In the summer of 2015, a friend invited a few of us over to her house to kayak. Although I had lived across the street from Marl Lake in Fenton for a few years, I had never tried it. I decided to go almost all in and bought an inflatable kayak.
My friend Wendy and I had a hard time inflating it, but we got it “full enough” for me to take it out on the lake. After about half an hour on the water, I felt like
I was really finding my groove.
I loved this kayaking thing—where had it been all my life? Then, out of nowhere, my kayak deflated. I started taking on water and descended into the rather murky canal, which was mercifully close to shore.
I emerged covered in mud from head to toe. As I stood in a stranger’s backyard, a man ran toward me from the yard next door with two paper towels. Seeing me up close, he quickly headed back to his house and returned with a full roll. I cleaned myself up just enough to hop into my friend’s car. She and my other friends had paddled back to Wendy’s so they could drive over and pick me up.
As I sat in the car picking mud out of my hair, I smiled and said, “I can’t wait to go back out!”
Wendy was surprised by this revelation; she had assumed I would never want to get in a kayak again. But something had happened to me before I sank—I had felt completely at one with the water, gliding across the lake. It was exhilarating, and I was hooked.
Kayaking, s’mores, and a nice yard for our dogs to play in—this was living.
I bought a real kayak. My neighbor across the street let me store it at his dock and told me I was free to go for a paddle anytime. I was there nearly every day, paddling the lake, often heading to the middle and simply resting there in my kayak, pondering the state of the world. It didn’t matter what kind of day I was having; going for a paddle made everything seem okay.
When the coldest days of fall arrived and I had to put my kayak away for the season, I was heartbroken. I worried about what might happen the next year to come between me and my new love. What if my neighbor moved? I vowed that someday, somehow, my husband and I would live directly on the water.
Three years later, we found a place on the Linden Millpond. I now had the Shiawassee River at my disposal, along with access to three good-sized lakes just a 20-minute paddle upstream. We bought a second kayak and built a fire pit in our backyard.
Kayaking, s’mores, and a nice yard for our dogs to play in—this was living. In 2020, we got a small deck boat. It was zippy and fun, but it just wasn’t the same.
There’s a feeling I get gliding down the river, a cooler strapped to my kayak, communing with the beavers, fish, and turtles that I simply can’t find anywhere else.
An Emmy-nominated anchor/meteorologist/reporter at FOX66 and NBC25, Leslie Toldo recently retired from TV news after a career of over 30 years, nearly 20 in Flint. She is a blogger, writer, wedding and funeral officiant. Born and raised in Baton Rouge, LA, she graduated from the University of Wyoming. An avid kayaker, boater and runner, Leslie lives in Linden with her husband, Ellie the cat and three dogs: Henry, Gus and Lucy.
