Tales from the Hermitage:
Lino Cut by Bill Stark
In long open shimmering leads, lazy cat paws stretched in soft rippling bands across the mirrored lake. It was like mother nature absentmindedly doodling, and concentrating her main weather patterns elsewhere. It was during theses easy summer days that I wallowed in the warm lake building the dock. The dock had become my dream platform, and apart from being cool and free of bugs, dreaming was my main purpose for building it. It certainly wasn’t because I was expecting company, however company did show up in the form of a young Black Bear.
The dock had to be utilitarian in design and purpose, without flash and squared corners. Many things had to be taken into consideration, such as stability, strength and stealth. It could not draw attention to my position from the air, nor could it look man made and squared edged. All it had to do was provide a stable docking station for dream ships to tie up to. Although simple in idea. With my limited resources, tools and hardware it took some lengthly hard thought. However, as it turned out I wasn't the only one pleased with the end result.
Chopping down and getting the main float trees to the sight was straight forward enough,just lots of simple brute slugging. I felled two of them miles from my beach, and another two came from my same bay. I gathereed others alreadt flaoting about, andI simply towed them back with the canoe. Then it was just a simple matter of binding them together and anchoring it.
Plagued with bugs, sweat, and some tears as I assembled it, all I had to do for relief was sit out on the end of it in a breeze. Life was basic, simple and free once the dock was secured in place. The long deck slats were split young alder, then hewn flat and laid lengthways and tacked along the logs. Covereing the holding cross planks, they bounced and slapped up shoots of water between the cracks. Crude, sturdy and not at all tippy, it served us fine. Until many years later it was ripped apart by a succession of heavy storms. It could not resemble the typical cottage dock, with cross planks tacked neatly in a row. Although, I was greatly tempted to take that easier softer route, but later decided against it.
I took the time and effort to hand drill mortise holes through all the logs in four equally divided lengths along the logs. Then I lashed them all together, making sure each log end extended in unequal lengths from its neighbor. Trying to make it look from the air, somewhat like a ragged but natural driftwood pile. But in actual fact it was sturdy and quite functional, and to my eye beautiful.
The over hanging planks floated just high enough to make the most exquisite lapping sounds underneath when you waked on it or when spring zephyrs played with it. The wondrous sounds never failed to send waves of delight through my entire being. It was heaven on earth. And if everyone had one, there would be peace on earth.
It qickly became the resting place and feeding platform for sleepy mergansers, and playfull otters. Later when I was able to fashion out a rude adirondack chair, a young black bear came and sat in it. I couldb't be sure but it looked to be dreaming out there on the end of the dock? I first noticed it sniffing around the beach one day, then it began to explore my workmanship. It may have been around spying on us long before we became awear of it, and gradually built up nerve? It seemed suspicious of the whole business but at the same time intrigued. I kept Zibby, my frisky Jack Russell indoors so that the bear could explore the dock unfettered. Eventually it made its way out to the end carefully sniffing and checking every minute detail along the way. Then to my astonished eyes it climbed up onto the chair and after some sniffing and posturing it slumped down into the chair. It sat there like an old man quietly contemplating the far shores. I wondered if it had been watching me sitting out there, and if it was simply copying me? Like it had been envious and wanted to try it. It was the weirdest vision I think I had ever seen. It sat there for over an hour and I do believe it was dreaming like would so often do? It left, and ocassonaly I'd catch a glimps of his big ears peeking over a bush. The followig evenging he came back and sat it the chair again. This time it stayed for the whole evening until I had to leave the cabin. Then it fled in a strange sort of panic as if it didn't know I was there? I was sure it knew we were near by, but one can never know the mind of an animal. Sadly, I never saw him again after that.
Cord was the only thing here in great supply. There was so much of it that I was able to weave a reasonable length of rope, that I used as a line out to secure a large rock. That although had to be replaced from time to time served to keep the dock pointing out and from drifting around.
Many hours are spent sitting and dreaming on it, and it doesn’t burden me with upkeep tasks or responsibilities. Making no demands, I’m left unfettered to dream. You wont find one rubber tire, plastic chair or barbeque gracing its float. Nor will you see hideous plastic peddle tubs, bouncing against rubber fenders polluting the crystal clear waters.
Its there that I start my day shrouded in quiet mist with hot coffee and loon laughter. The high noon sun weaved intricate wavy patterns on the sandy bottom below, as fat headed skulpens fin about enjoying the shade. I spent much time sitting and dreaming on it, and to this day if ever I need a quick place to go to relieve stress, it’s here that I come in my mind. My dream dock nestled in lily pads and guarded by dragonflies, haunts me.
Bill Stark
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