Row,Row, Row Your Boat Down the BLEEPING Stream....

"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance."
~Bern Williams~

I love the water.

I grew up on the beach, and feel calm and at home whenever I'm near the water, whether it's a lake, ocean or stream.  Sometimes I'm just grateful for a bathtub full of water!

This year, in an effort to regain my sanity and get away from the four, sweat-sticky walls of the gym I had been avoiding for months, I decided to take up a water sport. What better way to shake off the winter blahs and celebrate our great Canadian summer?

I thought I would start out easy, you know, a beginner team of lady paddlers. We all come out to socialize, but we also all enjoy it because our cute little 20-something coach pushes us just enough to make it feel like we've worked our matronly buns. I give him credit. He's a serious paddler, and I believe we were sent to teach him patience.

Tonight, as in every paddling night, we were called to do our drills; up and down the boat, hard strokes, pausing, technique, boat positions.  Paddles clashed, swells flooded the boat, water was tossed up by faltering strokes, and arms and backs were banged in the process. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Each week, we get together and paddle our little hearts out for an hour.  As the weather has morphed  from a cold, wet, windy April  to full bloom June, we have witnessed nature dress in her summer finery.  Even though we were having a good workout, I couldn't help but wonder at the willows and maples on the river bank. The word pastoral comes to mind.

I felt like I was in a classic painting somewhere. There were ducks and ducklings puttering along the bank. Canadian geese and goslings formed an orderly line headed north up the river while gulls flew overheard.  There were paddlers and rowers sharing the waterway, and as the sun came to rest further on the horizon, the scene was absolutely breathtaking.

As I set up over the water to "hit!", the beauty of it all fell in line with my technique, and all of the stress of the day was washed away with each stroke.  Boy was I happy to be there. 

And then it happened. Behind me I heard, "Have an eye!"

silence

"HAVE AN EYE!"

and then the more panicked and less proper, "WATCH OUT!"

The sound of scraping and low screeching preceded my view of the small collision, as the lone rower careened into the side of our boat,  his oar striking my teammates at the front of the boat, and finally, under some semblance of control, scraping down the length.

"What the f@(k are you doing?!" the foul-mouthed rower yelled to our cute little coach,"Get out of the f@(k^g  way! You're supposed to be on the f@(k!^g right! " This from the man who had taken up centre stage in the river weaving a suture-like baseball stitch in the water.

"I'm sorry. We were stopped, and I wasn't sure whether you were going left or right." our coach said, rather politely under such f-bombing rapid fire.

"F@(k YOU!" our neighbour from the rowing club expleted emphatically as he buried both oars in the water and carried on up the center of the river.

Dude. Not cool. Dropping the f-bomski on a group of 20 women is NOT proper river etiquette.

"It gets like this," our coach said, as we "took it away" for one last five minute ladder of paddling.

It gets like this.

Yes, yes it does. It gets like this, and then it passes. Isn't it nice to get back to the rhythm of the water and wondering at the beauty that we are blessed with?