Nutrient rich as Grandmother's vegetable stew,
Henrys Lake sweetens her mint-green shores with dew
And implores all who sip her waters to drink freely.
Bread-soft, grassy meadows rise gently over the hills,
And elegant yet rustic homes fill spaces between the trees.
In the lake, in the clean, mountain soup,
Large, hybrid trout,
One-part cutthroat, one-part rainbow,
Grow, thrive, and teach the meaning of beauty and design.
Non-stop through the summer,
These silken shadows glide and gorge themselves
On nymphs, slugs, and the right amount of minnows.
For these lurkers, it's a smorgasbord delight.
Henrys Lake, a fertile, mountain womb,
Never stops giving birth from June to June.
Bugs, moss, and aquatic vines,
Seagulls, sand-hill cranes, and lines of pelicans
Link a vibrant, thriving world.
Henrys Lake is never the same
Because her ever-changing face connects
With the hills, peaks, and trees,
With the clouds and soft breezes which blow
First one direction, then another,
With the dancing winds and soft rains,
With the emerging, mid-day, or fading light,
And with the bright moon glow and quiet nights.
Sometimes when the summer sun shines brightly
Through white, puffy clouds,
Like a loud argument, thunder crashes southwest of Jefferson Peak.
Then, taking its time, a black shroud begins to spread across the sky,
And someone cries, "Take cover."
Like new water flowing down an empty ditch,
The storm rolls north on its way to Montana.
Rain stretches its long, liquid fingers to the ground
And white caps pound against the shore.
I love it all:
The changing waters, the rugged, nearby lands,
The demands the weather makes on campers,
The low-flying birds which drift and float with the ease of a smile.
With a grateful heart, when I start a prayer of thanks,
I won't forget the taste of fresh trout,
Fried in butter and sprinkled with lemon pepper,
Wild Rose Ranch and Staley Springs,
Power boats, float tubes, fishermen galore,
And fertile Henrys Lake
With its hatchery on the north shore.
© Allen Hackworth