A story by Marilyn Weymouth Seguin from 20th century and present day
A splash of water is what makes life memorable for Marilyn Weymouth Seguin
A few years ago, I bought a pair of bright orange one-person kayaks as a birthday present to myself. The opening in my kayak is large enough to carry a medium sized dog as a passenger, and on hot days, my old dog Oliver and I like to go kayaking on our end of Little Sebago Lake in southern Maine.
Once I tipped us over in deep water and wasn’t able to turn the kayak right again. Oliver and I had to swim back to shore. We both wear life jackets.
A good kayaking excursion is an early morning close circuit of the shoreline, exploring the coves that are not visible from the middle of the lake. In the early morning, the water is still and calm. It is not unusual to spot ducks, loons, cormorants, and ospreys. One time, I heard a piercing screech and saw a shadow sweep across the water ahead of me. I looked up to see a bald eagle circling overhead between the sun and water, and suddenly the water boiled with frightened fish.
On hot days, I prefer to be in the water rather than on it because I can be both warmed by the sun and cooled by the water. During my childhood summers at camp, my sister and I used to stay in the water until the ends of our fingers wrinkled up like pale prunes. A good summer day at camp for us meant spending more time in the water than out of it.
Nowadays, I sometimes lie on an air mattress and float on top of the water, but when I was a child, I always needed to be fully immersed. I remember running down the length of our wooden wharf and cannon-balling into the lake time after time until I was worn out. Where has that girl gone? Did she leave—or is she still in here, just pushed further down? I liked that girl. I should get in touch with her again.