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The Lake Breeze of Nipissing delivers memories of autumn.

From the deck to the kitchen, Lester strolled to the freezer and dug to the bottom. A steak hid somewhere and tonight it would make its sacrifice as Lester paid tribute to the North Bay weather, her maple sugar trees, and brisket stonewall highways. They would all soon be barren, snow covered and frozen in less than six weeks.
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The Lake Breeze of Nipissing by Martin Durkin

The late October breeze off lake Nipissing told Lester to take advantage of the evening. There weren't many more summeresque conditions coming off shore and drifting across town. Halloween was 10 days out, and snow usually fell on the hallowed night.

Lester was a quiet 35-year-old man living alone and to most folk, who knew or worked with him, appeared to be in his mid 40’s. From body to clothing style, even his taste his music, there were not many who would have guessed his age to be so young.

Two kilometres off shore and just far enough out of the downtown area to feel safe, Lester felt a twinge of guilt thinking such things knowing, there was always more to the story than the griping heard and read on social media.

Lester decided to grab his cell phone, turn on his Bluetooth and crank up some tunes through the portable speakers. He could carry one speaker out onto the back deck and leave one in the kitchen. While he moved between the two areas, his music would help to further set the tone for the evening.

On the back deck with some Joe Lovano playing alongside his quartet, Lester lifted the lid to his BBQ and struck a match. He stepped back snapping his fingers, keeping time to the music. He closed the lid to allow things to heat up. On the outdoor table he had brought out some wine with a glass.

It was a local winery. Small. Just outside of Sturgeon Falls where a former military member, now veteran produced a rare grape called haskap and created exquisite pumpkin and maple ice style wines. It was the perfect pairing to the music and just enough contradiction to the warm evening that Lester liked to indulge in.

From the deck to the kitchen, Lester strolled to the freezer and dug to the bottom. A steak hid somewhere and tonight it would make its sacrifice as Lester paid tribute to the North Bay weather, her maple sugar trees, and brisket stonewall highways. They would all soon be barren, snow-covered, and frozen in less than six weeks.

Part way through 'Stella By Starlight’, Joe's saxophone was interrupted by a YouTube commercial about earwax. Hoping it was only a 15 second delay, Lester continued to rummage through the freezer. 15 seconds passed and the commercial kept rolling along, and Lester's steak was not hiding under any bags of freezer burnt green peas or corn.

Lester puffed out a frustrated sigh and stood up straight to ease his back, he ran his hands through thinning black hair; resting them on his hips and un-tucked shirt.

Fine, he thought, pork chops. But first get to the phone and hit SKIP, get Lovano onto his rendition of ‘Goodbye Porkpie Hat, a classic ode to a jazz giant.

The video skipped over and his playlist continued. Lester walked back to the fridge, glancing over at his turntable in the open concept living room adjoining the kitchen and for a moment, felt guilty for choosing mp3 over perfect vinyl.

Irony thought Lester.

He wanted to cook without interruption, not wanting to flip a record while flipping a steak. Instead he was caught skipping ads and searching for a poor second choice protein, in pork chops. But pork pie hat played without commercial and Lester sipped on wine ready to continue his search for a bone in substitute.

Again, as he searched, without luck, the next song was interrupted by a commercial. This time it was

something about pimple popping doctors and Lester felt his stomach quickly say 'no more,' to searching out pig meat.

He walked back to his phone, hit SKIP, and slapped the phone harder than he intended onto the island counter top. The screen cracked and Joe Lovanos’ face became blurred in a flash of rainbow and lightening strikes. The phone struggled between Wi-Fi and Bluetooth, the endless wheel of non-loading spun. Lester felt his perfect night slipping away.

He clicked the phone off. He would deal with passports and masks in the morning. Drive to the Northgate and walk the mall to a phone store, and ensure the customer rep that he had used hand gel on the phone and himself; before coming up to the glass counter.

Such frustrations could wait until Saturday.

Lester walked over to his turntable. He pulled down a record and read the cover title. It was a downtown purchase made earlier in springtime, from an independent storeowner who had to offer sidewalk sales while larger commercial venues were allowed to stay open.

The store named for autumn brought a smile to Lester on this particular evening. He dropped the record onto the plate and lowered the needle. Joe would have to rest his sax in broken technology as, ‘Quiet Kenny’, Dorham, picked up the trumpet to carry the evening forward.

Back to the freezer.

Lester walked over old wooden floorboards. This war baby home in a line of triplets along the street. Each similar but each unique to the owner inside. The back door stayed open and October continued to say hello and goodbye at the same time to him.

In the kitchen, Lester decided whatever his hands landed on first, he would BBQ.

They landed on a breast of chicken, so, chicken it was. Frozen, but that was all right. The BBQ would thaw and the moisture captured within, would give him a succulent meal. He grabbed a cast iron skillet from the bottom cupboard. Seasoned the pan and looked forward to seeing the grill marks appear on his bird.

Outside again, Lester lifted the BBQ lid. The fire was out. Lester lowered the lid and checked the valve and then the tank itself. The tank felt light and he knew it meant only one thing.  He closed the lid, stepped back and into his deck chair near the table. He reached for his glass of wine but knocked it over instead.

Above him in the sky, a plane from the local airport flew over. Too small to be commercial, it was likely the courier flight moving boxes and mail between Hamilton and here and then at some point, over to Sudbury.

'Oh the great two hour escape' thought Lester.

By air you could be almost anywhere else in Ontario in less than two hours, but here he was, in his back yard on his back deck: looking at his vehicle in the driveway while spilt wine dripped. He gestured a middle fiddle finger to the sky.

He wanted to enjoy a meal and toast the weather and give a defiant salute to the city. Show Mother Nature he was ready to take on winter. But here he was, unable to even cook a simple meal. The aircraft went quickly out of sight.

'Ok' said Lester to no one but himself, and walked back into the house over old wooden floors through the hallway past double French doors and out onto his front porch. He opened the mini-fridge and found a new bottle of wine.

'If I can't have something local, I'll have some Niagara wine and toast the Falls.'

As Lester was reading the label on the wine bottle, there was a knock on the door. He ignored it uninterested in dealing with whatever or whoever was trying to sell him something. He backed quietly away and off the porch, hoping his silhouette could not be seen through the light curtain hanging over the main front door.

He went through the French doors in the hallway taking a shortcut into the living room where side A of the record had come to an end.

'Ok Donovan,' said Lester to himself, 'let's try Side B and see if I like it enough to continue shopping outside your store on the sidewalk.’

Kenny kicked it off with ‘Blue Friday’, and the tune was good. It helped to reset the moment of the evening as he once again tried to kick off his weekend. Like always, he turned the music up so he could hear outside.

Lester took the wine out onto the back deck deciding he would have a small glass before dismantling and taking this propane tank over to the corner gas station for a swap out.

He needed the moment to get himself back into the right mind frame. He also needed a moment knowing the clientele he was likely to encounter at the gas station.

Again, he felt that pang of guilt for thinking such things.

It was the stress of Covid and the knowledge of winter creeping in for the next six months that had him thinking such things. He would not allow himself to conjure up the same gripes he tried to avoid on social media. Angry trolls most of them.

Again, that twinge.

Just a city of people as tired as he, trying to create their own perfect nights in various neighbourhoods.

Pulling the cork on the bottle, Lester heard footsteps scuffling up his driveway. Whoever was at his door, was persistent. He decided not to duck inside but instead see who it was, try and feign a smile, hopefully find a way to say, 'goodbye.'

As the steps drew closer, Lester could hear a clanging sound, a bit of under breath cursing and the missteps of being off balance. Lester stood up in time to see his neighbour whose home adjoined the back end of his property appear.

'Mary-Beatrice', said Lester surprised.

'You know, you could answer your door next time, this full propane tank isn't exactly light when you carry it around half a block to your side.'

Mary-Beatrice O’Shannon, was a short blonde-haired woman. Single and in her 30's. While they were pleasant and waved to one another, they didn't exactly stop and chat across the fence, let alone bring over propane tanks.

'How did you know', stammered Lester. ' I mean, that I needed a tank?'

Mary-Beatrice sat the tank down on the ground.

'Saw you while I was letting the dog out in my backyard, wasn't hard to tell you were setting up for a

evening and that it was kind of going sideways, you talk a lot with your hands'.

Lester heard the record in the back room starting to skip across the label. He needed to get inside and save the needle and the record but, he didn't want to insult Mary-Beatrice after already leaving her stranded at the front door.

'Let me get the gate for you' said Lester, 'and the tank'.

Lester came down the deck stairs and fiddled with the latch. He invited Mary-Beatrice in. She came through and he walked out into the driveway to retrieve the propane tank. When he came back onto the grass and re-latched the gate, he was surprised to see Mary-Beatrice was already removing the old tank and setting it aside.

'Let me hook this up, sounds like you need to save a record inside.'

Another moment of surprise. Lester stood at the bottom of the steps looking up.

'Or I could go save your record and you could take care of the tank'.

Lester shook off his confusion and brought the tank up the steps. He sat it down beside the empty one.

'I'll get the record, and another glass, I mean, if you like wine.'

'It's a Friday night in North Bay where 30 year olds such as us, can either present a passport at a restaurant, order some food on a phone app or; BBQ. I'll drink whatever you're pouring.'

Lester smiled and made his way inside. 'Would you like to stay for dinner?'

Lester walked over to the turntable, lifted the needle, and shut the power down. He stood up straight and slid the record back into the sleeve and then tucked in his shirt, and tried to slick back his hair.

'Damn' he thought. ' What else do I have in the freezer?'

He heard Mary-Beatrice out on the deck.

'I already ate, but if you have more wine, I'll stick around and help you pour. And don't worry, you can cook your chicken now, propane is ready.’

Lester left the turntable stopping by the refrigerator. He could find more wine and then he could find more ways to toast the night, salute North Bay, and challenge winter to drop her winds over the lake Nipissing.

Lester closed the door on the refrigerator and walked cautiously out onto the back deck.

Mary-Beatrice was still there, smiling and holding Lesters’ glass up for a refill.

‘Perhaps’, thought Lester pulling his head into reality, ‘something more to toast as well.’