Sandpoint, ID

Our schedules had kept us busy for months. We really needed to get out, to go away, to see a movie, to share a sunset, to gaze at each other over a brace of candles. Trouble was, we just couldn’t set all of the obligations aside, and by each day’s end we were whipped.

Father’s Day became our excuse. We decided to shut down the computers and ignore our phones (unless the kids called). We chose a good spot to have breakfast, but we left it at that: no need to make any other hard plans…we didn’t want to jinx it.

The folks at DiLuna’s on Cedar Street were, as usual, friendly and efficient. Nichole downed the strawberry crepes, Tonya had a poached egg and some toast, and I tanked up on the Greek scramble with coffee and orange juice (metabolites!). We were tempted to go back home and sleep it off, but opted instead to take a stroll over the Long Bridge.

We parked at the north end of the bridge, in an area reserved for people just like us. I changed to a comfortable pair of walking shoes, and we all stepped out into the morning sun. A bit of construction was in progress at our end of the lake; several workmen clambered over the separate railroad bridge off to our left. We ambled past the cranes, trailers and other equipment, following the paved bike path that beckoned us southward. A light breeze blew through the cattails; an armada of puffed clouds hung in the sky overhead.

Not in any particular hurry, we stepped aside for the occasional bicyclist, and we nodded greetings to fellow walkers going the opposite direction. We stopped in the shade of trees growing strategically along the way. A couple of dogs trotted past, taking their owners for a walk; a long-haired husky waded into Lake Pend Oreille, swam a few lazy strokes, and returned to the pathway. A pair of kayakers edged along the shoreline, idly dipping their paddles into the clear water. From their drifting boat, three fishermen casually worked the structure beneath the bridge, seemingly more intent on catching some sunshine than on catching a fish.

All was serene. We barely noticed the noise of traffic passing over the bridge. Though we could have walked another mile or so to the Long Bridge Grill (and then back again), we lingered on a mid-way bench and watched the clouds skate by. We discussed our options. We pointed our faces toward the sun and inhaled several dozen drafts of the Panhandle’s finest air. We loitered, three vagrants on a pew.

Eventually, reality intervened. Arising from our reverie, we headed back to the car. Somehow, the day had grown noticeably brighter.

It was probably just the sunshine reflecting from the surface of the lake.