lives and we are starting a new chapter together that still includes and cares about our boys, but is mainly focused on us and the time we will spend together until one of us leaves this life.

Like a loud noise, or a flash of lightening, a jet ski’s motor and heavy wake disrupted my peaceful thoughts. My board bobbed and wobbled on the waves and I lost my balance and plunged into the water as did two screaming little girls from a paddle board about 80 metres away. Beginners all, the sudden waves made it difficult to pull ourselves back onto our boards. The more I tried, the more my legs bobbed and kicked the more tangled my leash became in the tall weeds. A strong swimmer, even with a life jacket, I grew tired. I stopped. I took a breath. What was the plan? Looking into the water, I could barely see my foot. Reaching down I tried to remove the velcro ankle cuff. What a bitch that was! Who knew weeds were that thick and strong? Third time was the charm. With my foot free, I tried to mount the board again, but when I pushed my weight onto it, the tail of the board would sink because the leash tethered it so strongly onto the weeds. I was tired. I was done with this shit. I reached up and unhooked the leash from the board and glided towards the shore. I glanced over at the kids whose father had come into the water to detangle their leash from the weeds and bring them to shore. They left their leash behind too but they were safe. I hoisted myself onto the board and lay face up. A big breath released the tiredness and frustration of dealing with the weeds. I was unleashed. I was free. So, I lost a thirty dollar leash. Whatever. It was holding me back. Binding me to disgusting, prickly, slimy, octopus- arm-like weeds. Weighing me down. I remember my cousin Nicole would say, “just free it, Danie. Free it” and I did and everything was so much better.