Saturday was a heavy chore day, which sucked, but getting everything done on Saturday meant we opened Sunday to goof off. The sky was clear, the leaves are falling, and we wanted to be out on the water. My husband put the paddleboards on the car while I collected wetsuits and towels, and we drove the half hour to our nearest lake.
This was the second time I wore my new wetsuit this season, and given how little time I actually spent in the water (read: none), it was a little too warm a day for a full wetsuit. About halfway through the paddle, I pulled the top down and the arms flapped free at my waist.
The day was glorious. It was just what I needed after a busy work week and the frantic planning for a last minute trip to New York City to take our daughter to see Harry Styles next weekend. The air was the crisp of late October, and a stiff breeze brought out the pretty white sails of sailboats.
Crunchy leaves floated on the lake’s surface in the coves we poked into. I saw two mallard ducks in a quiet, empty part of the lake — a brown and white female, and a male with his shimmering, peacock blue-green head — dunking their heads under the water with their butts in the air. I admired saffron-colored trees against the crystalline blue sky. I watched leaves fall gently down.
I wore booties on my feet to launch and recover so I wouldn’t have to step on the slippery boat ramp or wince as I walked on gravel, but I took them off to paddle. I feel more steady when the soles of my feet make direct contact with my paddleboard. My husband jumped into the lake when he got hot. Even with a wetsuit on, I wasn’t up for that. Instead, when I got hot, I slipped my paddle under the bungee, sat on my board, and dangled my bare feet off the side into the icy lake.