East Inlet

This is a loon. She is nesting . I thought about naming her Claire and making some fantastic pun along the lines of “Au Claire de la Loon,” but I couldn’t quite manage it without being ridiculous.

I took this picture a couple weeks ago while I was helping on the “Young Men’s Time” (more commonly known as “Guys’ Week”) trip up to Pittsburg, NH. On the second day we were there, we piled into the van and headed to East Inlet, canoes in tow. East Inlet is an official “Moose Sanctuary” or something like that, and we were hoping to see one of those legendary creatures in their natural habitat. Alas, we failed in that respect, but in several other ways we were most successful.

East Inlet is one of those spots in creation where you lose track of how many times you have said, “This is so beautiful!” The vista is breathtaking. Though shallow, the water is smooth and vast. The shore is thick with tall, vertical pines – a kind of tree that I have generally thought looked drab and scraggly compared to, say, a maple or a birch, but which by East Inlet somehow becomes the most beautiful of plants. And, of course, the wildlife is lovely, as wildlife generally is. I didn’t see any terribly exotic species, and nothing but birds, but when you have time to really look at it, even a crow is a miraculous creature. Fortunately for us, we had nicer animals than crows to gaze upon, and we had all the time we wanted to do so.

The beauty of East Inlet is not just skin deep, either. There's some kind of a beautiful aura there. It is so quiet – so peaceful. The kind of place where it’s easy to think about God and to be completely awed by His power and creativity. In that respect, it’s in the same category as mountain tops and secluded beaches. I love such places. They feed my soul. Have you ever experienced it? That feeling of just drinking in the glory, beauty, and serenity of your surroundings? If you haven’t, you’d better go climb a mountain right away. You’re missing out on one of the best experiences this planet has to offer.

“For the invisible things of Him since the creation of the world are clearly seen, being perceived through the things that are made, even his everlasting power and divinity.”

Oh, by the way, going to East Inlet was also successful because we had lots of fun. When you get past the vast lake part of it, it turns into a winding maze of a stream that turns 180 degrees countless times. And, boy oh boy, it’s waters like that that separate the canoe men from the canoe boys. Craig and I shared a canoe, and we had a blast seeing how sharp we could make that thing turn. We got it down to quite a science, too. We even raced past one of the other canoes on the inside of a curve, though it passed us again a dozen or so switchbacks later.

Some of the other guys were having slightly less of a blast, and when they tried to remedy this by switching places in the canoe, it flipped and drenched the three of them. They complained long and hard when we got back, but I think secretly they enjoy having the memory, and some of them at least do enjoy telling the story.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t the one who stepped on the side of the canoe…”

We continued our labyrinthian voyage until approaching darkness and obstructive beaver dams bade us return. It was a fun time, a fulfilling time, and – for us photographers – a fruitful time. I’m going to go again some day. Count on it.

Try Harder! Stress Less!

I played table tennis for a couple hours this evening, first with Ryan and then with my dad. I played appallingly poorly. True, the lighting in our basement is less than ideal, and if we showed our table to anyone with real ping pong skills and ambitions, he would probably stare at it icily or guffaw in our faces and our relationship would have to be discontinued. But if the playing field was not even, at least its unevenness was shared by both players. I could not complain that it was not fair. No, my big excuse for Ryan beating me something like eight times out of ten was tension: I wanted to win so badly that I would find myself straining every muscle in an attempt to be more ready for every shot. Then, recognizing my stress level and sagaciously remembering that I perform better stress-free, I would try to be calm and relaxed. Unfortunately, this usually resulted in my growing increasingly floppy and unfocused. I would try so hard to relax that I would not try to play. It was distressing.

It can be so hard to “try to relax.” That’s the trouble, really. Stressing out about not being relaxed is counterproductive, not to mention illogical. "Relax and try harder" is a different statement altogether, however, and paradoxical though it may sound, I would go so far as to say that, in many situations, relaxation and exertion must both be pursued for any measure of success to be attained.

When I played my dad later, it was a lot better. Something about playing someone who is not your little brother and who used to be a high school champion (though when he was a senior he came in second to a sophomore and still kicks himself about it) makes it matter slightly less that you win. And when the stakes are lowered, relaxing is easier. I lost every game to my dad, and by bigger margins than when I played Ryan, but I played much better and had more fun. And that’s really what the game is all about.

(Well, primarily about.)

Ping pong is not the only area where the principle of simultaneous relaxation and exertion is effective – it is merely the example that is most current in my mind. The other example that comes quickest to my mind is playing the piano. You simply can NOT play with great speed if you are not relaxed. And you cannot play with great speed unless you focus and apply yourself, too.

It’s also true for running. It’s also true for debating. It’s also true for singing, for web design, for swimming… Oh, good grief! It’s a universal principle of life! The Great Aaron has revealed it. Use it often. Use it well.

Fiddler Crab

Dickens, Modernized

It was the best of times,     it was the worst of times,    it was the age of wisdom,   it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way …

Cape Cod Sunset