This is an image for Photos.

Several things of note in this one. First, my beloved kayak. One thing my photos can’t convey, though, is how much it weighs. Because it takes years for a middle schooler to save enough for a plastic sea kayak, much less a composite one, this weighs nearly 70 pounds. Here’s how you carry it solo: 1) Crouch, and grab the cockpit coaming on the far side. 2) Roll it toward you, and pick it up to knee-level (with a little bounce). 3) Vault it up to shoulder height like a barbell, then rest the inside of the cockpit (where you’re holding it) on your shoulder.
I know I’m not particularly strong (so my near-agony while lifting the kayak is understandable) but the whole walking-up-and-down-steps-with-70lbs-on-one-shoulder thing is painful as *hell.* I often have a bruise there the next day. I don’t mind lugging this thing around, though; I’ve come to see things like this as chances to grow stronger and tougher. (A young man I met at a gathering years ago exemplifies this philosophy. We skipped down a street to buy groceries one day. I wore sneakers and street clothes, and he a flight suit with no shoes. As we bounded along he explained that skipping made our calves strong and better prepared us to defeat enemies in coming years. When I brought up his bare feet, after running through broken glass, he said (without stopping), “If your skin is thick enough the glass stays there and protects you from other sharp things!” I haven’t seen him in many years.)

Second thing of note here: the dog. This shaggy, dirty, skinny-legged and long-haired mutt prances up and down this side of the channel every day. He’ll be trotting through the trees past your house, then hear you and turn, tripping over his own legs in the process. Then he just stares at you with those big, dark eyes, sniffing the air, mouth suddenly shut. One time he came over while I was scraping paint. I knew he wouldn’t come closer, so I turned back to my work. He started emitting these otherworldly whirring barks, and sticking his butt backwards, front legs out straight, tail up in the air, wagging. I looked again and he stopped making noise, but cocked his head. I turned back to my work again. In under five seconds he was barking again – full-fledged barks – and, when I turned, he was laying in the grass, swinging his head around wildly with his noise-making and sweeping his shaggy tail through the grass. I ignored him – there was nothing I could do for him, decked out in my scraping suit as I was. After a minute or two he got up and ran off, tripping over a bush.