Night is falling on Lovejoy Lake.
It’s as if the sun had texted to the moon, “I’m outta here. Your turn.” And without even waiting for a response---no need of course, they’ve been doing this for a very long time---the sun slowly dips away. The moon finally messaged back, “I know, I know, I know. On my way.”
The lake grew uncharacteristically silent. It’s a very still. No grumble from an outboard. No humble mumble of a trolling motor. No sound from lapping waves. Not a splash from a fish a-flopping. No leaf rustle, no creaking tree branches. Not a peep from anything with feathers. Not even a titter from any forest critter.
It’s quiet. Very quiet.
What’s even more unusual is that on nights like this, the quiet is interrupted every-once-in-a-great while by the muted faraway rat-a-tat-tat flatulent moaning of a semi-truck jake braking down the big hill on Wisconsin Hwy. 77 that’s at least 10 miles away. But not tonight. At least not yet.
For now, there’s just a hush serene sound of nothing.
Seems as though everyone and everything here is holding its collective breath waiting for the moon to make its appearance. Tonight is a big deal for all. Especially the moon. It’s waxed to the max and is about to makes its grand entrance as the 2024 Harvest Moon. As it slowly walks up to the horizon, the east southeastern sky begins to hint of the celestial wonder to come.
Then suddenly, it leaps onto the night sky stage, quite flamboyant with its glittering glow much like Elton John performing during his crazy daze when he shimmered and shined every bit like a moon in full bloom.
But tonight is going to be especially glorious. It’s not just the Harvest Moon; it’s a Super Harvest Moon, bigger and brighter than usual and quite spectacular as it rises in the cloudless sky, piercing the nighttime darkness and creating a hypnotic light show as it radiantly reflects across the ripples on the lake.
The serenity of the night was short lived. The peace was shattered by the always rather haunting and plaintive wailing of a loon.
Oh sweet Jesus, it’s that nag Marcie.
Every lake up here in the Northwoods as its own pair of loons. Or maybe it’s every pair of loons has its own lake. Regardless: two loons per lake. I’m not sure if there’s a law stating as much, but I’m pretty sure that’s the way God planned it so that’s how it is.
Bob and Marcie is the water dance of loons that has claimed Lovejoy Lake as their own. Water dance is one of the terms for a group of these waterfowl. Asylum is another. Really. Even I couldn’t make that up.
They got their names sometime in 1970s from the patriarch of a family that has lived on the lake for generations.
“Don’t know exactly why we started calling them that but it stuck. I’m sure there was booze involved. There’s always booze involved up here. Hell, by now Bob and Marcie are part of our family. Everyone always asks about them before they ask about mother and me.”
They’re a welcome sight to all who visit the lake. Their calls are indeed the calls of the wild, at least to us.
Wailing is what loons do to communicate. Cell phones are not an option up here. Service is spotty. At best. Besides, even if it was good, loons have no fingers which is a bigger problem.
It was just about 10 p.m. when Marcie started wailing away.
While I have an advanced degree in science, I never completed the avian communication component needed to become an animal behaviorist. Sure I have an intuitive knack for understanding lots of stuff, but when it comes to bird chatter, especially loon language, my comprehension of it leaves a lot to be desired and leaves even more to my imagination. But then again with my imagination, well, I think my understanding of what they’re saying is rather accurate. Or could be. Maybe.
I side with Dr. Einstein when it comes to this: “Imagination is more important than knowledge.”
So when Marcie started in tonight, I’m pretty sure she was yelling, “BOB! Get your tailfeathers home. NOW!”
I suspect Bob was up at the area bar where male loons from the surrounding lakes gather to hoot, yodel and wail as they are wont to do especially after a couple of beers and a shot or two of Jack Daniels. While the place is called Jo-Jo’s Moose Lake Shack, the locals just call it, appropriately, the Loony Bin. It’s the perfect location. Well within earshot to the wails of loon wives from at least 10 nearby lakes.
Everyone in the bar heard Marcie’s yammering. All head’s turned to Bob.
He wailed back, “In a minute.”
She responded with an especially loud wail. “"NOW!”
“Coming, dear, coming….”
The bar erupted with loon laughs. “Yeh Bob. NOW!”
He responded with a burst of hoots which none of them needed to have explained. I’m sure the second word was “off” and the third was a slang term for the body’s rear waste exit.
Minutes later, we could hear Bob answering Marcie starting from the far end of the lake until he got to their the nest not too far from our cabin. When he got there, there was a whole lot of wailing going on.
Let me translate for you. This I know is accurate.
“Where you been, Bob?”
“Just with the guys.”
“Been drinking?”
“Just one.”
“One?”
“Maybe two.”
“Or three?”
“Maybe. But all the way down the lake, I kept thinking, ‘What a beautiful moon! I can’t think of anyone I’d rather enjoy it with than my beautiful Marcie.’”
“Maybe four drinks?”
“Probably.”
The wails got softer.
“Why do I put up with you!!??”
“Because you know I love you.”
“Oh Bob. I love you too.”
“Ready?”
“Always.”
The lake grew silent again. No grumble from an outboard. No humble mumble from a trolling motor. No sound from lapping waves. Not a splash from a fish a-flopping. No leaf rustle, no creaking tree branches. Not a peep from anything with feathers. Not even a titter from any forest critter.
It’s quiet. Very quiet.
The Super Harvest Moon was majestic in the cloudless sky, so flamboyant with its glittering glow. The light show on the lake was magnificent. Through the middle of it, you could see the silhouettes of Bob and Marcie slowly gliding side by side.
As they do with every full moon.
Loons in love.
A perfect evening in the Northwoods.
Andy, I LOVE this. And who knew you were fluent in Loon Language? Just delightful! 🌙
Andy, this is a beautiful read. My imagination actually could see and hear all your words. 🌝