Weather conditions combined for an afternoon of Kentucky fall magic. Shirtsleeve temperatures. A wisp of clouds. A hint of breeze. I deleted a couple of hours from the work schedule and loaded the kayak.
The drive to a familiar spot took about 40 minutes. It’s a small inland impoundment on a chunk of federal property. The lake forms behind an earthen dam and covers about 20 acres. A pair of bald eagles has a nest nearby, just beyond the north shore, where the creek enters. The spot is popular with photographers during the winter. When the leaves are off, the nest—which is nearly the size of a small car—is visible.
The lake doesn’t get much boat traffic because outboards are prohibited. It’s popular with paddlers and campers on summer weekends.
I off-loaded the kayak and slid it into the water. Although the day was springtime warm, the leaves had turned and many had fallen. The shoreline was mostly reds dotted with a few golds. It had been something of a muted fall—pretty but not dazzling.
I climbed in the boat, pushed away from shore, and began pedaling (I was in a pedal-driven Old Town Predator, oldtowncanoe.johnsonoutdoors.com/kayaks/fishing/predator-pdl) to a familiar spot off a point on the narrow island that splits the lake. The second cast connected with a chunky bass. This water doesn’t harbor big fish, but the ones that live here are enthusiastic and feisty.
Every fourth or fifth cast resulted in a strike. But after landing and releasing a handful of fish, I laid the rod aside and turned the boat toward the upper end of the lake in the direction of the eagle’s nest.
I couldn’t get Carol off my mind.
Carol is a Kentucky Monthly reader. I know this because she mentioned it in her letter.
Readers occasionally write, and I am always happy to hear from them. The letters sometimes voice complaints. Sometimes compliments. Occasionally both. Some folks offer story ideas. A few write to share their fishing or hunting or camping or hiking experiences. Nearly every letter—regardless of subject, tone or length—arrives via email.
Carol’s letter was penned with a ballpoint on lined, white paper and neatly folded into a square, white envelope. Included was a “Thinking of You” card adorned with butterflies and flowers. Pretty. The handwriting swirled in small cursive; neat and slanted from a right hand (left-handers nearly always have a distinctive slope to their penmanship). My own penmanship is embarrassingly poor.
Within the past year, I have lost two family members—a nephew and a brother, who were father and son. The nephew’s death was expected, following a brief but brutal illness. My brother died suddenly. Thanks to the patience and graciousness of the editor and publisher of this magazine, I was allowed to share a few thoughts regarding those personal losses within these pages.
Carol wrote to express her sympathy for my family’s loss and share the news of her own loss. Her daughter had suffered from cancer and died earlier this year. Carol’s letter was kind and touching; heartfelt, pure and surprisingly personal in a way that’s difficult to describe. I have daughters. The thought of losing one goes beyond where my mind can take me.
Approaching the head of the lake, the kayak suddenly lurched to a stop. The lake had been drawn down, and I’d run into thin water. The PDL drive extends about 18 inches under the boat and had dug into the mud, which was flowering around the boat like a black cloud.
“I know,” Carol wrote, “it’s a very sad time for you, but aren’t memories great from a loved one!!”
She went on to share a bit about her daughter and the illness that had claimed her life, her daughter’s unbending Christian faith, and hope in life to come.
“So hang in there,” Carol concluded, “enjoy each and every day that we have with our families … as we keep our loved ones in our hearts and souls forever.”
It was the best advice I’d heard recently. I extracted the boat from the mud and decided to follow it.
You should, too. We all should.
Readers may contact Gary Garth at editor@kentuckymonthly.com