The River Is Home. Patrick D. Smith

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      WHEN THE FIRST RAYS of the sun were beginning to penetrate the darkness, the Corey household showed some signs of life. Theresa, who was always the first one up, was in the kitchen stoking up the coals with fresh sticks to get the fire started. By the time the sun had sprung to life, Ma Corey was pouring fresh water into the old coffee grounds and getting out the pans to prepare breakfast. Pa was standing on the front porch stretching his arms and yawning loudly. Jeff and Skeeter were still in bed with the covers pulled over their heads. Pa came into the room and shook them.

      “You boys git on out of there so’es we kin go and run them traps afore some nigger beats us to ’em. The way the air smells this mornin’ I’d near abouts bet a coon that them traps is plum full of fish. I kin smell ’em clear to the house here.”

      Jeff and Skeeter slowly arose from the bed, and made their way to the back of the house and the washstand. They took turns dousing cold water on their faces and rubbing the sleep from their eyes with the towel. Skeeter was a little sore from last night’s ordeal in the swamps.

      “For the love of God,” said Ma, “you boys git back in there and put on them overhalls. Hit jest ain’t decent runnin’ aroun’ here naked as a couple of jaybirds.”

      They hurriedly left the room and returned shortly, fully dressed. “I guess we jest didn’t realize that we wasn’t dressed, Ma,” said Skeeter.

      “Well, you be shore and examine yoreself afore you come runnin’ aroun’ here like that no more,” said Ma. “Now you take this here bucket and go git me some fresh water so’es I kin boil this com mush.”

      Skeeter took the bucket and started to the bayou, while Jeff went to bring in a supply of wood to be used during the morning. The fire was never allowed to go out in the Corey house. Pa went to the back stoop and brought in the frog legs that the boys had hung there after their return the night before.

      “Jest look at the size of these legs, Ma,” he said. “Them shore air goin’ to be some good eatin’ soon as you git ’em fried.”

      “They’ll be good if’n I kin jest keep ’em in the fryin’ pan long enough to git ’em cooked. You’d think that when them things hit that hot grease they was goin’ to git up and walk right back into the swamp.”

      “Skeeter tole me onced that he had seed a snake swoller one of them small frogs,” said Theresa, “and after a while that frog jumped plum back out uv that snake’s belly.”

      “Well, when I git him in my belly, he shore ain’t goin’ to jump back again,” said Pa, “and I tole you afore not to pay no mind to what Skeeter has done tole you.”

      In a few minutes Skeeter returned with the water, and Ma put the corn meal mush on to boil. When Jeff came in, they all sat down at the table and began their breakfast of mush, frog legs, and coffee. Jeff and Skeeter did not say a word about their encounter with the big bull alligator on the previous night. After the meal was finished, Theresa and Ma started their morning chores as Pa and the boys left the house and went to the boat landing.

      “Hit shore air goin’ to be a purty day, ain’t hit, Pa?” said Skeeter. “When we gits back from the fishin’ this mornin’, I think I’ll go into the swamp and see if I kin git me some snake hides to trade whiles we’re in Mill Town tomorrow.”

      “Tain’t goin’ to be no use to go into town tomorrow if’n they ain’t no fish in the traps and on the lines this mornin’. We hardly got enough in the box at home to eat ourselves. But I jest got a feelin’ that we shore made a good ketch last night. You boys put yore arms to them oars and let’s git on up the river.”

      Jeff and Skeeter glided the boat down the bayou and out into the river. The water of the river was red with the reflection of the rising sun. Gray wisps of fog floated from the water and into the trees along the bank. The river was always beautiful early in the morning. The air had a sweet, clean smell about it, and even the mud seemed not so thick. White cranes with long legs and bills were standing in the shallow water along the banks pecking at minnows and small frogs. The trees were alive with birds and squirrels, all blending their voices to make a gay musical sound drift across the river. High overhead, the cawing of the crows mingled with the call of the wood ducks coming in from their roost in the marshes. All the creatures of the air seemed to be glad to be alive on this beautiful spring day.

      When they reached West Cut, Jeff took in his oar and crept to the rear of the boat to help pull up the fish traps. Skeeter steered the bow into the cove by himself, then dropped the anchor over the side. It was always exciting for Skeeter to watch them pull up the traps. Pa took one stake line while Jeff took the other, and they slowly raised the first trap from the water. With one quick motion they flipped the trap into the bottom of the boat.

      “Jest look at the fish in there!” cried Jeff. “Boy, ain’t they some pretty ones!”

      Pa was too excited to talk. He was running his hand into the trap and pulling out fish. Skeeter stood up and looked on with glee.

      “How many air hit, Pa?” asked Skeeter.

      “They’s eight cat and two buffalo in here,” cried Pa.

      When Pa had removed all the fish from the trap, they tied the stake lines and threw the trap back over the side. Skeeter drew in the anchor and rowed the boat further back in the cove where the other trap was set. He dropped the anchor again and they pulled the trap into the boat.

      “We didn’t do as good here,” said Pa, “but they’s about four good-sized cats here. Now let’s hurry up and git to that trotline out in the river and see about hit afore them gars gits to work on hit.”

      Jeff climbed back to the middle of the boat, and he and Skeeter backed the boat out of the cove and into the river. They always liked going back better than they did coming. The swift river current caught the boat and sent it sailing downstream, like a feather floating on the water. They glided out of the swift water and pointed the bow toward the log where one end of the trotline was tied. Just before the bow touched the log, Jeff pulled hard with the oar on his side, and it swung round and pumped Pa right into the beginning of the line. When Pa had the line in his hand, the boat gently swung back around and pointed the bow downstream. Then he started pulling along the line.

      The first few hooks he came to were empty of bait, but he could feel a hard pulling of the line a few feet on down and knew that he had a fish. He pulled the line up slowly. It was impossible to see below the surface of the muddy water so, in order to find what was on the hook, it was necessary to pull the line all the way out of the water. Since Pa certainly did not want to jerk any gar into the boat, he was always very slow in seeing what was on the hook. When the top of the line came out of the water, it was covered with a white, silky slime, so he knew at once without raising it any further.

      “One of you boys mout as well hand me yore knife,” said Pa, “they’s a fish eel on this ‘un, and I could shore never git him off.”

      Skeeter handed him his knife, and he wrapped the line around his hand several times and cut it from the trotline. Then he pulled the eel into the bottom of the boat. It was about five feet long and bigger around than Pa Corey’s arm. “Hit’s shore a nice ‘un,” said Pa, “and hit weighs ’bout six pounds.”

      “That’s the best eatin’ they air in the river,” said Skeeter. “I’d heap ruther have hit than cat or buffalo.”

      “You mighty right,” said Jeff. “I don’t believe I ever could СКАЧАТЬ