Devil's Lake on a Spectacular October Day

 I'm sitting by the beach on the north shore of Devils Lake. I think you said you've been here before and I hope you have. It is a gorgeous day to be in the beautiful park. The hills surrounding the lake are dotted with the yellow, orange and red early fall colors of maple, oak and ash trees  But mostly there are green pine and conifer trees rising from the rocky granite cliffs surrounding the sparkling, flat water stretched out in front of me. There are a few kayaks and canoeists paddling gently offshore. Gas-powered boats aren't allowed so it's strangely wonderful to not have the sound of high powered speed boats pulling water skiers or inner tubers filling the air. There is a train whistle in the distance. A freight train rumbles into view with two dozen cars trailing behind. I can heard the families picnicking behind me scrambling to get an up close view of it as in slowly groans toward us, snaking it's way along the water's edge. It's as if a common freight train is the attraction, not the beautiful fall foliage on an unseasonably warm October afternoon in Wisconsin. As the conductor approaches the small gathering of onlookers, he sounds the whistle again causing some of the children to cover the ears while other clap and cheer loudly. The conductor waves from an open window as the lead engine chugs past us and slowly the train begins to disappear into the thick forest. Within minutes, everything returns to normal with only the occasional
sound of barking dog or boys playfully skipping stones into the lake filling the air. Those stones spent an untold amount of time migrating through countless changes of seasons to finally reach the  shoreline only to be flung back into the lake by and 8 or 9 year old boy, to begin the journey all over again. Perhaps, with incalculable chance, the boy will return to that same spot on the water's edge as an old man, this time with his young grandson who will pluck the same rock again and toss it back into the lack as his grandfather had done decades prior.

I got bored sitting on the asphalt parking lot, trapped by the fine sand that lay in front of me. My wheels sink quickly in sand and I don't dare to drive across it for fear of getting stuck. I noticed a
few visitors packing up their cars and the parking lot begins to thin out. To my right, the beach slowly changes from fine yellow sand into
firmly packed gravel that looks dense enough to support my weight without sinking to the axle. I closed my book and drove across the parking lot in search of an accessible path in a gap between the concrete parking slabs at the front of each parking spot. There is a gap just wide enough that my tires are just able to squeeze through, gently rubbing as I pass through and onto the granite gravel just beyond the smooth asphalt parking area. It has been years since I have been able to get close to water on a beach and the gravel crunches loudly beneath me as I roll toward the water's edge. A gentle breeze pushes dark, opaque waves ashore where they rhythmically break over the rocks, one after another, seemingly never ending.

If I close my eyes, it feels like I am just drifting off to sleep at my grandparents on a hot summer night. My brother Jonna and I would sleep in my Aunt Betsy's old room, one of us in her white, four-poster bed and the other in the trundle bed that was hidden below during the daytime. We would fight to sleep in the trundle bed not only because it didn't have a head or foot board so our long legs could hang off the the end of the bed unimpeded, but also because it was positioned closest to the open windows where we would be the first to catch a cool breeze that might blow in off Lake Winnebago. No matter which bed we ended up sleeping in, we would both fall asleep and awaken the next morning to the sounds of the waves gently licking the sandy beach below us, with nothing but a taut bed sheet held tent-like over our bodies. My gramma always took extra care to iron the bedsheets with a heavy dose of starch and if you've never slept in crispy sheets in the summer, it's the best.