I arrived at the lake in time to watch the sunset, which quickly washed away the residual trauma of the automobile traffic I had endured while crossing through Connecticut.
Earlier in the day, as I drove up the middle of the state along a highway bordered with fields of goldenrod, milkweed, and lush trees as far as I could see, I wondered if this region of the world had been spared the effects of global warming. When I made this observation, however, my friends informed me that the rains had become very intense over the past few years, and even when they didn't cause severe flooding, they led to a sopping landscape that made the mosquitos unbearable. Because of my New York City-centric view of the news cycle, I had forgotten about the floods, which in the past few summers have washed away big chunks of little towns. So the short answer was no, Vermont had not escaped climate change.
In happier news, a pair of loons were raising a new chick this year. The father likes to patrol the lake with a calm assertiveness that can be a bit unnerving, even when he's just slowly paddling by and there's no risk of attack. Apparently, loons like to inhabit one lake per couple, although they will sometimes visit nearby lakes to gossip and discuss important matters.
After the loon had passed, I went for a swim, diving into the deep waters from a dock. It was cold enough to take my breath away, but only for a second.
The next day, Mike D took me on a bike ride around the area. None of the roads were paved, which made it feel safer; drivers tend to go slower on dirt roads. We stopped to admire a little house at an intersection known as the Shire, where the owners had installed a sunken garden next to a culvert. Fortunately, they had rebuilt the culvert a few years earlier, which had saved them from the floods. In many other places, the culverts are falling apart, a problem we agreed could be easily fixed with the same solution that could fix so many other problems: tax the rich and reinvest the money in public infrastructure.
We passed lakes dotted with flowering waterlilies. The mountains continued to be very green in the distance as the sky turned from blue to gray and, after a bit of rain, blue again. Back at the lake, we went swimming while the loon kept an eye on us.
'Don't fuck with me, bitches.' -- a loon in Vermont
The next morning, the lake was covered with mist, which made it almost more beautiful, a dream.
The shoreline hovered magically above the invisible water.
I thought about our birch tree in New York City and wondered if it had regrets about spending its life so far removed from its natural habitat.
The clover leaned toward the lake.
Once again, I dove in and for a second felt weightless.
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