Mornings are mostly me-time. Carley and me time. As early risers (and enthusiastic breakfasters) we observe rituals that bring the best of the day ahead into focus. Secret rituals. Mostly. Except for a few, like the “Carley & Ferry” nod.
In the snapshot above Carley is returning from her morning constitutional. She does so with predictable enthusiasm for the breakfast bowl I’ve prepared for her which awaits in the morning room. My mornings with Carley always include these two essentials first. Meal prep (as she waits patiently, licking her lips to let me know she’s really, really, really hungry) and an excursion to the wood chips along the south side of our front lawn. As soon as she’s through, she hustles back to the mudroom, screen porch, or pantry entrance to break fast.
Except when she hears and/or sees the Essex-Charlotte ferryboat. The reversing engines of an arriving ferry. The inimitable thump-thump of vehicles rhythmically boarding or de-boarding. Perhaps a fog horn. Often the thwumpf-thwumpf-thwumpf of churning propeller moving water astern and vessel forward.
Carley pauses, gazes lakeward, acknowledges the arriving or departing ferry, and then trots on, ready to eat.
In this second snapshot, taken a moment after the image of Carley, you too observe the ferry departing the Essex ferry dock, navigating toward the center of Lake Champlain, and then on toward Charlotte, Vermont.
Carley has often ridden the ferry. She knows it’s comings and goings firsthand. From Rosslyn’s waterfront. From a boat. And from the ferry itself, inside a car parked on deck, or leashed and wandering the deck in search of dog lovers. The ferry rhythm has been a familiar and comforting presence since Carley first arrived in the spring of 2020. As much a part of her Rosslyn life as swimming and sneaking strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries from our garden.
So when she interrupts her return to breakfast, a rarity for such a food motivated dog, to take in the sounds and sight of the ferry I can’t help but wonder what she is thinking. Certainly she knows what it is, what it will and won’t do. No need to alert me or protect me. No chance it’ll pause and offer her a treat as the kind ferry booth attendants sometimes do. And so I wonder does she pause merely to confirm what she already knows? Or does she appreciate the beauty of the big boat she knows so well reflecting the morning sun, strumming into wavy blue? Is her pause more like my own. A mindful moment savoring the textures of this unique life we live on the Adirondack Coast?
What do you think?