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Show Lifeline 7 a closely-guarded family secret. Kirk knew the location of every eddy, riffle and Whitewater whirlpool along the Beaverhead. He related exciting tales of the bj£ brown who got away, taking pride in the fish's exploits. One day he dropped his weighted creel on the back porch. "He took the bait," he said morosely and went up to his room. Clark lifted the spotted whopper by the gills. "Why, this brown must weigh six, seven pounds." "Didyp.usay - Brown?" I understood Kirk's lethargy. The challenge was gone. Kirk had learned a stiff lesson in compassion. One fall day after waving the family off, I went up to perch on my windowsill. Like Thoreau, I had come to savor time spent alone. I thought of our individual strides this past year - seeing Jennifer disappear over a knoll on the golf course, Nipper at her heels, no longer the baby. In my chats with Liz while we did the dishes, we'd become close. True, we had yet to see a timber wolf. But one day in a footrace back to the car, the men, outdistancing us, had run smack into a bear. The bear gave ground when a couple of two-legged screechers streaked past. I sensed the annoying pin pricks that accompany hyperventilation. And from downstairs came an urgent knocking! Who could it be? A leathery face with whiskers gone to seed pressed in on the unlatched screen door. "Yes?." Heart behave! Surprised, he reared back, "I thought the place was empty. Didn't see no car." |
