The roadside ditches were full of roses.
They were truly beautiful.
I pointed the roses out to my daughter the other day when we driving along on country roads on a perfectly tranquil summer day. The countryside was lovely, so full of colour, of lush greens and blues, it made one grateful for the sense of sight.
“Look at the roses,” I said, my voice tinged with amazement because I’m like that.
I get amazed over things like shy pink roses that dot our roadside ditches.
“What roses?” she said, perplexed.
I had to forgive her, of course, because she was driving and, to top it all off, she was pulling a boat trailer behind the car. She didn’t want to pull the boat trailer, but as it turned out, I wanted to pull it even less, so the task fell to her.
It turns out the family had purchased a boat. No a fancy boat, or even a new boat, but simply a boat. They planned to use this boat to launch themselves into a summer filled with hours of fun in the water.
In their minds they visualized water-skiing, wake boarding, tubing and just lots of fun. Their laughter would bounce of the waves and be reflected in the dazzling sunshine.
Unfortunately, none of that has happened as of yet.
For one thing, it has rained. And rained! And if it has not rained, the wind has turned the lake into an angry, frothing monster.
And, then there is the boat itself. It ran, but not well. It did not seem to have the horse-power to pull a skier up out of the water.
Anyway, that all changed Sunday.
For a few brief hours, sunshine, in all its glory , decided to make an appearance and the wind, for once, decided to do the disappearing act.
And so the family decided to try again.
The boat is in our driveway, which makes perfect sense because our driveway is the closest driveway to the lake.
It is squished in there, with my husband’s truck and my SUV also laying claim to space, but somehow we made it fit.
Getting into anyone of the vehicles is a bit difficult, but with a little sly maneuvering, it can be done.
My daughter and her husband were going to take out the boat themselves Sunday due to its unpredictability and also that of the weather, but somehow I ended up tagging along.
I got to be the spotter. A spotter is important. Very important.
A spotter is someone who watched when a skier wipes out which is when they yell “she’s down,” to the driver who immediately stops the boat or reverses it or does whatever needs to be done so the poor skier can get out of the freezing water.
And so Sunday I was the spotter.
It was cold out there in the boat. And there was a menacing cloud to the south playing hide and seek with sun.
But, for a few fleeting moments the lake was like glass, (well, sort of like glass) and the temperature hovered slightly above the teens which is a plus, especially this summer.
My daughter lowered herself slowly into the ice cubes that had somehow formed into a lake despite her husband’s urging to hurry up, that the storm was coming. Finally she yelled ‘hit it’ and in one quick moment in time she was up and flying.
It was cool. It was amazing, actually. I cheered and clapped and we took videos and all was well.
But, then she patted the top of her head which in water skiing language means ‘I’m done, get me out of this freezing water.”
“She’s done,” I yelled and my son-in-law changed gears so fast I almost went flying out of the boat to join my daughter in the lake.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
And then, racing against the ominous black cloud overhead we headed to shore and loaded up the boat which is an entirely new story about frustration, patience and dogged determination.
And that’s when the mother of all storms lambasted us. There would be no dancing in this rain, no siree, this rain was torrential, and to make matters worse, mother nature, cruel woman that she is, decided to throw a little hail into the mix.
It was quite horrible actually, but we arrived home safely, if somewhat shaken.
And now I’m thinking about the afternoon and the storm and that one sweet moment in time when the roadside ditches were filled with roses, pink, delicate roses, perfect and undisturbed.
It was, for sure, the lull before the storm.
And a reminder to be grateful for the little things that, so often, go unnoticed along the way.