Fall is one of my favorite seasons on Pelican Lake. As reds, oranges, and yellows appear on the horizon, docks and boat lifts disappear from the shoreline. The lake is peaceful. Every morning a dock-lift barge speeds along to its next customer. The pontoons that circle the lake every evening are on locked trailers. On Saturday, fifteen fishing boats race from the public boat landing at 7 am, rushing to return at dusk to see who’s won the competition. Down the beach, lake homes have been emptied, pipes blown out, water turned off in preparation for the brutal months to come. It’s quiet.
Driving up Highway 59 to Detroit Lakes, the trees instill a sense of awe with every shade of red, orange, yellow and green appears. Franklin Lake, with an array of colors reflected on the still water, looks surreal, like a Paul Cezanne original. Fish Lake, connected to Pelican by a small waterway, is a kaleidoscope of color–enough color to fill us up before the whiteness of winter blows in.
The frenetic summer activities–waterskiing, boating, fireworks, partying–have come to an end. Geese are smartly heading away in formation. All that’s left are a few of us, happily lost in our own thoughts, taking walks on roads covered with crunchy leaves, reveling in the fun that was summer and gathering strength for the winter to come. I feel centered. I never want to leave.