Everybody claps.
I say, “These ducks were lucky. They were found, cared for, and raised until they could safely do something that ducks ought to be able to do: not drown.”
People clap again. The little kids in the front row look like they want to swim with the ducks, but fortunately their parents are making sure they do not.
“Thank you for coming today,” I say. “We’re still here for another hour and a half, so stop by all of our wonderful stations. And be sure and get some cookies and grilled asparagus.”
I had to say it. It’s just so weird. Zoe sticks out her tongue at me, real fast. But then she winks. We’re good. Zoe and I. And Maggie and I? We’re good, too.
David and Josh are careful not to come too close to the bathing ducks.
“That was great,” Josh cheers.
“Yeah, especially the part when you both had to run after the ducks,” David says, “That was my favorite part of the whole day.”
“Gee, thanks, David,” I say.
Maggie gives him a gentle push. He makes a big deal over falling on the ground and pretending to be in pain. Pure David.
“Hey, David,” Josh says. “Did you tell them about Farmer Ziemian?
“Not yet,” David says, getting up from the ground. “He’s going to take the ducks. Great, huh?”
“That is great,” Maggie says. “When?”
“Tomorrow,” David says.
Wow, tomorrow. So soon. That is good news, even if it makes me a little sad. But then again, I’m always sad when any animal leaves the wildlife center.
I look around. Most people have gone back to the stations. A few people are heading for the parking lot. Dr. Mac and Dr. Gabe are talking to the two store managers. Dr. Gabe sees me looking their way. He lifts his chin slightly, and I have the feeling that we should go over to talk to them.
I lead the way.
Dr. Mac smiles and stands with her hands on her hips. She says to the managers, “These girls worked very hard on this event.”
Maggie says, “We all did.”
She looks at Josh and at David. Sunita, Jules, and Zoe have gone back to their stations, but Maggie is right. All of the Vet Volunteers worked hard.
Then Maggie adds, “We had some help today from a high school group, too.”
Dr. Mac smiles. I do, too.
“I’m sure this rascally boy helped,” the feed-store manager says, patting David on the shoulder.
Josh looks as if he might bust a gut trying to keep his laugh inside. His shoulders go up and down. David looks down. I can tell he’s afraid he’s going to laugh, too.
Dr. Gabe says, “Did you want to tell the kids your plan?”
The feed store manager looks at the tractor supply manager. He nods.
“Well, kids, we’re going to take your advice. Next year, we will both insist on a minimum purchase of six chicks. That way, we can be sure that they’re not going to be bought as disposable pets.”
The tractor-supply manager nods his agreement.
“We really learned quite a bit from you kids today,” the feed-store manager says. “Quite a bit. Oh, and no more dyed bunnies, either. I read the paperwork you sent over, young lady. You’ve opened my eyes.”
David looks at me. I know he’ll always keep my secret about what I almost did.
“Next year, we should do this again,” David says. “But before Easter.”
“Let’s make it happen,” the tractor-supply manager says. The Vet Volunteers look at one another. We really have made a difference today. I’m pretty sure that next year there won’t be so many abandoned pets. It feels good.
We say good-bye to the store managers and help with the remaining stations. There is a lot to take down and put away for our next open house. Sage, Josh, and David stow the pop-up tents in Dad’s workshop. Everybody else—including some of our friendly visitors—grabs the dozens of straw bales around and stacks them in the critter barn.
I say good-bye to my friends. Sage and I lead the ducks back to the critter barn where they will spend one last night. All the visitors are gone, and everything is back in order. I need something to eat, a shower, and bed.
After my shower, I find my family at the kitchen table. Piles of dishes sit in the sink and on the counter. They’ve been left for me: my punishment for poor patching and even poorer permission seeking. I’m on dish duty until July.
Plates of leftover cookies and asparagus sit next to a tray with a stack of fresh tomato sandwiches. I grab a sandwich. Jayvee has only cookies in front of him.
I wink at him. “Special day, huh?”
Jayvee smiles and takes a big bite out of his cookie. His whole body is swaying, so I can tell he’s swinging his feet beneath the table. He is one happy camper. Sage shakes his head and laughs.
Mom and Dad flip through some of the prints I made. They look at the photos from when the fox family first came to stay with us, photos of the ducklings’ first day at Dr. Mac’s, and photos of my friends. In a second pile are the origami dinosaur photos. They are so very cool.
Mom pats the dinosaur pile. “I can’t believe the effect you were able to achieve,” she says.
“I’ll have the frames done this week so we can get them up in Jayvee’s room,” Dad says.
Jayvee beams, and those legs keep swinging.
Until Mom says, “Jayvee, please. Table manners.”
Jayvee stops swinging but not smiling. “Thanks, Brenna,” he says. “My dinosaurs look like real paper dinosaurs.”
We all laugh. “They do look like real paper dinosaurs,” I say.
Dad turns a photo around so that I can see it. It’s one of the fox kits. I used the same photo last month in my slide show for the Outdoor Club. That seems like so long ago.
Dad says, “Brenna, this is stunning. You were always good, but over this past year, you have become a truly amazing photographer. The action, the lighting, how did you learn to do all this?”
“Thanks,” I say. I feel my face going red. “I’m always reading about technique and composition. And I just go outside and try.”
“I wonder where this might take you.” Dad says softly as he flips through a couple more photos.
Sage pulls a picture of the ducklings from the stack. The ducklings are tiny, practically round balls of bright yellow fluff.
“That was when we first found them, remember?” I ask him.
“You forget how small they were, don’t you?” he says.
“They grow so fast,” I say. Sage pulls out a picture from a couple weeks later. The ducklings’ necks look longer, and their bodies not so compact.
Mom has gotten up from the table and returned with the family photo album. Oh no, this can make my parents sappy for hours.
“Just look at how fast they grow,” Mom says, pointing. The first few photos are of Baby Sage. He looks tiny, but you can see those same intense eyes. In the background, our cabin looks new and uncluttered. Not much furniture around, either.
Mom keeps flipping, Sage grows older, and we get to me as a baby. Okay, I was seriously cute. My brown hair is soft and curly. Mom must have had a thing for weird baby headbands. I’m wearing a different one in almost every picture. Some pictures are of me alone, some with Mom or Dad, but most are just Sage and me.
Dad says, “That doesn’t seem so long ago.” He is pointing to my first day of school picture. I look determined in my red plaid jumper and blue shoes.
It seems a long time ago to me. I can’t remember that picture being taken. I can’t remember the dress or the shoes. I do remember the Dora the Explorer backpack I am clutching. But otherwise, kindergarten, and almost all of elementary school, is a bit of a blur. Sometimes it feels as if I’ve been in school forever.
Then Mom turns a page, and there is Baby Jayvee. He is sitting in his high chair covered wi
th spaghetti. It’s in his hair, all over his face, and smeared across the high chair tray. He’s laughing. And swinging his feet. I look over at Jayvee. I do remember when that picture was taken. Mom turns the page, and five-year-old Jayvee is standing on the same spot I was for his first day of school. Not only do I remember that picture being taken, but it really seems as if it was only months ago.
How can this be? It doesn’t feel like anything has sped by for me. And Sage pretty much seems the same. But Jayvee? Jayvee’s life seems to be moving faster than ours. I look over at him. I realize I still think of him as a four- or five-year-old. He’s still a kid, but he’s a kid who can make origami dinosaurs. A kid who can climb trees and do multiplication. He’s growing up almost as fast as a duckling. For the first time ever, I think I want the world to slow down.
Chapter Thirteen
At first, Sage was going to take just Maggie and me to Farmer Ziemian’s to release the ducks. But Zoe heard that Sage was driving and wanted in. No problem, there; Zoe brings the fun with her, after all. Everyone else is working at the clinic today. I’ve brought my camera so we’ll be able to tell—and show—them all about it.
When we get to the farm, Farmer Ziemian points to the pond. It’s beyond the empty pasture and right before the rye field. Sage stays behind to talk to Farmer Ziemian about his sustainable farming techniques, and we girls head to the pond.
We take turns carrying the crate. The ducklings take up so much more room in the crate than they did a month ago. It isn’t exactly heavy, but it is awkward. Besides that, the ducks keep scooting back and forth, shifting the balance of the crate.
“I thought he said this was an empty pasture,” Zoe says. She is taking tiny steps and slowing us down.
“Doesn’t it look empty to you?” Maggie says. “No cows, no sheep, no nothing.”
I look around. What is Zoe talking about? Maggie is right. No animals, only scrub plants from when the previous animals chewed it down.
“There is dried manure everywhere!” Zoe says.
Maggie rolls her eyes. “Somebody should have worn the right shoes,” she says.
“Well, how was I to know we’d be stomping through manure?” Zoe looks before taking her next tiny step.
I don’t see all this manure she’s so afraid of. But then, I wore my barn boots, so I’m all set.
Maggie shakes her head. “Did you think the pond would be surrounded by a paved parking lot?”
“I wasn’t really thinking much about it at all. I just thought it would be fun for us to spend some time together with Sage and the ducks,” Zoe says.
Maggie shoots me an amused look. I think we both know this was a flirting expedition for Zoe. Oh well. It comes with the package.
When we finally get to the edge of the pond, we search for a place to sit. High reeds and grasses surround most of the pond, but there is a nice little “beach” section, as well. A few big flat stones dot the area, giving us a place to sit with clear views of the entire pond.
The pond is large. I would have called it a small lake. Trees shading the far side and lily pads dot the shore closest to us. I set the crate down, Maggie opens it, and the ducks file out behind their little leader. She looks back and quacks at me. I wonder if she is telling me off for putting her in a crate again.
We laugh and watch the ducks head for the water. But they stop before they get too far. The leader lies down, so the others do, too. They sample some of the tall grasses and cast glances at the water.
“Do you think we should give them a pat like we did when we waterproofed them?” Maggie asks me.
“I think we should wait. Give them a little time to adjust.”
Zoe picks a tall, slender stalk of grass. She puts it between her thumbs and blows. The whistle sounds like a train.
Maggie says, “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I have all kinds of hidden skills,” Zoe says. She wets her lips and whistles through the grass again.
“Teach us,” Maggie says.
We practice positioning the grass like Zoe shows us, but neither Maggie nor I quite get the hang of it. Ours sound more like the whine of a boy duck than a train. We watch the ducks get closer to the water’s edge, and the three of us whistle in our own ways. Maggie gets pretty close. But her whistle is higher and inconsistent.
Mine generally sounds like I’m just spitting. Every once in a while a tone comes out, but then I need to take a breath and I’m spitting again.
Maggie puts down her stalk. “You know, your friends from the Outdoor Club are pretty cool. Yesterday, they taught me a few compass skills. And they showed me how to identify some edible plants at the edge of the woods.”
“I’m glad you liked them,” I say.
“The boys from the Outdoor Club are especially nice,” Zoe says with a smile. “They thought serving grilled asparagus was brilliant.”
“I’m sure they did,” Maggie says, rolling her eyes once more. I look at the cousins. They are so different from each other and yet such a perfect pair.
The ducks are on the water’s edge now, dipping their bills in but otherwise staying dry. Baby steps, I guess.
I turn to Maggie and Zoe. “I really am sorry for making you think I was choosing those high school kids over you. I would never do that. I couldn’t ask for better friends than you guys. Than all of the Vet Volunteers.”
“That’s okay,” Maggie says. “We get it now. Some high school kids are cool.”
“I know I’m impatient. I’m ready for whatever’s next, and I want to drag you all along with me.”
“You’re not impatient when it comes to your picture taking. Especially your wildlife photos.”
That’s true. I’d never really considered that before.
“Have you ever heard of playing to your strengths?” Maggie asks.
I shake my head no.
“It’s what my basketball coach teaches us,” Maggie begins, “In a game, Coach has us play the positions we’re best at. Take the shots we’re good at. In practice, she has us start with what each of us does best and then work on what needs to improve. It helps with confidence. And it helps the whole team out if each one of us plays to our strengths.”
“Okay, I get that. But what does it have to do with me?” I ask.
Zoe looks as if she doesn’t completely understand, either.
Maggie says, “When you get a new idea, you want to drag us along with you. That’s usually a good thing. You make us jump in and find out about something we don’t know. That’s playing to your strengths.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes I make you pretty miserable with that. Moving everybody too fast,” I say. I wonder where Maggie is going with this.
“But we’re playing to our strengths, too. We ask questions. Sometimes we put the brakes on you. You take the harder shot. It’s good for the team.”
“I get it,” Zoe says. “We make Brenna work harder and figure things out more before she leaps, right?”
“Yup!” Maggie says. “We all improve. You drag us forward. In the end, it’s a good thing.”
Wow. Maggie has been doing some pretty deep thinking about this.
I try my grass whistle again and then wipe the spit off my mouth and say, “We’ll all be up at the high school soon enough, anyway. Middle school is flying by.”
Zoe nods her head. “Before you know it, we’ll all be away at college and then doing whatever it is we’re going to do with our lives. What do you guys want to do?”
I ask, “You mean, what do we want to be when we grow up?”
We all laugh at that lame question. Adults seem to ask it whenever they don’t know what to say to you. But today, beside the big pond, it’s a very good question.
“I wanna be a vet like Gran. I want to work with her here. School is hard for me though. College and vet school are going to be tough.”
“You’ll do it,” I say. When Maggie wants something, she works hard to make it happen.
I look at Zoe. “How about you?” I ask.
“I want to be a fashion designer. Or an actress like my mom,” she says, striking a pose.
“I thought you would want to be a chef,” I say.
“No, no, I want to be an actress or a fashion designer, and when I go on talk shows I will wow them with my culinary skills. And then I’ll write a celebrity cookbook. I’ve got it all planned,” Zoe boasts.
“I guess you do,” I say. Zoe talks as if the matter is settled. No doubts at all. I wish I were like that.
“And you?” Maggie asks, looking at me.
“I really don’t know,” I say. “Help my parents run the rehab? Become a science teacher, maybe. I’m not sure.”
Maggie and Zoe look at each other with puzzled expressions.
“What?” I ask.
“Everyone thinks you’re going to become a wildlife photographer,” Maggie says.
“A famous one,” Zoe adds.
Everyone thinks this? Who is everyone? I’ve never considered it.
“Can you really be a wildlife photographer as a job?” I ask. “Are there people who can make enough money to live on?”
“Why wouldn’t there be?” Maggie shrugs. “I don’t know. Google it.”
“I will. If we know nothing else about my strengths, we know I’m a good researcher.”
We laugh again and then look out at the pond. The ducks are in the water. We missed the moment when they actually got in. But doesn’t that seem to be the way things go? It’s hard to know when the new thing starts. You often realize it only when you’ve gone far enough to look back a little and know that you’ve moved on.
Treading Water Page 11