Early in the morning I was riding by the Dixie Lake road, so I just had to pull in and take a break from the monotony of forest and field and stream. This time, there were two young loons, complete with remaining pinfeathers, paddling on the surface and diving.

A few minutes later, I heard the plaintive call of a loon and an adult flew by and landed farther down the lake. It had been years — I have absolutely no idea how long — since I had heard the sound of a loon calling.