DC Reflections

Lake Artemesia: I'll take the double-cheese combo and a sunset, please

Berwyn Heights, MD -- The great half-husky Alexis and I hop in my car Saturday as we're both craving one of our favorite outside-the-District routines ... the double-cheeseburger and beautiful sunset combo. The former is courtesy of Wendy's, the latter a lesser-known destination called Lake Artemesia in Prince George's County near the University of Maryland.

I inhale the burger and fries while Alexis takes a catnap in the Mazda. We turn back on to University Boulevard for a second, make a right turn and travel through a little industrial area that looks like it can't possibly lead to something natural or attractive. 

Dogface perks up as she knows the neighborhood and what's ahead. Our six legs hit the ground a moment later and the modern world fades away in a flash. No car horns, jackhammers or police sirens -- not even the incessant yap of a cellphone addict. We enter the paved walking trails as the sun swoops toward the 38-acre lake.

We pass a middle-aged Chicago woman trying to shed some pounds while she listens to her iPod. She's singing way off key with not a care in the world. A rabbit grins as the woman goes by: He could do better but he knows Lake Artemesia is all about getting into your own personal space and enjoying the area's charms.

Around the bend, we watch an exceptionally limber Asian woman work her way through yoga exercises in a lake-side gazebo. We spot an old Asian man a couple of hundred yards later. He's sitting on a bench in a full suit reading out loud to himself. We cruise by a variety of hikers, bikers and bird watchers -- taking note that a guided birding tour is set for the morning of June 7 at the lake.

Alexis likes to keep her eyes on the lake and the aquatic garden. She's tempted to try to walk across what looks to her like a path with round green steps, but she thinks better of it. Five minutes later, a young black family sets up shop on a pier and drops their lines into the water. Dogface and I pause to read one of the signs along the path. She is a speed reader but it takes me a minute to soak in the photos and descriptions of what Lake Artemesia holds ... rainbow trout, bass, walleye, to name a few.

The family has a good time but doesn't get any nibbles for a while. A 20-something Latino man, however, is having better luck. He's down on his knee whispering sweet nothings to his blushing girlfriend sitting on a bench. The light beaming from his face suggests he is deeply in love and that it is only a matter of time before he drops to his knee for another occasion.

Alexis and I keep on walking. "How y'all doin'," I call out to a white couple walking their dog. Unlike everyone else I greet at such places, they recoil in panic, avert their eyes, and dart by.

"Yankees!," Alexis huffs.

We move on. 

More signs teach us about other creatures that call the lake home. We hope to spot a beaver or two but they must be away for the Memorial Day weekend. We do catch glimpses of all kinds of birds scurrying through the forest alongside the lake. Their songs compliment the cacophony of children's laughter coming from another pier.

The last few rays bounce off the lake, punctuated by the gentle whoosh of a Metro green line train that rolls by every 10 minutes or so. I've burned off the burger and Dogface and I are completely relaxed. The two of us hop back in the car but recognize there's a third party with us ... a part of Lake Artemesia that always hitches a ride home.

Softball on the Mall -- another check on my DC life list

A batter crushed a fly ball deep to my left field turf and I turned and sprinted back intending to make one of my beloved, show-off over-the-shoulder catches. The ball dropped into my line of sight and all I had to do was keep running and watch it nest in my glove.

Then it happened -- the thing I even told a friend on the way to practice was going to get me.

The tiny white ball crossed a mammoth white obelisk upon its descent. "Dude," I said to myself in a vernacular used mostly on sports fields, "that's the Washington Monument!"

The surreal joy of playing softball on the National Mall got me and the ball skipped right off my leather. I chunked the ball to the shortstop and stared back at the monument. This is just too cool, I thought. I live here now; I play softball on the Mall. Playing ball on the Mall was on my life list of experiences to treasure in this town, a list that extends seven typed pages and counting.

My DC diamond life got even better several days later when my new co-ed team from work ventured out for our first game against an opponent that had stacked its lineup with NFL-sized players, all but two of them men. (Our team honored the "co" in co-ed with five women on the field.) The ringers jumped out to an early lead by blasting home runs so far they qualified for an exhibit at the Air and Space Museum.

Our scrappy little band of environmentalists didn't quit.

The women on our team started to drive the ringers nuts by stroking single after single after single -- moving runners around station-to-station. The ringers nearly went into epileptic seizures when our thirdbasewoman traded her Monolo Blahniks and just-in-from-Paris purse for cleats and a glove -- stopping a bullet and nailing a runner at first base. I will forever treasure the sly grin that stretched across her face as the batter sulked back to his bench.

Down by seven runs in the last inning, we kept on fighting. Next thing I knew, we were down by two runs with two outs when I stepped toward the plate.

I paused for a second to try to put the game situation out of my head and just focus on placing the ball on the same line I always aim for. I glanced at the Lincoln Memorial down the third base line in left field and reminisced for a nanosecond about the time I spent there with my dad the first time I visited this city in fifth grade. That was the year I fell in love with this town and knew that I'd end up here some day.

I was in a happy little zen place ... until our HR director announced, "Shoot, Chris is going to going ahead and drive these in."

Thanks, man.

I stepped out of the box, hit speed dial to get Zen back, and drove the next pitch through the gap  between short and third. It should have been a double that tied the game but the ringers weren't paying attention as they tried to stop the tying run. I saw the ball bouncing around behind the plate, got waved home by Honest Abe himself, and snuck in for the go-ahead run before the catcher knew I was there.

The smile on my face made me feel like I was 20 again. The old man still has some game.

The mighty enviros took the field in the bottom of the seventh and recorded three up and three down -- the third out and game-saving play made by another of our fearless women. One ringer lost his grip and said there was no way her throw beat the runner at first even though his own first base coach started walking off the field the moment the catch was made.

Our crew headed to a nearby watering hole for dinner and drinks and I made a toast to our new team and to our soon to be legendary come-back victory.

Glasses clinked all around and I scanned the table soaking in the moment ... sitting there with my friends from my dream job in my dream city celebrating another golden moment in the sun.

My inner voice offered a second toast.

"Here's to your new life, Chris."

Cheers indeed.