Ken

“AWKE!” A raven screamed from the branches above. Water sloshed as the river made its way around the bend. Waders bounced on Ken’s back with each step he took walking down the narrow path to his fishing hole. A warm start to this early summer day, Ken resolved to catch dinner before storms of the afternoon drove him home.

‘Home’, he thought. How that changed when his life tumbled upside-down, losing Francie.

Reaching his favorite spot on the river, Ken set his gear down and pulled on his waders. A brown garter snake slithered through the grass. Birds darted after their breakfast- on- the- fly. Ken leaned back and watched clouds in the clear blue sky. He sighed, pulled his body up, and gathered rod and creel. Slipping down the muddy bank to the water’s edge, Ken baited his hook and cast the line to the middle of the current. He played the line some, then reeled it in and cast again. With no nibbles on his baited hook, Ken pulled the line back to him and changed from bait to lures. Again, no tugs on his line.

“Guess they aren’t hungry,’ Ken thought, lifting his creel and starting along the river’s edge, up stream. ‘Too many bugs out this morning.’

A wisp of smoke caught his attention.

He eyed the river bank above but saw no camp.

The smoke grew more pungent. There, amongst the trees, the air was hazy.  

“Hello in the camp!” Ken called, climbing over the rocky slope away from the river.

Signs of their camp still littered the ground but no gear or people were in sight. Smoke drifted from a pile of rocks where a campfire had been that morning. Ken set his pole and creel against a nearby tree. Cursed quietly to himself and fished a large burnt out bean can from the hot ashes.   When it was cool enough to touch, he hurried down the bank to the river for water. ‘How many times have I done this?’ Ken thought of making his way back up the rocky slope and sprinkling water on hot coals.  He raked rocks away from the hot ashes and returned to the river for another can of water.  Back and forth he worked until coals were cold and ashes a gooey slop. Ken wiped sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve and said aloud…”Idiots!”

A breeze cooled his sweaty face.  

‘Might as well have some lunch while I’m up here.’ He thought. Finding a comfortable log he sat facing the stream, and ate his peanut butter and pickle sandwich, alone, as usual. Memories drifted into his thoughts. Memories of camping with Francie when they were young. Sitting by the campfire at night, exhausted from the day’s adventures, they shared stories of the day.  Francie, the hiker, always had a story or two of spooking a moose or finding special flowers, Ken had tales of getting caught in a bog and losing his boot or about the “big one” that got away. He smiled a sad smile, bent over & picked a stick from the ground and tossed it into the current below. Those memories were sweet but the time was gone, just as that stick floated down stream and was gone. Ken sighed.

A sharp bark alerted Ken that he was not quite alone. Jerking his head up, he saw the head of a dog just above water, paddling furiously against the current. It was losing the battle and slipping further down stream toward Ken. “Whoa! Fella!” he yelled as he scrambled down the bank and waded out into the swift current. Ken held out his arms while teetering on slick rocks and managed to grab the mutt by the long ears floating above the surface. Pulling the shivering animal toward him he walked it through more shallow water and onto the bank. It shook furiously, then turned and looked into Ken’s face. “Who are YOU?” the big brown eyes asked.

“Spotty, come here!” a voice called. As she broke through a stand of chokecherry bushes, a woman stopped and looked at Ken. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was over here.” She said.

The old beagle trotted to her side and wagged his wet body with joy.  

“I was walking my grandfather's dog when I thought I smelled smoke.” The woman said.  “Guess I was wrong, things seem pretty quiet here. Spotty jumped into the river after something I couldn’t see, then he was gone!” She said.

Ken nodded.

He told her about finding the abandoned campfire and putting it out.

“People are so stupid!” she exclaimed.  “They just don’t know how serious that can be!  I’m glad you could take care of it.  Thank You!”

Ken nodded.

“Are you from around here?” she asked.

 “I bought  that cabin up the hill, the one with the old barn. I recently retired and hope to fix the place up a bit.  It might be a rough winter, but I’ll survive.  What about you?”

She told him about visiting her family who live in the stone house up stream.

As they talked about the country around them and how they came to be there, a gust of wind blew dirt in their eyes.  Dark clouds moved over the nearby ridge.  The air chilled.

“Well, I’d best be on my way.” She said, “We don’t want to get caught in the thunderstorms they’re predicting.”

Ken nodded as he bent down to gather his gear.

“Maybe we will meet again, on the river trail.” She said. “By the way, my name is Frances, what’s yours?”

Jeannie Leigh © June 2, 2024