27 June 2007

saga of the docka

Two Saturdays ago, B (who's taking the picture), Dale (on the dock), and I met up with my brother C and his dog, Paddy (on the shore), and my parents at their lake house to engage in the age-old, annual struggle with the dock, which must be moved in and out of the lake as the water level falls and rises. C, Dad, and Mom had, the week before, begun to position it, but after seven hours of fighting a heavy wind decided to regroup.

So on Saturday, 16 June, we gathered at the water's edge, come-along, pliers, and hammer in hand, to move the dock and the two connectors into place. The wind waited to blow until after we'd wrestled the pieces into the water and cotter-pinned them together, and then it puffed only enough to dry our barely moist brows. Actually, it was a perfect day. As is our wont, B and I forgot to pack our bathing suits, so we contented ourselves with dunking our feet in the water, the temperature of which was ideal.

Dale, who does not like the water . . . yet, was nevertheless, let us say, convinced to test it a few times. To be honest, though, he was much more interested in the chipmunks and squirrels whistling and chattering at him all morning.

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