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.

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.

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.