Searching for signs of life on Limekiln at end of long summer

It was a mid-September morning and my dog Mutt and I decided to take a walk down to Limekiln Lake to see if any signs of life remained.

I brought along the handmade slingshot that I had carved from some sturdy twigs, just in case I wanted to get in some target shooting.

On the way to the lake I collected some good round stones to use as ammo and slipped them into my pocket.

Mutt went on her own ammunition search, but she had a very different idea of what would be the perfect size.

Many of those she delivered were quite large and more fit to lunge from a catapult.

My pockets were so full I had to hold my pants up with one hand as we made our way out to the long, deserted beach.

Mutt immediately dove into the water and swam out to a group of ducks.

She was in hot pursuit of them, but they stayed just out of reach and unworried by the chase.

They actually seemed to be enjoying the on-water game of tag.

I pulled my slingshot from my pocket and loaded it with a good size stone.

I pulled it back with all my might and launched it out into the lake. It traveled a pretty good distance and landed with a plop.

As soon as it hit the water, I started to count—1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi—waiting for the ripple to reach back to shore.

I launched at least 30 or so more of the projectiles, each time counting and awaiting the ripples’ return.

All the while Mutt continued to play tag with the ducks.

Overhead came the sound of honking geese making their way across the sky.

There must have been 300 of them in a V-formation. They were traveling pretty low and I could make out each bird without any trouble.

Some of them wandered from the V-pattern from time to time as if they were conversing from one friend to another.

I closed my eyes and listened closely, trying to figure out their language.

They were all squawking at once with not one of them paying attention to what the other had to say.

I wondered if they were actually trying to communicate with each other at all.

Perhaps they were singing in unison, much like a small group of children will as they wander along.

Each bird seemed to be amused as they ventured on a long and boring journey.

Mutt swam to shore and shook her body free of water.

She sat next to me and watched the geese too.

She whimpered in response to their calls as if she was beckoning them to join her in a game of tag.

Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Big Moose Lake.ltmitch3rdny@aol.com