Little Mouse on the Prairie

Yesterday, I got a lesson in kayaking. Like most students, when the subject interests me, I'm capable of paying attention for great swaths of time. Fifteen, twenty minutes, if required.

Yesterday's lesson unfolded over the span of an hour, beginning with loading the kayaks and equipment in my friend's car and securing them with various cinches and bungee cords. Winding around Holmes Lake, where the sun was pondering a late-afternoon nap while the wind was just waking up, I was surprised at how many other kayaks dotted the landscape.

Mary Ann and I headed to the backside of the lake, where a family of fishermen stood near the reedy banks that abutted the golf course. Ours would be the only kayaks on this portion of the lake, alee of the wind's full force.

I needed a few hundred yards of water to figure out how to maneuver the thing, but Mary Ann was a patient teacher, and a good role model, to boot. Soon, I was sluicing through the water, still a bit clumsy but infinitely quieter in my motions.

If a person can lollygag in a kayak, that's what we did, hugging the grassy banks, lazily chasing an overworked muskrat, holding our collective breath as we moved in on a family of blue-winged teals. A lone blue heron (are there any other kinds?) gracefully landed in a pine on the near bank, where he watched us for the better part of an hour, until we shooed him from his perch, if only to see his massive wings in action.

It's pretty obvious to me that I'm a better student out of doors than behind the walls of some building. I can't recall once in my 49 years when my head has bounced with fatigue when fresh air and sunlight are my classroom. Take my women's retreat at the monastery last weekend.

Ambling through the slow hills towards Schuyler, it was obvious I was in for a treat. When we finally turned into the monastery's lane, I was not disappointed by what I saw--a beautiful building tucked into grassy hills and accented by a calm lake.

The weekend was terrific, especially the time we spent outdoors or getting to know each other. Inside, where the hard work of learning took place, I fell back into my role of middling student, not bright enough to quite "get" the material, fidgety as I wondered what natural wonders were revealing themselves just outside those walls.

Perhaps it would have been better for me if they'd just opened the doors, pointed to the prairie and said: "See you in two hours. Let me know what you learn."

Such are the lessons I find outdoors, infinite in their creativity, clever and beautiful in their delivery.