I slipped into a kayak this morning and rather than paddle two miles north into the islands, decided to turn the bend round our point and search the shallows closer to home.

It is there that the old stumps remind me once again that this water was once land until it was dammed back in the early 1800s. The stumps have given way to gardens and I have to wonder about the age of the mosses and plants that call them home.

In a water garden below the stumps, fragrant water lilies added grace.

And within, they offered a feast for those who foraged.

Nearby was evidence of another foraging expedition. It didn’t bode well for the young bird that sacrificed its life, but I suspect a larger bird gained a few jules of energy.

Everywhere I turned, there was another garden to inspect.

And friends to meet, be they spiders . . .

dragonhunter exoskeletons . . .

or meadowhawks.

Among my favorites were the sundews and I watched several insects approach a spatulate-leaved bent down to the water.

Among the spatulates, another showed its face–the round-leaved sundew standing tall above its family members.

As I continued to swoon over those beauties, a different color caught my attention.

As still as could be, a pickerel frog posed and waited . . . I suppose for me to move on.

Eventually I did, and then I met a large male bullfrog–its external eardrum or tympanum larger than its eye. This guy was certainly all ears. 😉 (The female’s eardrum is about the same size as the eye). He sat in wait . . .

while a young bullfrog of two or three years tried to hide about eighteen inches away. A bullfrog is a carnivore and while its diet consists of crayfish, water beetles, snails and dragonfly larvae, they also dine on fish, small turtles, young water birds . . . and other frogs. Beware little friend.

For a while another bullfrog and I took a stab at a starring contest. He won.

Again I moved on and at last found one of the reasons I headed around the corner. I’d been  wondering about beaver works in this area–and found a scent mound that looked rather fresh.

Across the way was the lodge–that’s been in place since I’ve frequented Moose Pond, which means for just over thirty years.

I noticed that the beavers have their own kitchen garden from which to choose–and poking out from it were a variety of sticks. Which ones came from our property? And how many more will be added in October, for I know that’s when they’ll come shopping.

Finally, it was time to head back out of the cove to our humble abode on the point.

It was there that I would finally join my guy for some time in our  rocking chairs.

Propinquity.