A Year of Morning Thanks

Sic transit gloria mundi

Basically, I caught two fish, and they were both juveniles--walleyes, that is. No pictures. Maybe a dozen perch, only two or three of which were worth cleaning. One catfish. Two bass, both also middle schoolers.

The weather wasn't perfect.

The mosquitoes were terrible. Going to sleep at night required the death of at least a half dozen, each of them whiny sirens in the darkness until finally they came to rest, often on my bald head. There I lay, slapping myself as if I have mad cow. They were so bad that you couldn't sit outside unless basted in Deep Woods Off.

Really, we've seen most of what there is to see here before. We were treading old ground all week long.

Cost me an arm and a leg and all I did was work on school work anyway.

Did I mention the fishing? It was lousy.

Today we're leaving Cry of the Loon and not returning. The owners are selling. We've spent five wonderful years here--once in summer, once in fall--and we're not ever coming back.

An epoch in our lives is over, ending last night on our 36th anniversary.

Oh well, it's a lousy place anyway. Home never looked so good.

Hardly.

This morning, I'm thankful for five great years, and sad--shoot, almost despondent--that we'll not return.