When their relationship was new, he meandered from his small cabin to the dock most days to steer WeNoNah through the mostly shallow waters of the crescent lake he could see from his front porch. Some days he sang his way around, songs paced perfectly with the cadence of his paddle. Some days he was quiet except for the swoosh-trickle of his strokes. Back then he was always on the look-out for a great blue heron or otter, or the resident king fisher. In the fall, the water lilies.
Nowadays when no one shows up to take her for a spin, WeNoNah takes herself, dragging her rope behind. She avoids the narrows to keep from getting tied up in the brush and shallows. Instead she keeps to the navigable waters, mingles with the otter and dodges the diving king fisher.
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