13 August 14:56

Westfield, New York

On Lake Erie, in this strange jungly marina, Bella Barca, where a bald eagle nonchalantly glides by in the company of seabirds, and the deciduous kelp creates just one more shade of bluegreen to add to the oceanic landscape. One watches the changing weather and the roving cloud of seabirds, and spends evenings killing spiders in the pleasant dark of the trawler, or eating Lake Erie whitefish that is corncob-smoked just a few metres away, on shore.

Here in the unbathed, bucket-peeing, outdoor marina world of northwestern New York, sensational events happen, linger in a haze of feeling, then disperse, with little fanfare.

Upstate-marina romance: small turtles stretching out their legs and head in a full-body yearning for the sun's heat. Lilypads floating down the shore beneath high cliffs of splintered shale and layers of rock the color of gemstones.

With distance, I'm finding that the marina is for me. It's a beautiful place and a lovely home. But I am not convinced that I am ready for the marina.