My husband holds the canoe steady as I climb in. Then he takes his place in the stern and we push off into the river. The paddle feels light in my hands as I dip, pull, lift, twist.
For the first hour, paddling seems effortless and I watch the scenery going by—the steep sandy bluffs, the tall white pines. By hour two, my back is aching but when I cross my legs, the ache is gone.
We stop for lunch and sit on a fallen log to eat bread, cheese and apple slices—with a thermos of strong coffee. Climbing into the canoe, I feel energetic again, ignoring my back, my shoulders.
My husband and I have been paddling together for over thirty years—and feel more tired and more grateful with each season. “Still here,” we say as we shove off into the river.
Now, after four hours of paddling, I hurt all over and just hope I can make it to the landing without quitting. Also that I can live out my life exactly this way.
To keep going until I get there.
