Reflections on Water

Spread Eagle, Wisconsin is the destination of my Midwest travels. Tucked away like a good secret, it is not on most maps. I like it that way. This particular detail makes it like an oasis, a hidden kingdom, a hideaway safe from probing tourist eyes. The drawback is the inability to explain its magic to anyone, especially without a point on the map to reference. It is a long running joke with my friends, the fact that the cheesy connotation of Wisconsin does not leave much room for beauty and adventure. For years people have dutifully asked me of my two week stay here, counting down the minutes until they can recall Paris, Madrid, Prague. Can a small unknown town in the U.P. compete with such worldly destinations? I say absolutely—it’s all about where you look.

The stunning sights of Wisconsin lie right at my doorstep. Well, pretty much. I run at full speed down a flight of stairs first, at which point I reach the dock that stretches out into one of a chain of nine lakes. It is from this dock that I have gained my most valued sunset memories. On this dock I sit for hours talking with family that stops by, splashing my brother, waving to friendly cheese-eating Wisconsin people riding by in boats. I maneuver not the crowded streets of a European city, but of my mind. I watch as fireworks explode right over my head, shot from an island within swimming distance from our house. The light is almost close enough to touch.

This year I decided to take on kayaking. I started off kayaking with others, dragging groggy relatives out of bed early in the morning. I was awed by the Salvador Dali-like reflections frozen on the surface of the water. There’s a certain still, silent beauty to a world with no one awake. And it is a privilege to be the first to move, to awaken the lake with the gentle waves of a paddle. But I still had the sense that there was more to be found. So I woke up at 4:30 to kayak into the sunrise.

I may have settled for the fog that lingered like ghosts on the water. I was grateful for the golden scratches in the light blue sky, trajectories above and below me. But the world showed me all it had. The fog was illuminated with light, and the sun was bigger than I have ever seen. It had more of a presence, more stories to tell. And those stories penetrated in rays through the island I circled. It was so bright I could not look for long. I imagine that is what my heaven will look like, so I was only allowed a sneak peak. A bald eagle flew above me, thrusting itself into the first light above the tree line. As a writer, it is a big deal to be lost for words, and for the first time I was.

After coming home to Colorado, I was at a party and asked how Wisconsin was. Immediately after, a guest asked another guest about his experience in Spain’s Running of the Bulls. As the two circles of conversation converged, a light chuckle broke out. It appeared I had been upstaged. What a pity, I thought. They had just missed out on the story of the single most miraculous experience in my life. And unlike Paris, Madrid, Prague, it’s not a point on the map. It’s a point in the heart.