I drove into camp early yesterday morning to see Dad. He and a couple of friends are there so it was a good time for me and my sister Melissa to put the dock in. I wasn’t looking forward to stepping into the frigid water to get the job done. I don’t swim until at least the Fourth of July because the water is so cold.
I rounded a corner on the rough dirt round and found the beginnings of a beaver dam. In the road. Dam beavers.
The water should drop now that the torrential rains are over. Melissa reported the dam to a game warden for the Penobscot Indian Nation, owners of this land. They don’t usually remove dams but I think they’ll clean this up and move the beavers. This is an ongoing problem. They flooded this so long ago that the trees are long dead. I waited a few minutes for signs of a beaver but lost patience when the mosquitoes found me.
I stalled on putting the dock in until Dad said, “You ready?” No…but let’s do it. With help from one of Dad’s friends (Steve refers to them as The Grumpy Old Men. Dad is the youngest at 71.), we rolled the metal dock down the path, into the water, and then further into the water. And then I had to step in. I’d already decided I wasn’t going to flinch, screech or otherwise give Dad anything to grin about when I hit the water. I stepped in deliberately and was surprised. A foot of rain since the ice went out warmed the lake early. The water, though extremely high, isn’t cold enough to give me goosebumps. I might be jumping off Dad’s pontoon boat sooner than later. Not sooner than July 4, mind you, but maybe before August.