Stormy Lake Adventure

I have an urgent need to tell you my Fourth of July weekend outdoor experience, my small-scale "hero story." Now this episode was not bold, instead mildly stupidly reckless, and yet a fine little adventure with some lasting satisfaction.

Sunday afternoon I felt a strong pull to take my little inflatable Sea Eagle kayak out for a paddle on nearby Jordan Lake. It had been too long, and the sun was shining. Never mind that thunderstorms were predicted.

Once out on the lake, I could see that there was a dark smudge along the treeline on the horizon, but it was only about a foot wide. Intellectually I know that things get larger as they get closer, but I was still sure that with my lightning paddling speed, I'd be able to dodge it. The lake is huge and many-armed; I'd just avoid the weather, if it even traveled in my direction.

I had a particular and exciting goal in mind, finding the mouth of a creek that I regularly drive across a few miles away on my way to work and back. I had a pretty good idea where it would enter the lake.

Well, I'd paddled hard for over an hour, found a beautiful little cove I'd never seen, scared seven great blue herons out of the trees there, cruised along at the edge of a tall thicket of water grass, and still not found the creek mouth, when the rain began to fall. And, in instant, the thunder and lightning were cracking overhead.

I wasn't going to dodge the weather after all, and I was a very long way from anything but heavily forested shore with bits of exposed sand at the edge here and there. Plus, I was using a metal paddle, in the state with the highest number of lightning deaths per year (or so I'm told.)

So I took the paddle apart and used only the plastic blades, one in each hand, and slowly scoop-scooped my way to one of those little strips of sand, just in time. Five seconds after I pulled up onto this sliver of beach, huge wind whipped up and flipped the boat over as a big pelting rain started, and suddenly the lake was all grey surf. The waves were big enough to break and roll, to force water several feet up the strand and under my feet where quickly I'd positioned myself, lying beneath my overturned my boat, holding it down against the force of the wind.

Within moments, I felt cozy under there, a little warmish cave, with hard rain beating down on airfilled compartments overhead and on the sand on either side of me. The sound was like that of a tin roof in a storm, but all within a foot of my face. I could see out from under the edge of the boat and watch the long waves break into white against dark sky.

I'm accustomed to water. I grew up at the beach, living in Wilmington and spending much of my time at Wrightsville, and I continued going along on some surf fishing and deep sea expeditions in my early twenties. And my eldest nephew tried to teach me to surf fairly recently. But it had been thirty years at least since I was so surrounded by the raw edge of the elements. And this time alone, and definitely not in a charter boat.

As soon as I got under the shelter of my dear little boat I found I was immediately deep in trance. I was comfortable in spite of being drenched, and lying half across a broken branch and having one shoulder hanging out in the rain and dealing with some aggressive ants. For most of the hour and a quarter I was under there, I had little sense of the passage of time. I had a feeling of gratitude, for both the shelter and the nature drama, that was almost tangible, like a shawl of warmer air.

I wasn't really worried. The worst likely to happen was that the storm wouldn't let up until late night, and a small embarrassing search for me would begin. Husband Bob wasn't likely to be worried prematurely though; he's not a worrier and has also decided I'm invincible. I hope never to dissuade him.

I didn't want to be rescued, but I did wonder briefly where the bullhorns were. Once, out on this same lake on a sunny afternoon, I was floating in what was essentially a toy boat, an $11 blow-up vessel with plastic paddles that I got at Best Buy. I probably looked pretty ridiculous because the paddles were tiny and the boat not much bigger than an innertube; my legs were stuck up in the air. A huge cruiser chugged up close by, with enough waves to swamp me. From up on the bridge of the boat, a man in some kind of government park service uniform called: "Ma'am, are you all right?" I was just fine. It was a gorgeous day. There was no threat in sight. But on the day when a storm hits and lifts my 30 pound kayak into the air, I saw no crisply nautically uniformed man cruising up alongside. No doubt, he has the sense to stay in on such afternoons.

The rain quit once for about five minutes, then started again, quiet and steady. The thunder gradually became a little more distant. The surf died down. I crept out. I regathered my metal belongings from where I'd tossed them: glasses, earrings, the pole of the double paddle.

I set out on the water again, again using only the blades, one in each hand, one on either side of the boat, to paddle. There was still too much thunder and lightning nearby for me to want to be flashing a metal rod over my head. I don't know that any of my safeguards actually make any difference--I'm going to learn about that before my next storm chase--but I was doing what I could.

It was one damn long dog-paddle before I could even see the paved ramp where I'd left my car. And by the time I got there it was too dark wearing my prescription sunglasses to see anything at all. But the water was deliciously warm, and I found myself talking to it, every few times I dug a blade in, almost as if it were a pet: "nice warm water, such nice water." It felt as delicious as the shawl of air. Good thing: because if I paused in my paddling for a second, I slid backwards fast. The wind was not going my way.

By the time I made it back to the put-in ramp and was onshore deflating The Boat, packing it in the trunk of my car, I was shivering all over, ready for towels and a hot shower and more towels. And I was enjoying a strong sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, in spite of the basic dumbness of the escapade.

This morning, the day after my adventure, I drove across one of the lake bridges coming into town and thought: "My lake." I felt as if we'd spent a night together, this body of water and I. And we very nearly did.

I'd spent afternoons on or beside this lake before, but never so memorably, or to such effect. This trip melted me into the place, and brought back another location where I'd been so connected before.

When I was a kid, I had this kind of lying-in-the-wet-dirt intimacy with my whole neighborhood on Mimosa Place, knew how the grass grew under the drip line of the Lynch's roof, and could draw precise maps of the major branches of a lot of the trees. It's been a long time since I've had that cell-to-cell connection, even though I'm a gardener and love the plot I raggedly cultivate.

I'm glad to rediscover that deep earth-to-human infrastructure, to remember it exists. When it's active it feels like a combo of raw storm energy and puppy affection, born of nothing but intense prolonged close-up attention to the place and dependence on knowing those details. I didn't know I'd missed that feeling. A funny thing to rediscover on an Independence Day weekend.

What I did know, while I was out there, was that I was going to relish telling this story.



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Making Waves

Out in my kayak on Jordan Lake on Sunday, I made several dozen efforts to shoot a picture of a wave.

This is not an ocean wave. It's a lake wave on a fairly calm day; mostly it's wake from a motorboat. But up close from a little rubber boat, such waves can look and feel pretty impressive.

Which is how it is with making waves in daily life. Moments of unaccustomed speaking up can seem huge, disruptive. But the water does calm down again.

Water movement in a pond can make life better there; keeps it from getting stagnant.

(Speaking of appearances, the water in this lake is more blue-brown than cerulean most of the time. I didn't see it as this blue when I was taking this picture. And I didn't enhance the color of the photo with my computer. Just a bit of kayaking magic, I guess.)

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Getting Up Off the Sofa

Went out kayaking today before hitting the computer, and now I feel wonderful. Those disciplined souls who get themselves to run in the mornings are on to something; they do get their reward for popping/dragging out of bed early.

This was my first "serious" paddle of the season. I did go out once in boots and raingear before it was warm enough to plant, but then when gardening weather started, I decided to specialize and have spent my spare time in the dirt. But as of June 1, tomorrow, there's no point in planting anything in North Carolina; too hot.

Perfect time to break out my little inflatable Bold Boat and hit bright, sunny Jordan Lake under a gorgeous sky. A lot of sailboats were out. The whole scene looked happy. And now I have the triple endorphin rush of having exercised, been outdoors, and been on the water.

I need to remember such moments in a visceral way in order to get myself into motion again next weekend. Because even fun things can take some effort, some wrestling with equipment, etc.

Lake/boat pictures to come, BTW

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Go To the Trouble to Have an Adventure

A few years back I realized that I'm sometimes too lazy to do the little things that would make me more comfortable. Like get out of bed and get a quilt. Or turn on another light, or get a tool I need. Because it's just easier not to stir myself.

At that point I started telling myself: go to the trouble to get comfortable. It's really worth the effort involved.

This week I was driving home from work a little early, it was still light. Passing Jordan Lake, I realized that if I pulled over, I could inflate my kayak, which was in my trunk, and take it for a sunset spin. So what that my work clothes would get wet; they were washable.

So I took the trouble, paddled out on the glassy lake for about a half hour, and came in feeling as if I'd had a week's vacation. It had taken fifteen minutes of effort to get the boat out and pumped up. Well worth the "trouble," even for such a wee adventure. I mean to remind myself of that when I'm feeling like not bothering.




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Getting High School Dropouts to Save the World

Van Jones, described as "a genius from the hood," is founder of an environmental group called Green For All. He is aiming to "'green the ghetto.'" A New Yorker article shows him giving a talk to a group of high school dropouts gathered in a public library.

"'I love Barack Obama,' he said. 'I'd pay money just to shine the brother's shoes. But I'll tell you this. Do you hear me? One man is not going to save us. I don't care who that man is. He's not going to save us.And, in fact, if you want to be real about this--can y'all take it?I'm going to be real with y'all. Not only is Barack Obama not going to be able to save you--you are going to have to save Barack Obama.'"

What he's saying is: help "the brother" save the economy and the planet. He needs you. Everybody needs you. And you can prosper and flourish in the process.

Jones goes on to say: "'The challenge is making this an everybody movement,...that kid on the street corner putting down his handgun, picking up a caulk gun."

I have to say, I'd be happy to shine this brother's shoes, especially if he pulls it off. He's using the energy of support for Obama in people who've rarely cared who the president is to take on global warming, poverty, delinquency, apathy, and crime, all in one swoop. Bold and brilliant!


Addenda: The photo's from my sunset paddle out on NC's Jordan Lake yesterday.

Obama has appointed Jones special advisor for green jobs, enterprise and innovation.

Jones's book is The Green Collar Economy.

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In Lazy Memory of Bold Soldiers

So I boldly took the long weekend of Memorial Day off. And didn't even blog. That's a serious matter, like not checking e-mail, which I didn't do either.

It was startlingly easy, for one who is prone to overwork a bit and delay vacation time. I've often found that to be true with making leaps, both small and large. Once I get started, I'm puzzled why I ever hesitated.

Anyway, I did a bit of gardening for three days in a row, the last weekend that in my area that can be relied upon not to swelter.

And I took my little inflatable kayak over to nearby Jordan Lake and paddled for an hour, saw a couple of herons at water's edge. Circled a small island that during last summer's drought was attached to the shore by a long ribbon of sand.

And read. And did laundry. And hung out with my husband and a friend. And saw a movie. And ate at the admirable Watts Grocery in Durham.

When I showed up at my office building this morning, one of the upstairs tenants said, "You look rested." And I got a whole lot of work done today.

So, no downsides to this particular wee variation in the usual. When such small changes can take a booster rocket of energy to bring about, it's hard to imagine the kind of steady boldness required of the soldiers we memorialized this holiday weekend.


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Bold Recovery

My husband Bob would like everyone to know that he was very sensitive and thoughtful in his celebration of my recent birthday. This is to counter the few lines of iffy publicity he received here after his BOLD choice of a 25th anniversary present was not well received. (This happens sometimes with bold choices.)

Anyway, he has celebrated my 60th over several days, culminating last night, after I thought the celebration over, with the one-woman little inflatable kayak I'd been longing for. I am thrilled! I'm keeping the big photo on the box in front of me until it's warm enough to launch comfortably. Yay, Bob! Here I come, Jordan Lake!

Bob demonstrated great gift-boldness-gone-awry behavior. Terrific recovery!




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Odd Things

Innovation is little more than old things put to new uses, or elements combined in new ways.

Recently my office partner Carrie Knowles picked up a piece of curved transparent plastic from the floor near my desk. It turned out to be the handle I'd cut off of the floor protector under my desk chair, no longer needed once the plastic square was in place.

I said: hand it to me, I'll throw it away.

She said: No, I can make something out of this.

Thus began my collection of "odd things." In recent weeks, for Carrie's art, I've been saving the weird bits of stuff that I'd always looked twice and hated to dump but didn't have a use for.

Lots of these items have been unidentifiable; no one would have guessed that that plastic curve was a cut-off handle from a floor protector. This latest batch is mostly items that are recognizable. I'm particularly proud of that big-eyed fishing lure, which I found in the woods near neighboring Jordan Lake. I would have also had trouble throwing away the wonderfully deep divider from a box of jelly beans.

Now these items are on their way to becoming art supplies. I already saw what Carrie did with a sack of corks I sent her way. She cut them lengthwise into thin layers and used them as stamps for printmaking. These cork-stamps produce very interesting patterns.

Thinking of junk as art resources has done at least as much for my way of seeing as it has done for Carrie's store of useful odd things.

Altered Intersection is a site you might like to visit, "...where thrift store scores, found objects, and natural materials come together."

Looking at this kind of art helps loosen up my brain.



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The Power of Each Pair of Hands

At a cleanup at North Carolina's Jordan Lake (near my house) a few weeks ago, about 50 volunteers picked up trash over a period of 4.5 hours. (Previous post title: So Glad I Did)

The results: 110 old tires and roughly 250 large bags of trash.

The bold move: getting out there when you might think lots of people are going and two more hands won't make all that much difference.

The pictures are from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, which organized the effort and grilled hotdogs afterwards.





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So Glad I Did

So-glad-I-did is a category of activities that I don't really want to plan and, when the time comes, I don't really want to stir myself to do, and then I get there and have a wonderful time and I'm so glad...

This morning was one of those: a lakeshore cleanup. I live near Jordan Lake, a large many-armed body of water in central NC. I regularly paddle my little inflatable kayak there in warm weather, and gaze fondly upon these waters from the bridge several times a week.

So, when I saw the notice asking for volunteers to pick up trash along the wooded shore today, it seemed a natural for me to take part. Yesterday I wasn't in the mood. (And had a better offer.)

But sticking with the original plan, I got out there in my rubber boots and gloves and picked up thousands of tiny bits of styrofoam and slivers of plastic, as well as bottles, a bike tire, fishing lures, lots of cigar filters, and one syringe, which I first took for a thermometer. There were about 50 of us toting Hefty bags and a motorboat taking the filled bags back to a landing.

The amassed trash after 4.5 hours of gathering would have filled a small barge.

And now at midday, after such a productive and invigorating morning, I feel great.

What's always amazing is that that good feeling is such a surprise, because I'm coauthor of a book on this subject: The Healing Power of Doing Good, written with Allan Luks. The whole point of the book is that doing a good turn helps the health and well-being of the doer.

You'd think I'd remember.

Having the mental category of so-glad-I-did helps me override the impulse to stay in my usual routine. And that impulse is unnervingly strong.

The morning did have its humbling aspect, though. When I got back to the central trash-bag location, I discovered that somewhere out there in the woods, I'd lost my sunglasses. Left them for someone on the next trash detail to pick up and high-mindedly think: how could anybody toss litter so cavalierly?

Still, I'm glad I got out there.




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I'm Giving Some New Workshops

It's once again time for a bit of boldly shameless self-promotion. Here's my flyer for one Saturday afternoon class and three separate Friday lunchtime sessions. If the Raleigh-Chapel Hill area is in reach for you, I hope you'll consider coming to one or more:


I'm offering a new half-day workshop for anyone interested in writing. This class -- and the lunch-time meetings described below -- are based on my experience as author of books from three major publishers, as well as articles for many national magazines and most of the major American newspapers.

Dig A Book Idea Out of What You Already Know

This four-hour Saturday class will focus on nonfiction books, and include:

*How to look at your expertise (hobbyist or pro) as a book resource
*How to formulate and develop an idea
*Basics of the book proposal
*Info on resources to help you proceed

The class will be held at my home (in the woods beside a pond) near Jordan Lake in Chatham County.

March 21 1-5 p.m. $65
Maximum of 20 participants



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Writing Business Lunches

During the month of March, I’m holding three Friday lunch-time meetings in my downtown Raleigh office, with up to seven participants in each. You’re invited to attend any one or two, or all three.

The topics:

The business of writing nonfiction books. March 13

Literary agents March 20

Getting started writing a novel March 27

Fee: $35 each

The format: Each of these is entirely devoted to a question-and-answer session. Bring your questions on the particular topic, and I’ll do my best to answer them on the spot. Other participants often have useful info to contribute as well.

The time: 12:30 to 1:30. Bring your sack lunch and drink with you, if you like. The office is smallish. It'll be cosy and companionable, which makes networking even easier.

Location: 410 Morson Street in Raleigh’s Oakwood.

My background: I'm author of the novels Sister India (a New York Times Notable Book) and Revelation, co-author of the nonfiction book The Healing Power of Doing Good (a Literary Guild pick). I also wrote a book on Tanner Companies and the Doncaster clothing company. My books have been published in five countries. I've written for More Magazine, Travel+Leisure, Ms. Magazine, Family Circle, Cosmopolitan, etc., as well as The New York Times, The Washington Post and most of the major American newspapers. I spent a semester teaching fiction at Duke as a Scholar-in-Residence, and given classes or talks at locations including the NC Center for the Advancement of Teaching, Auburn Seminary in New York, Banaras Hindu University in India, Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church, Rancho La Puerta in Mexico, and others.

For more information on my writing and my manuscript consultation services for writers, please visit my website.

The fine print: For the Saturday workshop, I need check and confirmation in advance. I refund for cancellations only if I have someone waiting for the space. For the lunch sessions, I need confirmation in advance, and require payment for any cancellations later than 24 hours before the meeting. Do ask me, if you have any questions.

If you'd like to sign up now for the Saturday workshop, please mail your contact info and check to me at 410 Morson St., Raleigh, NC 27601. For the lunches, simply email me your confirmation. And if none of this fits into your schedule, do come back to this blog and visit again.

Thanks. I hope this is useful to you and/or any of your writer friends or students.

Peggy






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Hypnosis at My House on Friday

This is a plug for the wonders of my magical husband. A clinical psychologist, Bob teaches self-hypnosis in an all-day seminar at our house about every three months. This quarter's "all-day," as we call it, is this Friday at our log cabin beside a pond in the woods.

Participants learn to use self-hypnosis for whatever purpose they choose: enhancing creativity, managing pain, improving focus, dealing with emotions, or who-knows-what else. I've been to a couple of these one-day classes myself; the day after the first one, I started Revelation, my first published novel.

If you're going to be anywhere near the Chapel Hill/Jordan Lake area of North Carolina and are interested, call Bob Dick at 919 215-4703 for info. It's a bold step toward your goal.


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