I observe a hunting accident in which a canoe, floating sideways down rough, cold rapids becomes entangled in the antlers of a swimming caribou. Canoe and caribou float attached for a distance. The caribou is finally able to escape when it becomes a snow-white juvenile. He swims to shore and gallops away down the hill.
I am at an outdoor party with G. She and her sister ask me to move a large, log-hewn canoe through the kitchen and onto the front yard. They want to use it to row back in time to before her sister had kids.
I am riding in the bow of a large canoe with some friends. We are rushing down a river that flows down the street of my childhood home. I explain to them that my canoe is just like this one, but not as flexible. Somehow I get ahead of the crew and am alone in the boat. A rich lady from the neighborhood is chasing after me and fuming about our trespassing or something. This turns me belligerent. I whirl the canoe around and start paddling back up the hill to rejoin my friends, the lady still fussing and fuming behind me. I find a large jar of ice tea on the deck and take a big drink. It's pretty good but the rim of the jar stinks.