When despair for the world grows in me / and I wake in the night at the least sound / in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, / I go and lie down where the wood drake / rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. / I come into the peace of wild things / who do not tax their lives with forethought / of grief. I come into the presence of still water. / And I feel above me the day-blind stars / waiting with their light. For a time / I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. – Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things And Other Poems (Penguin, 2018).
I read Tom Lake. I should see Swan Lake. I have seen the Great Salt Lake. I remember Ricki Lake. There’s a British steeplechaser named Iona Lake (what a terrific name). For a few more days, I live in a town named Green Lake. It is my favorite lake so far.
Green Lake is a cool little place. It is four miles from Ripon, which is where I work and will live, and it boasts a population of 1,001. (I like to think the 1 is just for me.) But, in the summer, the population of Green Lake explodes. The “Travel Wisconsin” website explains why:
Visit the deepest lake in Wisconsin and the welcoming city on its shore. Located in the central region of the state, the outdoor recreational opportunities here are endless. Fish for trout and walleye, paddle, hike or bike the 27 miles of pristine shoreline, and stay a while with your crew to experience all the area has to offer. Relax after a long day of adventures at one of the resorts and spas and be sure to take a swing at one of the four scenic golf courses.
Not your typical tiny town. Bottom line: I’m not roughing it.
Growing up poor, we never went to “the lake” like many of our more affluent friends, but growing up in deep church culture, I recall the tsk-tsking of church members who I understood needed to spend less time at “the lake” and pay more attention to regular church attendance. Who knew that poverty could actually be a built-in advantage in the eyes of the Lord? I’m quickly learning now what I was missing then.
I have enjoyed several early morning runs along the lake here, listening to its gentle gurgle, the yawning chirps from the trees, and the occasional splash somewhere nearby, while seeing lazy birds glide by alone, an occasional squawking duck, and the wild turkeys trot clumsily across the road. And I have enjoyed a lovely meal with friends at a popular restaurant here, relaxing at the fire pit together while waiting for a table, watching dark clouds roll across the sky. And I have enjoyed watching the day end at Sunset Park here with a boater returning to shore for the evening, the sun painting the horizon with lavender and salamander brushes, and an elderly couple joining me in awe.
I hear that the winter is a little different, with an average high of 26 degrees and the activities transformed into ice fishing and ice skating, snowmobiling and snowshoeing, skiing and sledding. I may be crazy, but I think that sounds lovely, too.
Why is life at the lake so special? The word peaceful comes to mind. And Wendell Berry’s poem seems to capture it best: somehow, mystical though it may be, it is a magical place of still water that moves you from disturbed despair to rest, grace, and freedom.
I’m just thinking about it all today. And the thought occurred to me: When you sense despair someday, and odds are that it could happen, you might remember to visit a lake. Even if it is on a Sunday.
Starting to Look Up 