One of the main reasons I moved here was to be near water again. Living in Burgundy was divine, two words: wine country. But I am coming to learn that this woman cannot live on wine alone, no matter how hard I try. Hailing from the land of the Newfound, an island in the North Atlantic, my blood is two-thirds seawater. Plus, I’m a Pisces, so there’s hard scientific proof of my affinity for all things wet and wavy.
Now I’m not saying living on the shores of Lac Léman (who knew that was what Lake Geneva is really called?) is remotely comparable to life near a stormy sea. If I even hinted as much every Newfoundlander I know would vote me off the island, regardless of how long I’ve been away. My heritage bestows reverence and respect for the ocean. We know its pleasures and its power. It’s hard to explain to landlubbers.
While I miss the romance of the sea—standing on jagged cliffs in flowing gowns, waiting for my lover’s pirate ship to emerge from the thick bank of fog and all that crap—I think the best of both worlds is found not far from my door.
And while the lake is filled with elegant swans and sculptures, there’s the steady swooping and shrieking of gulls for that added reminder of the homeland, as well as the odd heron.
It’s like a kinder, gentler version of the ocean. For all intents and purposes I would never know I wasn’t gazing upon the Atlantic, yet it seems safer than the depths that have swallowed so many of my ancestors over the centuries.
Although don’t let the word lake fool you. It’s still big water and I know too well it can take what it wants without asking permission. Here’s Neil’s video from one stormy day (mind the sound as the wind noise is quite loud)…
And last February, the water, wind and wintery temperatures conspired to create an ice storm impressive enough for any east coast Canadian…
Aaah, feels like home.