Hunter Lake (1/100)

Hunter Lake (1/100)

HUNTER LAKE 1/100

Henry and Junior

Henry Setterholm lifted military grade binoculars to his ruddy face and gazed out onto the shallow lake.

He slowly put his finger to his lips “shhhhh” pushing quiet air toward his son.

Henry mouthed the words “Quiet” and pointed to the bull rushes along the east side banks of the lake.

He slowly handed the camouflage painted binoculars to his two-year –old son who rolled on his side and smiled.

“Psst, they’re not a toy, son.”

Henry slowly lifted his son into his lap while he sat cross-legged and held the binoculars in place, directed to small mounds behind the tall rushes. “That’s a nest from last year, now keep looking, I’m going to show you the Dance of the Western Grebe.”

Junior squirmed and giggled sending a hand up for a high five. 

The sound of bull rushes swiping each other got louder and softer with the late May breeze that pushed across the North Dakota prairie. “You warm enough?” Henry touched the chapped red cheeks with the backs of his hands and he brushed against the little ones fingers. He pulled the wool stocking cap down the back of his neck and let the red curly hair escape out the edges, then wrapped his own wool scarf around his neck and snapped his camo jacket tight around Junior’s chest. He held his small hands in his and blew on them until he could feel the warmth in his own.

Junior said, “I stay Pa.” and looked with his clear blue eyes into Henry’s. Henry held tight with one hand and with the other looked out the binoculars. Junior snuggled into his chest.

The familiar ratcheting sound pierced through the prairie breeze and Henry stiffened. In the reeds he saw a patch of white and with the binoculars the yellow piercing eyes beneath the crested head feathers.

“Bird dance?” Junior twisted around and paid particular attention to the high pitched squealing, like sounds chalk on a chalkboard.

Two black crested large white birds appeared with wriggly minnows hanging out of their long pointed black beaks in a small break in the reeds. Like a nautilus shell pattern they started to circle closer to each other.

“Feet like propellers on a motor boat, you’ll see.”

Beaks still dangling with minnows they seemed to stand up and face each other, chest to chest.

Treading water, it looked like they could walk on water.

They didn’t even bob up and down, their pointed beaks touched and they swallowed their minnows in one gulp and the crest on the top of their heads lifted up on the back.

“Keep listening.” The piercing sounds continued first a gym whistle flutter sound and then a piercing high-pitched sound.

 “Dance,” said Junior. The chest pumping continued and the two birds stood tall on the water.

The afternoon sun blazed across the prairie and Henry sighed as though he had held his breath for years waiting for that moment, he realized he had done just that.

Suddenly, he felt the earth tremble underneath and put one hand down as though to stop the shaking. His hand touched the edge of farmland that led to the wetlands, a glacier made shallow lake. He felt his skin tighten and beads of sweat trickle down his forehead. The breeze turned hot, his heart raced, he felt like he was back in the desert, waiting for the IED, waiting for the explosion. When he blinked the vision disappeared and he was back home, with his son, at the lake. He shook his head, he wanted to forget a battle that wouldn’t leave him.

He heard his son’s voice, “poppa!” He hugged the boy tight.

Then he looked toward to source of the rumbling earth, over his shoulder, driving across the highway, he only saw “Engineer” and couldn’t make out the name. The earth trembled again and he had to shake off the fear again, had to remember he was back home in North Dakota.

“Poppa?”

Henry looked down, he was surround by his land, by the lake with the Dancing Western Grebes and their mating call, by the sounds of the bulrushes in the wind, and the silence of the prairie.

What was an engineering company doing out here?