A couple of weeks spent in our cottage up north with poor connectivity on the Internet have contributed to a break in Writing, but now we are back on track again.
Just in time for Megs’ birthday last week the ice on our lake finally broke-up. After four days of “labor”, like a protracted childbirth, the lake was “reborn” again.
An ice break-up can be rather dramatic sometimes, but not this year. The ice, black and sherbet-like, just broke apart in large flakes that slowly drifted around for a while before they sank to the bottom.
As soon as there was the slightest shred of open water the seabirds came flying in one after another as airplanes heading for landing at any major airport.
First he gooseanders…
then the goldeneyes…
and the loon.
On the morning of the fourth day, nearly all the ice had disappeared.
That same evening Roffe decided to launch the canoe and like a trapper he paddled away towards the last remnants of the ice.
This Woody Woodpecker does like the ancient Romans, eats lying at “the table”. Cute!