By Ronni Tichenor
We have a camp on the south shore of 4th Lake, in the Fulton Chain, and early one morning in August, I was on our dock practicing my yoga. I was about to release my Down Dog position, when movement on the water caught my eye. It was a loon, less than ten feet off the dock, swimming slowly by. I froze, fearing that any movement would scare it and cause it to dive, which meant I could not see very clearly because, in my head-down position, my hair hung over my face. The loon appeared to have a fish in its mouth—but then I thought I could see little legs on the side, so I said, “No—it’s a crawfish.” We had seen a couple of loon families in the previous days, so I thought the loon was delivering breakfast to someone. Once it had swum away, my husband came down to the dock. He had been up at the house, watching from a distance. “Wow,” he said, “that was so close.” We went on about our day—he went for a bike ride, I went for a walk.