The Lake

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The growling of broody hens filled the air as I wrenched open the barn door.

My movements were quick, almost automatic, as I reached for the basket Grandma always used to collect the eggs with one hand and a scoop for feed with the other. About a dozen plump, feathery shapes emerged from the shadows as I topped off the feeders and started collecting as many eggs as I could find, ignoring the ones that had already frozen and cracked in the cold. One hen glanced up at me as I passed by, as if she was wondering what I was doing here. Then the thought passed, and she strutted away to join in with the rest of the flock.

Setting the basket of eggs near the door, I moved on to the goats, refilling their hay bags and breaking away the layers of ice that had formed in their water troughs. One very persistent buck, a white goat that we called Blizzard, tailed me as I worked, occasionally sneaking up from somewhere behind me to nibble at the bottom of my coat.

After the third or fourth sneak attack, I turned to him and pointed to the nearest hay bag.

"Your food's over there, stupid!"

Blizzard just stared back at me, but the look in his amber eyes said that he was ready to do it again. I shook my head at him in defeat and set my focus on wrapping things up in the barn.

Once I had circled back towards the door, I collected my basket of eggs and hurried to get them back to the cabin.

I had only managed to take a couple of steps away from the barn before my feet suddenly slid out from underneath me. My arms flailed in tight circles as I fought to regain balance. Fortunately, after a few dramatic moments of slipping and stumbling, my boots regained traction and I was able to steady myself, all without losing any of the eggs I'd collected in the process.

I turned back and studied the patch of ground that I had slipped on. The snow there was packed down, worn smooth from constant foot travel. If I had to guess, this was probably where Grandma wound up falling. I made a mental note to remind Grandpa about it once he got back from town.

Grandma turned to me as I hurried through the front door of the cabin and placed the eggs on the kitchen table. Her eyes shifted from me to the basket as she scrubbed away at the dishes that were in the sink.

"Is that it?" she asked.

"Yeah," I answered with a huff, "All the ones that weren't already frozen, anyway."

Grandma shuffled over to the table and took the basket into her hands, inspecting a few of the eggs before carrying them off towards the pantry.

"I'm going to have a look around the fenceline," I called out to her, "Make sure there aren't any repairs that need to be made just yet."

"Okay," I heard Grandma call back, "Just be careful."

I barely managed a nod of acknowledgment before I was halfway out the door again.

The sun had started climbing higher, turning the pink and orange hues of early morning into pale shades of gold and yellow holding up a bright blue sky. The cold felt less hostile, now. Crisp, fresh, raw - refreshing in a way that had always made this place feel like home.

I marched through the snow towards the property line, throwing up fresh powder with each step. I eyed the first sections of fencing from a distance, looking for any abnormalities or immediate signs of damage. Progress was slow, but it felt good. I was in my element, doing what needed to be done.

Halfway through patrolling the perimeter, a series of indents in the snow caught my eye. I knelt down to examine them closer. They were paw prints, fairly big ones, and concerningly fresh. Definitely feline. I lowered a hand to get a reference of the size. They were about as big as my palm.

A lynx. Probably out hunting. Or perhaps it was scouting the property, hoping to catch some easy prey. Either way, it was something else that I would need to tell Grandpa about as soon as he returned home.

As if on cue, an engine roared from somewhere in the distance; a familiar low drone that slowly rose over the steady quiet of the homestead. A navy blue pick-up truck pulled into view, its snow tires kicking up white clumps as it pulled onto the property.

Grandpa was back.

I lifted a hand and waved as I started trudging back towards the cabin. The rest of the fenceline could wait. Right now, Grandpa likely had a full load in the bed of his truck; parts, groceries, feed, and fuel that needed to be brought in and put away.

The driver's side door to Grandpa's truck swung open as I approached, cutting off the old country music that had been blaring from his radio.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" he called out, pulling a thick wool cap onto his head.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. He was right, though. I had overslept this morning.

"Morning, Grandpa," I called back, "How was it in town today?"

Grandpa gave a slight shrug, "Uneventful. I would've asked if you wanted to tag along, but you were all..."

He folded his hands and leaned his head against them as he let out a few exaggerated snoring sounds. I couldn't help but laugh as I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets.

Grandpa hopped out of his truck, "You got your chores all done, right?"

I nodded as I rattled off what I had managed to complete thus far. I mentioned the slippery spot in front of the barn and the lynx tracks along the fence. Grandpa stroked his thick, bushy beard as he listened, his eyes moving around the property as I spoke.

"Good deal," he finally said, giving a nod of satisfaction, "How's your grandmother doing?"

"She says she's still a little tender," I responded, "But she's determined to make the most of it."

Grandpa sighed as he popped opened the tailgate to his truck, "Of course..."

I immediately started reaching for the heavy stuff; the bags of feed that needed to go into the barn, and the fuel that needed to be taken into the garage. Grandpa reached for the groceries, shooing Grandma back into the cabin when she tried sneaking outside to help.

I couldn't help but crack a smile as I headed towards the outbuildings. I really did get it from Grandpa.

Once the truck was unloaded, Grandpa met me in the garage to work on the snowmobile. Unfortunately for me, I didn't know how to do much in that regard, so I settled for being his second set of hands, passing along tools to and from his toolbox and holding the light so that he could see what he was doing while he worked.

"So your grandmother says you've been thinking..." Grandpa suddenly piped up.

I froze. Talks like this were so much worse with Grandpa than they were with Grandma. With Grandma, she was always quick to back off, not wanting to push too hard. Grandpa, though? Somehow, he always found a way to make it personal.

"Y'know..." he continued, "I remember when I was your age. Fresh out of school with an endless road of possibilities before me. Originally, I wanted to be just like my grandpa. Set out looking for gold, only I'd do what he hadn't been able to do - come back a rich man."

"That certainly would have been something," I admitted, "So what happened?"

"Well, it turned out that I wasn't built for that kind of a life. Then I met your grandmother, and then we had your father..."

I frowned slightly at that. I had only gotten to know my father through pictures and the stories that Grandma and Grandpa would tell me whenever I'd gotten curious enough to ask.

"Life has a way of changing plans," Grandpa sighed, "Sometimes it's for the better, sometimes not. Half of the things that brought me here were things that I didn't plan on."

My frown only deepened as I rested my head in my hands. Before I could start to ponder his words, Grandpa came up beside me and rested a heavy hand against my shoulder.

"You'll get there, Davey," he said, giving me a reassuring look, "And it'll happen sooner than you think."

I felt a smile start to tug at the corners of my mouth when a low growl suddenly erupted from the layers underneath my coat.

Grandpa belted out a hearty laugh, "Was that your stomach, or do you have a wolverine tucked under there?"

I let out a laugh in response. Breakfast had gone by relatively quickly, and I had spent all morning doing what I could to knock out as many chores as I could before Grandpa returned from town. I was starving.

Grandpa ruffled my hair, knocking a few dusty brown locks into my face.

"Come on," he said, "I'm sure lunch is almost ready by now."

"Shouldn't we finish fixing the snowmobile first?" I asked.

"Do you want to finish fixing the snowmobile, or would you rather have salmon?"

I sprang to my feet and bolted out of the garage before Grandpa could get another word in. He and Grandma had to have planned this. They both knew that I had a hard time saying no to salmon.

●●●

"Davey, would you slow down?"

Grandma eyed me with growing concern as she watched me clean my plate of a healthy serving of salmon and baked potatoes. Then another... and then another.

Grandpa looked up from his plate and smirked, "Oh, leave him be, Anita."

"But it's the third plate that he's had, Thomas!"

"He's a young man. Young men eat a lot."

Grandma let out an exasperated breath as she turned to me, "Where do you put all of it?"

I could only respond with a shrug. Honestly, I was just as confused as she probably was. All I knew for certain was that up until that moment, I wasn't full. Yet another thing I had apparently inherited from my grandfather - a seemingly-bottomless stomach.

"It's okay," I said, wiping the grease and seasoning from my mouth, "I'm just about done."

Grandma pursed her lips as she picked up my plate and carried it off to the sink. She was moving a lot easier now that she was warm, and Grandpa had brought her some ibuprofen while he was in town, helping to relieve some of the pain from her fall.

"So, David," Grandpa spoke up, leaning back in his chair, "What are your plans for the rest of today?"

I paused, "I thought I was going to help you finish fixing the snowmobile?"

"I think I can handle wrapping up that little chore myself. Anything else?"

"No. Why? Is there something else that you wanted my help with?"

Grandpa shook his head, "Not that I can think of."

I sat there and thought for a moment. There were some traps around the property that I could check on. It would help stock the freezer back up, especially considering I had eaten an entire sockeye fillet by myself, but other than that...

There was nothing. Not until the woodpile beside the stove needed to be stocked back up later tonight, anyway. I was free, and free time on the Willoughby homestead was rare.

"I could go check on the traps," I said, "Maybe do a little ice fishing on the lake that's just past the treeline. I can go out, fish for a few hours, and be home before it gets dark."

Grandpa nodded approvingly, "Sounds like a plan to me."

I collected myself, throwing on my warmest hat, scarf, gloves, and my coat before disappearing back out the door. Suddenly, I found myself getting giddy with excitement. In the past the only free time that I had was dedicated to finishing my schoolwork. Now, the free time that I had was genuinely free. I was free to do whatever I wanted.

I spent the better part of an hour winding up and down the marked trails that surrounded the homestead, checking traps and resetting the ones that prey had managed to escape from. I returned to the cabin with a few decently sized rabbits, now long frozen from having no way out of the cold.

I ran my hand over the coat of each one, giving it a silent thanks for each of their little lives before setting them aside for me and Grandpa to break down later. It was something personal. It just seemed like the respectful thing to do.

Once that was all said and done, I then set my sights on the lake.

A memory surfaced about the group of friends I used to hang out with during my last few years of school. They used to tell me about this spot on the other side of the lake - this stretch beside a fallen aspen where, allegedly, all the big fish liked to hide.

I'll admit, it was intriguing listening to their stories, but I'd never had any reason to investigate their claims in the past. That spot that they talked about was further out, and on our side of the lake the fish that we caught were always big enough. Until now, I didn't see any sense in wasting energy on a spot that might just turn out to be some tall fisherman's tale.

But now, I had the time.

Walking into the garage, I strode past Grandpa, who was finishing up the last of the repairs to the snowmobile.

"So what's the plan for this afternoon, Davey?"

I straightened myself as I started gathering my fishing gear from its designated corner in the back room. The first time he had asked during lunch had just been a general inquiry. This time, he was looking for a confirmation; a plan for where I was going, what I'd be doing, and when they could expect me to be back home that was set in stone.

"I'm going down to the lake to go ice fishing," I replied, confidently this time, "Just for a couple of hours, then I'll return to the cabin before it gets dark. If I had to guess, around 3:30, or so."

Grandpa nodded, "Alright, then."

He handed me a thermos filled with hot tea that Grandma had prepared while I'd been out checking traps. To make sure I stayed warm, she'd apparently said. I wasn't the biggest fan of tea, myself, but I also knew that it wouldn't be long before I'd be looking for something to help warm me up while I was out on the ice. I took it, tucking it into my coat as I headed towards the door.

"Good luck out there, Davey!" Grandpa called after me, "Remember, if something doesn't seem right..."

"Don't step onto the ice," I finished, "I know, I'll be careful."

"Just making sure..."

I stepped out of the garage and turned towards the cabin. Through one of the windows, I spotted Grandma standing there, waving cheerfully to me as she watched me set off towards the treeline, her long-distance way of sending me off and reminding me to stay safe.

I waved back. I would. I always was.

The lake was roughly a twenty minute walk away from the homestead; a sizable body of water surrounded by towering spruce trees and aspen. From where I stood on the shoreline, I could see the fallen aspen my friends had mentioned. For a brief moment, I thought about crossing the ice to get over there a bit faster, but I knew better. Even though the ice here was currently a strong shade of blue, casually taking risks like that were what got people killed. I knew that ice water was nothing to play around with, especially in Alaska, and especially during the winter.

It took an extra ten minutes of trudging through deep snow around the edge of the lake to reach the aspen, chilling my toes and generally making progress slow. Being able to step out onto the ice was almost a relief as I freed my legs from the drifts' resistance. I walked out about ten feet, or so, until I was sure I was standing above open water.

I knelt down and wiped away a patch of snow that covered the portion of the ice in front of me. It was clear and blue, just like the spots where I normally fished. There were no pressure ridges or any holes drilled by anyone that might have been here before. This spot felt safe.

I took out my spud bar, prodding at the ice every few steps until I settled on a place to set up. Not too far out onto open water, but far enough that figured I'd have a chance at catching these legendary fish I'd heard so much about. I chopped a sizable hole into the ice, sat myself down on a metal bucket I had brought with me, baited a hook, and dropped my line.

And for the first time today, after hauling firewood, taking care of animals, walking the property line, helping unload Grandpa's truck, helping with repairs, and trudging through snow, it was actually quiet. Truly quiet.

I took a deep breath, letting myself sit with it for a moment. The wind let out an airy whistle, blowing tiny grains of loose snow over the surface of the ice. The trees groaned lowly, standing near the shoreline like towering spectators. All around me, the winter air nipped at whatever exposed skin it could find, combining with my breath to form little ice crystals that clung to the ends of my eyelashes. And out in front of me, my bobber sat still in the water, not a nibble or a bite to be seen or felt.

I was completely alone out here, and being alone gave me room to think.

Grandpa's words from earlier started replaying themselves in my mind.

'Life has a way of changing plans...'

My brow furrowed as I mulled over the statement. I couldn't admit it to him when he had said it, but if I was being brutally honest with myself, I didn't have any real plans. Taking up an apprenticeship for a mechanic was simply an option I'd thrown out to Grandma in the heat of the moment. In reality, I wasn't really all that interested in working with metal or machines, especially in this kind of cold. So what plans could life really change for me when I didn't even have any? What did I want?

I closed my eyes and tried to think of the possibilities. College didn't sound terrible, but what would I even study? The idea of finding work in town didn't bother me, but doing what? Leaving Alaska to start over somewhere else? The idea caused a knot to form in my stomach. I imagined what it would be like, leaving Grandma and Grandpa alone on the homestead. I wouldn't... I couldn't.

I opened my eyes again, taking in all of the wilderness that surrounded me; the lake, the snow, the trees, the mountains, the sky...

This place was my whole world, and yet I knew it wasn't all the world had to offer. I couldn't help, but wonder... What was really out there? If I left Alaska, would I find my place? Would I even be happy?

I thought about it a bit more. Life on the Willoughby homestead wasn't a bad life to me. I loved my grandparents. I loved the cabin. I loved the animals. I loved the work. I loved the nature that surrounded me. I even loved the cold, no matter how long or bitter the winters could be.

I was happy.

And yet, I wanted more, but what did that even mean?

I sighed, and a laugh escaped me.

I'd come out here to catch fish, but caught an existential crisis instead.

After sitting on the ice for two hours, and not managing to get a single bite, I finally decided that it was time to go back home. The cold was making my fingers go numb again, and the tea in my thermos was gone. If I started making my way back now, I'd make it back to the cabin just as Grandma was starting on dinner. Maybe I could talk to her and Grandpa over my earlier ponderings. Maybe they'd be able to give me some advice. Maybe-

Crack--!

The sound that filled my ears as I stood up from my spot made my legs go stiff. It was small, but it felt wrong. So, so wrong! I took a step back, and I heard another crack. This one was accompanied by a barely audible creaking sound. My stomach dropped.

I shifted slightly...

And I dropped straight down, plunging through chunks of ice into the black, frigid water below. In an instant, it felt like there were billions of icy needles boring into my flesh. I frantically kicked my way back to the surface, gasping and sputtering as water that was too cold to comprehend seeped into every layer of clothing, gnawing away at my skin. Ice crystals formed as the wet parts of my body hit the air and started to freeze. My teeth chattered as my mind started racing to think about what I needed to do.

I fought to control my breathing - slow it down, try to keep calm, but each attempt was met with failure as the cold cut deeper into me with each little movement. The gasps for air kept coming, and there was no way for me to push them back down.

I positioned myself to face the fallen aspen laying along the shoreline. Reaching for the pair of spikes hanging from a lanyard around my neck, I jabbed them into the ice. I struggled to get myself horizontal, kicking hard to try to slide out of the water and back onto the surface of the ice, rather than trying to pull myself straight up.

I pulled myself forward, and the edge broke. I tried again, and managed to pull myself out up to my navel, but the ice buckled under my weight. In that moment, my fingers slipped, and the spikes vanished from my hands, sinking into depths of the water below.

My body suddenly felt a whole lot heavier as a feeling of dread washed over me. I was already getting tired.

I cursed under my breath. The conditions were right! Blue ice, no white spots, no flaws or disruptions in the surface of the ice. I had been able to stand just fine on it not two hours prior. Even then, Grandpa had taught me what to do in situations like this. He had gone over it with me again and again so that I would know what to do in situations like this!

But this was real, and simply knowing wasn't computing well after being completely submerged and sitting in the ice-cold water.

A slight whimper escaped my lips as I threw as much strength as I could muster into my legs. I tried to kick myself back onto the ice again, and the edge crumbled once more. I let out a few desperate cries for help before I realized my hands had completely stopped cooperating. Everything was starting to slow down now, and even through the fatigue that was starting to build up inside of my body, I knew what that meant.

I was running out of time.

Then another thought hit me. Was I even going to be able to make it out?

Even if I did, the homestead was still more than a half an hour away from this side of the lake. My clothes were completely soaked through, and the air was freezing. Even if I managed to pull myself out, even if someone came bursting through the trees at this very moment... Would I even make it?

The realization hit me like a brick. The math just wasn't possible. I wasn't going to make it...

A sob escaped me as my eyelids became heavier. After all the wondering that I had done earlier, at that moment, I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted to go back to the cabin. I wanted to sit in front of the old woodstove in the kitchen. I wanted to be back with Grandma and Grandpa.

"Please..." I choked weakly, "I just want to go home..." 178Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM0ra4o4w8S

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