The lake is frozen. Super frozen.
It holds up cars, snowmobiles, Norway Lake’s annual SnowFest, ice fishing groups, even the occasional deer and moose.
But it freaks me out. Like all the way out.
I can’t handle it. I tiptoe like I’m on hot coals just waiting for the proverbial crick-crick-CRACK and the ensuing tumultuous sprint away from the cavernous gap.
Obviously this hasn’t happened to me, but every time I’ve gone out, I have a little extra skip in my step.
Until last weekend.
Our great friends/old roommates/general troublemakers came up for a birthday weekend. We tippled the old Allen’s coffee brandy, had a great dinner then thought – hey – it’s a full moon! What better place to see it than the middle of the lake?
So I strapped on my spikes and went along.
Emboldened by some liquid courage and a truly phenomenal sky, I stepped out. Then ran out. Finally getting all the way to a small island in the center.
As we watched the dogs run around, the moon make its arc across the sky, we swapped tall tales and ribbed each other as one by one we all fell traversing the ice pack.
It was cold, it was beautiful, and it was so worth it.
However, you’re still more likely to find me on shore.