Greg Rittler

I’m sitting on the dock at the lake. My nine year old daughter, Riley, and my 6 year old son, Seth, are kayaking in front of me in the high grass where the earth and water meet each other. They splash each other and their cousin, Emmet, who paddles next to them. Its an idyllic moment.

In the meantime, at the end of the dock, there are another dozen kids readying to go on an adventure in a boat. They banter back and forth as they wait for another cousin to run down from the house and get on board.

On the south side of the dock, there are 6 kids dipping in the cool lake while the warm sun shines on them. They play king of the mountain on a tube and see who can push the others off. They splash incessantly and let out yelps of joy each time one of them falls in. They are innocent and uninhibited.

Time stands still.

The boat engine breaks the sound of the waves lapping against the dock. The teenage kids pull away from the dock slowly. They turn the boat with skill and disappear around the bend. With no adults to hold them back their adventure is underway.

Five minutes later the kayakers are in the water swimming off the end of the dock. They do cannonballs and belly flops laughing at the sheer joy of jumping into the water. Their friends are here with them and they could swim and play for hours without a care in the world. Every once in a while a shivering kid runs by on his way to or from the shore.

Time stands still.

The adults meander down to the dock and back. Sitting for a while and talking. Reading and soaking in rays of sun. Drinking tea or coke or sipping a glass of wine or beer. They stop for a light lunch of sandwiches and chips. Then return to the the dock or sit on a boat or relax in chairs by the shore.

We share smalltalk with our neighbors and enjoy the peaceful setting together. We are just being.

Earth, sun, water, clouds. People. All together for this moment. It’s just a moment.

Time stands still.

I flash back to first time my oldest child, Caleb, ever swam in this lake. It seems strangely like a lifetime ago and yet also like a blink of an eye. I remember my own first days swimming in the lake and exploring it’s depths. Wading in shallow water looking for fish or casting a rod toward a promising hole.

That does seem like a lifetime ago.

Time doesn’t stand still. It marches on and we march on with it. Maybe Elise and I will be sitting on this dock in 10 years watching our grandchildren tiptoe into the water.

But for now we just enjoy this moment without expectation. We have no hurry and no worry. We just let the moment be.

I finish writing and slip into the water myself. I swim well out into the lake. When I turn around. From the lake looking back I see all of the faces and bodies. Some have shaped my life, some lives I shape. Children, adults, and everything in between.