We're lucky enough to live one tenth of a mile from a really pretty lake. When the leaves are off the trees, and it's not too dark but not too bright, you can kind of see the water from the top corner of our upstairs bathroom window.
If you live out West, or down South, or anywhere other than the North, I know what you're thinking. You're all, "Eeeeewwww! Gross!!!!! Lake water!!!! Gag!!!!" Well guess what? You're wrong. In fact, you've never been wronger.
But honestly, I do know where you're coming from--I used to live in Texas. I still remember the first time we took James swimming at Joe Pool Lake, I was like, "Jared, do not drop the baby...if you do, we'll never see him again. And he's just starting to grow on me."
It was like swimming around in a clogged toilet that you flush and pray, flush and pray, flush and pray, until you finally give up, walk away, and let your unsuspecting co-workers worry about the turd soup.
And those fountains? In the middle of the unswimmable lakes? I still don't understand.
Up here in the North, where lakes are made by the hands of God--you know, as opposed to large crews of illegal workers--these bodies of water are pretty stinking beautiful. They're clean, they're clear, and if you have a thing for trashy people wearing tiny bathing suits, then heaven itself can't beat a morning at the public beach.
It's cold and snowy and completely craptastic in Maine this afternoon, so I found these pictures in my web album.
Click on this picture to get a look at a littler version of James:
These are the benches I like to stand on when I make my proclamations about life, liberty, and the fact that I'm seriously overworked:
The lake is about nine miles long, and this summer I plan to swim from end to end. Either that, or I plan to eat maple donuts on the bow of my in-laws' boat. I haven't decided yet.