By Florence Page Jacques
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Extra resources for Canoe Country
In the pale water before me, an otter curved momentarily, and the silver wake of a beaver flashed, far down the other lake. 28 At the inlet, we could see our small white tent glimmering in the center of the island, in the center of the lake, in the center of the forest. Here was the center of the world. Saturday It's cool this morning. I'm writing this in a tall pine wood. Giant pines range up a long hill, with clean open spaces between the bronze trunks instead of all the undergrowth and ferns and twisted branches we usually have.
We tore downstream. There it was. A cow moose in the water.
One especially, dashing in and out of woodpecker holes like a miniature clown, distracted me terribly from my cooking. After supper I began to wash my dishes, but there was an afterglow of such luminous peach-gold that we left the dishes unregarded on the shore. Floating off into the spacious evening, without a ripple in the clear light above or below us, we set out to see Curtain Falls. The falls, rough and dangerous, hypnotized me. The black smoothness of the water, just before it curved over the falls, was savagely elemental.
Canoe Country by Florence Page Jacques