By the time there was light in the windows again, the Montana sky was so big that the sun couldn’t quite fill it. Instead, the windows turned from dark to a pale grey and stayed that way as Mom prepared her poop juice.
She mounted the driving chair so she could leave the cup in its throne between slorps while she watched the cloudrise. “This is the one, Oscar,” she said as she wriggled into a fresh pair of shorts. “We’ve been turned back so many times, but this time we’re actually gonna finish the whole trail. We already found the trailhead. We know it’s not covered in snow. And since we’re going around the lake, we won’t have to cross any rivers.
It sounded too good to be true. “How does water get into lakes in the first place?” I wondered.
“Usually runoff,” Mom looked both ways to make sure no one could see her before whipping off her old shirt and pulling on a fresh shirt and sports bra in one quick move.
“Run off from what?” I asked, wondering if invisible meese chased Montanners, too.
“Off of mountains, I guess. Either as snow melt or rain on higher ground."
“The lake is full of white dirt?” I asked, looking at the water with new eyes. I hadn’t noticed any white dirt when I fell in yesterday, but I was distracted. Now that it was a little lighter, I could see hints of the white mountain tips in the rippling light. “How does it get from up high into the lake?”
“Rivers. Where do you think all that water at Mt. Hood and Mad Gorge—Oh. I see your point.” Mom looked at the white-tipped mountains poking at the dull sky while she thought. I suppose there are spring-fed lakes. That’s when the water comes from underground.”
“Yeah. I bet that’s where all lakes come from in Montana,” I agreed, wondering if potatoes might be down there, too.
Mom took one last swig of poop juice and opened the door. “Come on. We’ll never know if we don’t check it out.”
The trail may have been flat, but it was still slow going. Especially with so much mud and so many puddles blocking the way. The lake just wouldn’t stay on the side where it belonged. It snuck onto the trail as puddles and pushed out of bounds in little waves.
I splashed daintily through puddles and tromped sturdily through the mud. Mom hopped from side to side to save her socks, roaring or screaming each time the mud knocked a foot out from under her.
“See, this isn’t so—ARGH!” her shoe slithered through the mud in a different direction from where her toes were pointing. “... this isn’t so bad. Not like that dog-awful snow yesterday.”
“Don’t forget the dog-awe-full white dirt in California,” I said fondly. “When we met that turtle who taught the Witch how to remember mapps all by herself, even when there isn’t a cloud in the sky.”
Mom made a last hop onto a rare stretch of dry trail. She looked victoriously at the big sky that was nothing but one giant cloud. “See? We’re getting better at this. We haven’t even gotten lost since Oregon.”
“What about when you kept saying I was gone just cuz I wasn’t on the internet?” I reminded her.
“I just meant we haven’t lost our way. Even when the trail was covered in a foot of snow.”
“We’re unstoppable!” I agreed, splashing more boldly through the next puddle.
“Yeah. The only things left that we haven’t solved are wildlife and rivers." Mom paused to aim a leap at the one dry rock in the middle of an ocean-sized puddle. “But I think it’s okay to be cautious around those. It only makes us better wilderness experts.”
“We’re living the wild life, throwing cushions to the wind,” I agreed, mostly because I liked the sound of it. “Let those imaginary dangers like meese and spaghetti monsters go, Mom. We’re... what was that word you used? Self-re-giant? We’ve grown into self-re-giants now.”
“Snakes and moose are real.” Mom’s eyes started to roll but caught on something on the trail ahead. “...but that piddling thing is no river. We can handle this!” Her eyes were aimed at at a brook, barely wider than Mom is tall and not deep enough to wet my knees.
“Is this where the lake comes from?” I asked.
“See? There are probably a 100 of these little feeder streams around the lake.” Mom backed up and took a running leap. She didn’t even come close to crossing on a single bound, but only one shoe got wet before the other landed on the far side.
I stepped into the river and made a big show of stopping for a drink to show the water that couldn’t push me around. “We’ve conquered rivers, too!” I said as I splashed onto the other bank.
By the time my paws were covered in mud again, there was an all-too-familiar hissing coming from the trees ahead. It gave me that feeling in my tummy that made me want to run and make sure it wasn’t what I thought it was. But Mom was still back there hopping around the dry parts of the trail like the puddles were hot lava and I’d promised I wouldn’t leave her behind.
When I looked back, she was staring at a mud patch smeared with the tattoos of shoes gone by. Beside the trail, a line of mashed pine needles and loose mud clods with shoeprints still in them cut through the wild ground beside the trail. We followed the line through the spongey wilds and were almost back to the main trail when another rebel path split off in the other direction. I stepped forward to show Mom the right way to go.
“There must be another puddle up ahead,” she said over the hiss. It was getting so loud now that she had to raise her voice a little. “Come on, just a few more steps.”
The little path got stronger as it went, more confident in finding its own way. It shook off the old leaves and pine needles to show a line of bare dirt underneath. Over the next few steps, it grew wide enough to almost hold two shoes side by side. Maybe without even noticing, we’d found our way back to the real trail?
All the while, the hissing was getting louder. I left Mom behind and let curiosity pull me forward the last few steps to see where the sound was coming from. When I stepped around a tree and saw what the commotion was about, my tummy sank.
A spitting-angry river frothed through a narrow gap in the rocks.
When Mom caught up, she looked up and down the bank, studying the currents and the round stones underneath. Water does something funny to my eyes that makes it hard to tell how deep it is. I could see this river was deeper than an Oscar, but not as deep as a Mom.
“This doesn’t seem so bad,” Mom sat to untie her shoes. “We can ford the river here.”
“Why can’t we dodge the river?” I said, eyeing the rumpled stream. The water was squirming with ripples, but none of the white ruffles that show aggression. “Remember the lesson of Oregon Trail, Mom—Something bad always happens at river crossings.”
Mom balled up her socks and stuffed them into the gaping mouths of her shoes. "The only danger here is that I might get my shorts wet.” She made two hooks of her fingers and hung a shoe from each. Then she stepped into the river.
With each slow step, the river swallowed more of Mom’s legs. The hand the shoes hung from floated closer to her face with each step, as if the shoes knew how to keep a safe distance from water, even if Mom didn’t. When the water was up to her knees and she wasn’t yet across, she turned around and came back toward me.
“Thank Dog you’ve come to your senses,” I wagged. “Come on, I’ve got a better plan.”
Then I noticed what was in her other hand. She’d unhooked the leash from around her neck and was flicking the clip open and closed mominously.
“No need,” I said. “I’ll show you the way, follow me.”
The clip snapped at me like a puppy who wants to play as she stumbled closer. “Probably a good idea to keep you on a tether, just in case.”
The river hissed. The leash chomped. And Mom stepped back onto the bank.
I stared at her prickly legs as she searched my collar for the hook. “Be careful,” she said, as if running away weren’t the only careful thing. “The rocks are slippery. They hurt my feet.”
“How can a rock be both slippery and ouchy?” I gulped as the clip snapped shut behind my ear.
“They’re smooth, so you won’t cut your paws. It’s like walking on a pile of rock-hard potatoes.”
This wasn’t what I was expecting when Mom promised we’d go potato picking. She’d said potatoes grew underground, not underwater. What fun is digging for potatoes when water just refills the hole faster than you can dig?
Mom turned and staggered back into the river. I stayed where I was, watching the leash unspool slowly as she went.
“The current is pretty strong,” she called over her shoulder. “You’d better—OW! You’d better hurry across so it can’t take you too far.”
The leash ran out of slack and still I didn’t move. Instead of pulling at me, it jerked at Mom. She slipped a smidge to one side and growled. “OUCH! Don’t do that. Come on.”
Mom was standing in the deepest part of the river. When she turned to look at me, the water caught the hem of her shorts, making the the cloth flutter a little. The shorts went limp as the a wet line crawled up toward her waist.
I took a step. The cold water licked my toes. I crept cautiously in up to my ankles.
“Good boy,” Mom encouraged.
You won’t get away that easy, said the river. I took another careful step. Don’t even think about it. The river knocked my paw off of the underwater potato I was aiming for and icy water spread through my chest fur toward my heart.
Mom already had her back turned and was testing her next step on the mid-river potatoes. I wasn't about to let the river boss me around like it was beating up on Mom. I took a deep breath for bravery and splashed in at full speed.
Once I let go of the potato field at the bottom, the river tried to push me away from Mom, but I was too strong for that. I paddled past Mom with all my might. By the time the river had carried me far enough for the leash to tug back, I was already almost to shore. I made one final mighty stroke.
The leash pulled me in an arc back toward Mom and closer to the bank. With my next stroke, I felt the smooth roundness of an underwater potato under my paw.
Step by step, I pulled Mom out of the river as I climbed back onto dry land. When Mom splashed out to join me, the skin on her legs was the glowing grey of a fresh slap-mark and thorny as a cactus. “See? That wasn’t so bad,” she said, shaking the wet out of the edges of her shorts before sitting on a rock.
“Yeah, but—”
“An inconvenience, really.” She aimed her toes into socks with feet that behaved like they didn’t belong to her.
“Yeah, but—”
“Most things we avoid aren’t actually dangerous, you know. They’re just uncomfortable or take more effort than you were prepared for.” She stuffed a foot into the yawning mouth of a shoe. “But if your goal is important enough, it’s kind of empowering to know that you can choose to be uncomfortable or work a little harder for what you want.” She pulled the laces with a satisfied yank.
“Yeah. Sure. But—”
“Okay, now, where’s the trail?” Mom looked around with hands on hips.
"It’s up there,” I said. “By the bridge.”
To be continued...
