There had been a huge blizzard in March that inconvenienced everybody for about two weeks, and then a long melting period, and a last gasp of winter in mid March.

After much encouragement, I convinced my son to go for a walk down to the lake to see the melting ice. I told him it was his last chance to see the fishermen sitting on their stools on the ice.

The wind had blown the ice and it broke in layers and rose up the edge of the concrete dam. Danny broke the ice with the badminton racket. It chipped off in long crystals and he put some in his pockets, and insisted I do the same even after I told him they’d just turn into water.

There were only three fishermen left on the ice sitting by the sluice gates, and another one on the other side of the lake who seemed to be checking a row of fishing lines in holes drilled far apart.