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Infinite delight and mystery
Wednesday, April 29, 2015 at 02:44PM 
Earlier this week, I and the girls were thirsty for adventure.
So we set out for Sumter, South Carolina, some forty-odd miles due east of Columbia, where there is a nature preserve called Swan Lake Iris Gardens.
The story is that SLIG is the only public park in the US to feature all eight swan species.
I'm no stripe of a swannoisseur but I identified only two species: black and white.
But since it happens that noir/blanc be my favorite color combination, it was all good.
And on the black'uns you've got to love that pop of color in the red beak. It's attitude.
The white ones were all mad at the black ones the day we visited, so maybe they'd heard of the goings-on in Baltimore. I did not stop to inquire.
Temperature-wise it was ideal: in the low seventies with even lower stupidity. I mean humidity. Alas the sky was not pretty but we made do.
A gorgeous and rather recent addition to Swan Lake is Recovery, an eighteen-foot sculpture by the artist Grainger McKoy, depicting a pintail duck wing in flight mode.
The large bronze plaque accompanying the installation brought us up to speed:
If you know me at all, you're aware that I prefer the King James translation of any Bible verse, this one in particular because, as they say, if it ain't broke:
And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
I was grateful for the opportunity to see the sculpture, take its picture, and read the plaque. The setting is so splendidly serene, so sweetly stunning, I cannot describe it so I won't try.
The lake is full of cypress trees and their reflections were rather fantastic.
Along the bank of the lake where the swans come to walk up and be landlubbers for a time before wading back in, are whole colonies of cypress-stump people, waving their arms or simply standing still.
There is even a beach of sorts, where the swans and ducks waddle up to two generous feeders. On their way they nearly trip over an army of turtles camping out in the shallows, even wading on shore too, for what reason I could not tell.
The feeders are too tall for turtle use.
Across the road from Swan Lake the park continues, in a deep green forest of cypress, complete with drippy Spanish moss, which one doesn't often see this far north.
The swans are less in evidence there; it seems to be more of a duck reserve. The mallards are in residence, lovely shimmering jewel-tone feathers a delight to the eye.
Bridges provide walkpaths and aside from a strong smell of bird dung (sorry but I have to say, it was overwhelming at times), the experience was most pleasant.
Almost dreamy in fact, because my Nikon was loving it, nearly cooing as I snapped away at this calm green vista and that. Except by then, my leg was hurting from having walked so much.
In the company of swans, one wishes to swan as much as possible. But in the presence of osteoarthritis, after a time one is prone to perambulate like a much less graceful bird. I miss my youth.
Speaking of youth, and love: Baby Dagny loved it, loved it, loved it. The child adores being outside, adores being with all of us. And of course, having her with us is a treat and a delight so keen, we wonder what good thing we did to deserve it.
Children are precious. Swans and ducks and turtles are breathtakingly graceful, somtimes clumsy, always noisy, wonderfully natural, uniquely spectacular symbols of God's presence, His provision, His plan, and His providence. They remind us that all lives matter.
Black and white, and every color in between. At all stages, from conception to passing, and even beyond.
This is what I saw and what I knew at Swan Lake Iris Gardens.
As it should be.
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Happy Wednesday
