It was the fullest, richest part of the summer in New England. The
afternoon shadows were lengthening, the blackberries were deep purple
and plump on the cane, and the soft breezes sifted the yellow powder from
the fuzzy yellow goldenrod blossoms. The bees were starting to show some
wear and tear, and the occasional "plonk!" of a shiny new acorn could be
heard beneath the oaks. It was the end of August, and the hoomins packed
up their suitcases, and left the house for their annual vacation. The
dog, the Noble Allis Chompers was dropped off to spend the time with
local family. Arrangements were made with the nice girl down the street
to check in on Ping and Puma, and France, the Fricken' Pygmy Hedgehog
every day. The hoomins would be gone for ten days. But while they were
gone, someone was coming over for an extended stay in the country...the
Otters.
When we left off...our group was discussing Otter Creek....
Puma, a little unsure if she should bring it up or not said "But there
is still an Otter Creek...you can see it from the highway."
"Yes, little cousin. You can still see a fragment of it from the
highway," said the First otter, in a kind voice. "But let me tell
you about Otter Creek, what it *used* to be..." He closed his eyes,
which were just starting to brim over with tears, and began...
"It was never *our* home, of course," the First began in his deep, rich
voice. "We are Sea Otters, but the rivers and creeks flow to the sea,
and I can remember the songs the River Otters used to sing at night,
beneath the full moon." Here he paused, and one shiny tear fell from his
eye. He wiped it off of his face with a paw, and cleared his throat.
"They sang of the creek banks, rich with tall grasses that rippled in
the wind...cat tails and sedges that nodded together when the wind blew.
And flowers...and cool strands of algae that became caught on the
rocks when the current was just right. There were bull frogs and
dragonflies... our cousins the Fisher Cats, and so many Brothers and
Sisters in Fur."
The First stopped there for a while, and Ping and Puma felt their own
eyes well with tears.
"The Beavers," he continued "the Muskrats, our cousins the Minks...they
all lived and played and had their kits by the creek. And where it
widened out and the water became still there were lily pads that shone
in the sun...and waxy white and yellow lillies floating at the surface.
There were fish enough for everyone to feast, and fresh water clams, and
crayfish..."
Puma felt a tear slip down her face, because she knew something
*terrible* was coming. Ping was looking at the floor, and France was
very still, listening to the deep voice rumble on.
"Then," said the First,"the mills came, and the water became bitter. The
fresh water clams and the crayfish disappeared. The fish stocks thinned
out. The salmon vanished, and many birds flew away in the fall, but did
not return in the spring." Here, the First looked down at his belly and
said quietly " I do not want to speak of what happened to the Beaver."
There was complete silence in the house. A sweet smelling breeze blew
the curtains into the room, then departed, leaving them slack once more,
all in silence. Several minutes passed this way, each individual lost
in his or her own thoughts.
Finally, Ping said "But what about the condo things?"
"Those came later," said the First. "Long after the culverts that poured
filth into the river, and the bridges that bound it. Those are the homes
of hoomins, and they do not allow any of us to share their land. It has
been four years since I heard a River Otter sing. Four years. They do
not come to the sea to sing any more."
The room fell silent once more, and finally France piped up with steel
in her voice "So whaaat are we goin' do about eet?"
At this both the First and the Second otters smiled bitter smiles. The
Second said from his place sitting on the floor
"Why, make *s'mores*, of course!"
*S'mores?" asked Puma. "What are those?"
And the otters began to grin, even more wickedly...
End Part Five
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 5369]
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