4 minute read

Lake Padden Soliloquy

Story by Judy Johnston

It’s chilly here this morning, unlike the recent fall day I was inspired to walk around Lake Padden. It had been months since my last complete loop, but I was determined to give it a go, it being such a beautiful day and all.

I parked above the swimming area and headed off, my trusty walking stick as my companion. Why not start with Heart Attack hill? Approaching this challenge, I was treated to vistas across the lake to the Chuckanut Hills including a kayaker slipping silently beyond the shore, a picturesque snapshot on the sun-sparkled water. Then, the hill. One step at a time as I began to recall the many times I ran this route.

Cresting the hill, a group of laughing, chatting ladies walked by; a moment of envy at their companionship and fun.

And then the deeper woods. Oh, I’d forgotten how majestic the wise old trees are, how fresh the glades slipping off the path, fern strewn. A feeling of peace, of being unhurried, of refreshment settled around me. Stopping to give homage, I place my hands on gnarled bark…the message was quite clear: “I’ve been here for hundreds of years, draw on my strength and shed the worry, the clutter, the sadness: life will flow on.” I got a sense of permission to take my time, sit when I wanted to, breathe, reflect and drink in the scents of pine and cedar, sun warmed.

But I continued on. Several dog walkers, buggy pushers and joggers passed with a friendly response to my masked greeting, a pleasant sense of community. Sunlight pierced through the colored leaves as well as the lofty fir and cedar and it felt good to crunch through the fall detritus. Rounding a bend, another hill —up and then down, reminding me of cross-country skiing here on a cold winter day, and the exhilaration of a challenging bike ride or two. And oh! Another memory of a solitary walk during a high wind, the trees flaying their arms as if to tell me: Watch out! Limbs could come down! Recalling the moaning of the wind as it whipped through huge branches and pushed me along brought a smile to my soul.

I sat on one of the many memorial benches, enjoyed a refreshing drink and reveled in not needing to hurry…no one awaiting me, no schedule to keep. It was around this half-way point when Jim and I had walked together that I’d joke, “this walk is just too long, I think I’ll go back.” He heard it more than once and indulged my attempt at humor. How many times had we walked this path together? He often stopped to pick up pinecones and interesting small pieces of wood, each a treasure in his eyes, while I, sometimes impatient, waited to walk on.

Continuing, I caught glimpse after glimpse of more views of the lake through leafy frames. And now, the curve in the downward path revealing the baseball fields, more people enjoying this lovely place. I sit again watching the ducks waddle around hoping for a handout, the drake guarding his less lovely mate. The playground, usually alight with the laughter of playing children and their happy parents, now Covidquiet, a bit forlorn. A memory of being here a year or so ago with my granddaughter Kaila, her tiny hand in mine as she said she was glad I was with her and then skipping off to play.

And on I go, the home stretch. The seat where Jim and I used to sit, especially in his final years of being at home. Quiet talk, mutual appreciation of the sights, sounds and fragrances around us. A gentle communion. Seeing a few fishermen, I remembered several years of OPENING DAY OF FISHING: My husband, the biologist who planted this lake and dozens of others with nice fat trout hungry for a fly or a worm. A couple of way-too-early-risings to take my energetic young son David and his best buddy Jaimie for a first crack at fishing, their enthusiasm better than coffee to get me going. Another time with my aging dad, excited to the point where he lost his pole during a cast. We caught a few fish that day and he, childlike, reveled in every moment.

Now the blackberry stretch where motor sounds invade the quiet; hurried souls off to do something important. A mother with her toddler paddling in the shallows, a few companionable groups and an occasional solo walker, sometimes in deep contemplation. Dogs, sunshine, and oh, for goodness sake, a handsome older gentleman attired in running shoes, lapping me. I had noticed him the first time he passed and nearly let out a “whoo hooo!”, my version of a teenage whistle, maturity and restraint—however limited—winning out. I watched him jog on.

Then the steep steps and there’s my SUV, old friend, a welcome sight to my aging legs and hips. But also with a lift of spirit and a bit of pride. I did it!

This place, this Lake Padden: my challenge, sprit lifter, refuge, a place to cry.

A store house of memories, hopefully with more to come.

ANW

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