It all
started with a simple idea. Al Woodson had been in the living room checking out
sites on-line and found something he thought was interesting.
"Ellen, listen to this."
In the kitchen mixing up some dough
for cookies his wife rolled her eyes. She loved her husband, but god, sometimes
he came up with some hare-brained schemes, the most recent being his decision
last fall to build a storage shed for all their gardening tools. Fine idea if
you knew what you were doing, which he didn't, but she had to give him credit
for trying. At least it only leans to the right a little bit, she had thought at
the time, when he'd finished and proudly showed her the completed structure,
asking her what she thought. That, plus the fact it was in the far corner of
the backyard, unseen by anyone but her, also helped.
"Looks fine, dear," is
what she'd told him, turning quickly away and suggesting, "Let's go inside
for some nice warm tea. How's that sound?" Then, as they walked together
to the back door, she looked over her shoulder one more time at the sad looking
shed, which, in just those few short moments seemed to have tilted just a
little further, and thought to herself, Oh yeah, he hadn't wanted me to help, that
was another plus.
"What is it?" she asked, gripping
her wooden spoon and unconsciously holding her breath.
"They've spotted a whooping crane
down in Nebraska."
Whew. "So?" Ellen let out
her breath, thinking this wouldn't be so bad. Nebraska was a long way away from
their home in Long Lake, Minnesota, so there couldn't be any building involved.
She poked the dough one last time before spooning out globs and dropping them onto
the cookie sheet.
"I've always wanted to see
one."
Well, that was news to her.
"Anyone take pictures of it?" She smiled to herself, wondering if
he'd get her little joke.
Al was quiet for a minute before
yelling back, "Funny. I mean I'd kind of like to see one live," he
said with emphasis on the live part."
Al had been an amateur bird watcher his entire life. A hobby not shared by his
wife. "Want to go down there with me?"
Well, at least he got the joke, but
now was he joking with her? She yelled back, "Ah, no thank you." At
least ten reasons rolled through her brain. She settled on one: "Remember,
I've got that benefit to work on for my quilting group. Why don't you ask
Ricky?" Rick was their eldest son. He and his family lived south of
Minneapolis in Lakeville, forty miles away.
"You sure you don't want to
come along? I don't want you to feel neglected."
Now he must be joking. Ellen was
already picturing a week of free time: leisurely mornings sipping coffee and
reading the newspaper, nice lunches out in quaint cafes with her friend Cathy
or daughter Jenny, quiet evenings curled up in her favorite chair with a cup of
chamomile tea reading the new book by her favorite author; oh, yeah, this could
be a little holiday all of her own. Then she had a thought: maybe now would be
the time to tell Jenny and Cathy about the tiny lump in her left breast. The
one she'd recently found. The clinic had already done a biopsy - it was benign
and being carefully watched over by her doctor who, at this point, felt surgery
wasn't necessary. But the lump was certainly part of her life now; something
she was conscious of every waking moment. Something she was learning to live
with. Something she hadn't told Al about.
"Ellen...?"
She suddenly remembered he'd had
asked her a question, "No. I'm really busy, but you go ahead." She envisioned
the drive to Nebraska, the flat bleak late winter landscape rolling off to endless
nothingness, a cheap motel room somewhere out in the boondocks next to a truck
stop full of exhaust belching semi-trucks and a greasy spoon cafe next door where
all they served was runny eggs and limp, cold toast. She gently touched the
left side of her left breast. Nope, not her idea of a good time, in more ways
than one.
"Your loss," Al called
back, joking with her.
No it's not, she thought. Not by a
long shot.
So Al did call his son, who wanted
to go, but couldn't get away from work but surprise, surprise, Rick's twelve
year old son, Nate, said he'd go along, or 'Hit the road with Gramps,' was how
he put it. He'd be on spring break anyway that week so he'd thought to himself,
Why not? Better than sitting home while his best friend Steve went with his
parents to a resort in Arizona for the whole, entire week, leaving him with
nothing better to do than hang around the house by himself with only his boring
little brother to keep him company and not much else to do. Well, nothing to
do, was more like it. Plus, he liked being with his granddad or, if like was too strong a word, he didn't
mind being with the old guy was more to the point. Sure, why not go away on a
little road trip to Nebraska?
So, just like that, two weeks later
during the third week in March, Al and Nate hit the road early Monday morning, leaving
Ellen comfortably at home putting thoughts of breast cancer aside, settling in and
relaxing with her second cup of coffee, her newspaper in hand and happily
beginning her mini-vacation, while Nate zeroed in on his iPod with his Minecraft
game, working on the Survival Mode, and Al happily seated next to him, be-bopping
down I-35 on the way to see a bird he'd never seen before, with the cancer in
his prostrate getting worse but only he knowing about it. Oh, and his doctor,
too. But certainly not his wife.
"So what's the story with that
Minecraft anyway?" Al asked, glancing over at his grandson. He adjusted
his butt on the seat (things were feeling a little weird done there today), and
kept up a steady sixty-five in his three year old Ford Focus as they headed
toward the Iowa boarder. "I've heard about it, but still don't have a clue
what it's all about."
After some cursory pleasantries when
Nate first got in the car, he'd been putting up with nearly an hour of silence,
other that the beeps and other strange noises coming from Nate's hand held game
on his iPod. He thought a little conversation was in order.
Nate was twelve, average height and
thin, with a mop of thick, light brown hair that he was forever flicking off
his forehead. He had expressive brown eyes, an easy smile and a good sense of
humor. He enjoyed playing soccer and hockey and was a good student, with his
favorite subject being math. In short, he was a pretty good kid, if Al did say
so himself.
Every Thursday afternoon he drove the
forty miles from Long Lake to his son's home in Lakeville to be there when Nate
and his younger brother Ethan got off the bus from school. He'd hang out with
them for two or three hours until either his son or his wife got home from
work, then head home again. At seventy one, Al figured it was time well spent,
especially now with his health concerns.
Dr. Kashani had given him the prognosis
nearly five months earlier telling him his cancer was in the very early stages
and that the treatment right now was only to monitor it. Why at the time Al had
chosen not to tell his wife he still had no answer. Well, actually, he did.
Surprisingly, just such an occurrence was something he and Ellen had talked
about off and on during their nearly fifty year marriage - what to tell or not
to tell the other if one of them found out bad news having to do with a serious
medical condition - cancer being right up near the top of the list, if not
right at the top. Finally, last year, they had come to their final decision: they
had both agreed to not burden each other with bad news regarding medical issues.
"We'll just keep it to
ourselves? That's what you want to do?" Al had asked at the time.
"Yes, I think that's the best
thing, don't you?" Ellen said back to him.
Both of them had been sitting at the
kitchen table drinking their morning coffee. Al remembered the day had been
sunny and bright, the beginning of summer. Not really the time to discuss what
they were discussing, but there you had it. For some reason they had both
decided on that particular morning to make a decision and end the discussions once
and for all. So they did. Probably just to get it over with, Al had thought at
the time and maybe Ellen too, but whatever the case, she seemed perfectly happy
and relieved. In fact he remembered her saying, "Finally. I'm glad that's
over with. Now let's finish up our coffee and go out and get those new plants
in the ground."
It was a complicated issue. He
wasn't sure it was the best option, but really, the more he'd thought about it
back then, the more it seemed it was at least a reasonable, acceptable solution.
He had finished his coffee and stood
up, "Ok. I'm glad that's settled. Let's get out in the garden. I've got an
idea about a gardening shed I want to talk to you about." He remembered
that distinctly.
But now he was wondering, second
guessing himself...maybe it wasn't the best thing to do. What would happen now,
after agreeing last year not to tell, what if he now broke the agreement they'd
made and he did tell her about his cancer? What about that? Well, that was a
very good question. He knew if he did let her know about his prostrate Ellen
would worry and fret and it would add strain and stress to her life, putting
undue burden on her to do what she could to provide care for him. Why put her through
all of that? No, better to just let things run their course, like they'd
agreed. He'll deal with it on his own for now, at least during the early stages
- under the supervision of his doctor, of course.
Which was what he was doing. Since
the cancer was still in its early stages and he'd been told every male eventually
got it, the long and the short of it was this: it was what is was. He'd just
have to make the best of the situation. He rubbed his hand anxiously over his
thinning hair. Man, the older he got, the tougher some choices were beginning for
him to make. Add to that sometimes, like now, when he envisioned telling Ellen
after waiting so long - she'd either be mad that he told her, therefore
breaking the agreement they'd made, or she'd be mad he waited so long to tell
her because...well, who knew why? But there was a very good possibility she might
be mad. Well, scratch 'might' and insert probably. She definitely probably
would be. It was a huge conundrum with no easy answer - one that was starting
to give him a headache the more he thought about it. He tried to change the
subject in his mind.
But before he did that, though, he
did have one final thought - one thing he was pretty certain of and that was
this: in the short run, no matter what he did he knew she'd be more than mad.
Blown up furious would be closer to her reaction. He pictured her as a volcano
exploding, spewing molten lava high into the air before falling to the ground in
fiery conflagration and flowing over the land (him) in a burning, bubbling
mass, destroying everything in its path. He shivered at the image and tried to
erase it from his mind. Waiting, if not the wisest thing to do, certainly was the
safest thing to do.
Shaking gruesome images of his
wife's anger from his mind, Al told himself that at least from a health
standpoint, Ellen was doing all right. In fact, as far as he was concerned she
was doing very well, and he was beginning to enjoy thinking more pleasant
thoughts of his wife when Nate interrupted,
"Gramps, are you listening to
me?"
"What? Oh, yeah, sorry..."
Nate's voice brought him back from a rare image of Ellen smiling and playfully
tickling him, "What'd you say again?" Al glanced at his grandson and grinned
sheepishly, "I was just thinking about the whooping crane we're going to
try to find."
"Cool...Well, anyway, you
wanted me to tell you about my game," Nate said pointing to his iPod, and
sounding to Al's ears just the tiniest bit petulant.
So Nate took a deep breath and started
again to tell his granddad about
Minecraft and the various strategy levels, only occasionally letting his
thoughts drift to the baggy he had hidden in the backpack he'd packed for the
trip. Grandpa Al had said they'd be gone for three or four days and Nate's
friend Steve had suggested that while he was away from home he should try a
joint or two.
"Here, you go, buddy,"
Steve had said, slipping him the baggy on Friday, the last day of school before
the week long break. "Check this out. I got it from my brother's friend.
He said it was really good stuff. From California, I think."
Knowing it wouldn't be cool not to
take it, Nate had taken the baggy, brought it home and packed it away for the
trip. Some of his friends had already tried it so maybe it was time he did,
too. Why not, he'd thought to himself, what can it hurt? I hardly ever do
anything my parents don't want me to do. I get good grades. I have to take care
of my stupid little brother all the time. Why not have a little fun and do
something that's not expected of me? Steve says it's cool and I like Steve, so
maybe it will be cool. Sure, why not give it a try? Such was his rambling reasoning
at the time.
The joints, however, took a backseat
to their Minecraft conversation which occupied them all the way into Iowa,
through Des Moines and east on I-80 across the state. By the time they'd
crossed the Missouri River, the border between Iowa and Nebraska, Al felt he
knew more than he would ever need to know about Minecraft. The first level, the
Survival Mode, seemed to be the one Nate liked best, even though he was now
working on the fourth level, the Adventure Mode, and Al actually was beginning
to appreciate the creative aspects of the game. But he had also agreed to have
his grandson come along to talk with him and spend time with him, not just be a
quiet driver with Nate a quiet passenger, lost in an electronic world of
make-believe, not matter how creative it might be.
"Tell you what, Nate," Al
said, beginning the climb up the long hill away from the Missouri and coming into
the outskirts of Omaha, "I like that we've been talking like we have and
want to do it some more, so let's make a deal. For the rest of the trip how
about if you play your game for an hour, then let it rest for an hour. Then we
can chit-chat some more like we've been doing. You know, talk. How's that sound?"
Nate immediately set the game aside.
"Sure Grandpa," he said, turning in his seat. "How about right now?"
He sat facing his grandfather expectantly.
Somewhat surprised Al said,
"Well, sure."
So they talked about school and
sports and Nate's friends. And Al told Nate about the whooping crane they hoped
to see and other birds they'd probably get a glimpse of along the way. And
after fifteen minutes the car went quiet as the conversation ground to a halt. Al
looked out the window. They were now heading through the heart of Omaha, the
mid-afternoon traffic rushing by on both sides. He signaled and got into the
right lane, just to be on the safe side. He looked over at Nate who seemed
perfectly content to be staring out the window watching the city and cars but
who was he kidding? Al remembered very well being in sixth grade like Nate.
Back then, sight-seeing from a car with an adult was way down on his list of
fun things to do. If it was even on the list.
"You hungry?" he asked,
thinking that when he was Nate's age he was hungry all the time.
"Sure."
"MacDonald's?"
Nate turned and smiled exuberantly,
"Yeah!"
Al smiled back. He really did get a
kick out of being with his grandson, especially his enthusiasm over simple
things. "How about we stop and get something to eat and then, if you want,
you can play your game some more?"
"Only if it's Ok with you, Grandpa."
Al grinned to himself, thinking back
to when he was twelve. It had been a good age. Innocent. He'd been healthy and
happy and life had been fun and carefree, just like for Nate."Sure, Naterellie.
Whatever you'd like."
Naterellie, Nate thought to himself.
Why is he using a name he used to call me when I was three? Old people.
Sometimes he just didn't get them at all. Before he'd been interrupted, for the
past few minutes he'd been thinking that what he'd really like to do was to try
one of those joints Steve had given him. Maybe after they stopped for the night
he could slip away and light up.
"That'd be great. But I don't
mind the quiet. If you don't that is," he looked over and laughed a little
at his attempted joke.
Al reached for the CD player,
"I've got some music from the sixties, you might like."
Nate rolled his eyes, "That's
Ok. Maybe I'll just go back to Minecraft for a little while, if that's all
right with you."
Al smiled, enjoying their back and
forth banter. He slowed down and pulled into the MacDonald's drive-up. This trip
is going pretty good, he thought to himself, ordering both of them Full Meal
Deals. So far, anyway.
Except that about the time they left
Minnesota and entered Iowa, he'd been feeling what he called 'twinges' occasionally
in his lower abdomen. It was something his doctor told him was to be expected
with his type of cancer. Among other things, moderating his diet was considered
helpful and for most of the past five months he had been successful, cutting
out junk food and eating more fruits and vegetables and grains. A Full Meal
Deal? Well why not, he thought now, paying at the window and pulling out of the
drive-thru, I'm on vacation.
Once back on the road, Interstate 80
took them southwest to Lincoln and then straight west across the state. About
ninety miles from from Lincoln the Platte River passed close to the interstate
near Grand Island, the third largest town in Nebraska. Just beyond Grand Island
another fifteen miles west was Crane Meadows, a visitor center for those
interested in learning about the cranes and other birds that stopped in the
area during spring migration. That's where they were headed.
Al estimated the drive to Crane
Meadows from Lincoln would take just under two hours. While Minnesota was still
experiencing winter with a foot of snow on the ground and temperatures in the
twenties, Nebraska had seen temperatures rise into the fifties and sixties for
the past few weeks and signs of early spring were everywhere. All of the snow
had melted and to the passing eye the land looked dull and barren. Dead,
almost. But there was life in abundance, you just had to look. Al pointed out
to Nate numerous Kestrels sitting on telephone wires, red-tailed hawks perched
on telephone poles, and big flocks of white, snow geese that blanketed the prairie
potholes they'd pass. Ducks were flying everywhere, even squawking seagulls could
be seen foraging for food on any open ground. The furrowed fields were rich and
dark with moisture, waiting for the first tilling of the season and spring
planting to begin. This was farm country they were passing through, and in a
few months the landscape would be rolling to the horizon on both sides of the
highway in a verdant sea of green from the newly sprouted fields of corn and
soybeans.
Al glanced to his right as he
talked. At least Nate didn't seem uninterested in learning about the land there
were driving through. He smiled to himself, realizing his grandson was probably
humoring him more often than not on this trip, but that was Ok. He was enjoying
being with the boy.
Half way to Grand Island, Al's
thoughts drifted back to when he was Nate's age. Back then, he remembered
having an attitude that, in retrospect, he was embarrassed to admit to. How his
mom, a young, single mother whose husband had walked out on her and their three
young children - how she had put up with him, her oldest child and the one she counted
on to set a good example for his younger brother and sister, was beyond him. He
remembered fighting with her daily and having never ending arguments, yelling
at her about curfew, doing homework, how long his hair was - just about
anything really and, in short, making her life much more difficult and
miserable than it already was. He'd really been a jerk and as he got older and
had kids of his own, he tried to make it up to her, but she kept brushing him
off, telling him, 'It really wasn't that bad, Al. You were more help to me than
you probably realize.' Which was a generous comment from her to say the least,
in Al's estimation. But his mom didn't seemed fazed by the past at all. She had
gone on to re-marry and live a happy, fulfilled life. Finally, a few years
before she passed away, she had been able to convince him that his memory was just
different from hers. It made him feel good that she never held his behavior
against him and, in the long run, maybe that's what parents did - found ways to
put painful events behind them, focusing instead on only good remembrances. One
thing he could say, though, in talking to his mother and comparing what it was
like being her son, verses being a parent with kids of his own, memories
sometimes weren't the most accurate measure when it came to analyzing the past.
Whatever the case, looking at his grandson now he was pleased to see that at
least Nate seemed a lot more leveled headed at his age than he had been when he
was twelve.
"Are you doing Ok? Do you need to
stop and use the facilities?" Al asked after talk of birds, farming
practices and the weather (which was sunny and warm) had run its course and
quiet had returned to the car. He felt he should say something to keep Nate
talking. Like himself, Nate tended toward the quiet side, and Al figured if he
didn't initiate conversation the rest of the drive would be filled with silence
(or Minecraft). What would be the point of that?
"No, I'm good, Grandpa,"
Nate said, turning to him, "But I was wondering about that bird we're
going to see. What is it again?" He really wasn't all that curious, but he
was enjoying being with his grandfather and his dad had told him to be polite
and not give him a hard time. Besides, what did it hurt? He liked school and he
liked learning about things and he knew his granddad knew about a lot of stuff.
It was usually fun to listen to him...if he was a listening mood. And, now he
was. He was surprised to find that four hours of Minecraft was about all he
could take at one time.
"Seriously?" Al asked.
Nate smiled and nodded. "Well, then, let me tell you about them."
It was an hour later with his
granddad still going strong that Nate began to regret his decision, but he
didn't say anything, and instead took it for what it was: his granddad's enthusiasm
and excitement. Plus, he had to admit being with his grandfather really wasn't
all that bad. At least he wasn't stuck at home with his little brother and
nothing to do. Anything was better than that. Also, he was starting to pick up
a little bit of his grandfather's enthusiasm, and that wasn't such a bad thing either.
By the time they'd made it past
Grand Island to the Crane Meadows visitor center, he'd learned more than he'd
ever thought possible about the two kinds of cranes they'd see: the sandhill crane,
a tall, brownish-gray bird, which were very common and found in the tens, if
not hundreds of thousands in the area. And the whooping crane, a brilliant
white bird, of which there were less than five hundred in the whole world. His
grandpa told him that seeing one would be a real treat. A very special treat.
"People call them 'Whoopers,'
Nate. They are just a little bit bigger than the sandhill crane. There'll be birdwatchers
looking for the one that was sighted earlier this month coming from all over
the world. The article I read was from a guy who traveled here from New York
City. He came with his wife and they brought their daughter and her new
husband. It was their gift to them for their honeymoon."
Wow. Nice honeymoon, Nate was
thinking as they pulled into the Crane Meadows parking lot. He remembered his
mom telling him she and his dad had gone to Hawaii for their's. Now that
sounded like a very special place to go. The more he heard about birdwatchers the
stranger they sounded. Of course he didn't say that to his granddad, instead
offering his standard response, "Cool."
Al just smiled.
They got out of the car and
stretched, getting the kinks out after having driven around four hundred and
fifty miles. The day was still warm and sunny, nearly sixty degrees. There was
the scented aroma of spring in the air with hearty plants starting to poke
through the soil as the ground continued to thaw. Winter on the plains could be
brutal with howling winds, blowing snow and blizzard like conditions much of
the time. Today was calm and pleasant, perhaps signifying a symbolic turning point
- a final breaking of winter's grip and the birth of a new season, warm weather
and new life for the plants, birds, animals and even the people who lived on
the prairie. One could hope.
There were at least thirty cars in
the parking lot. Crane Meadows was a gathering spot for not only visitors to
the area, but also for birdwatchers stopping in to get information about the
latest sightings of birds passing through in migration. It was housed in a remodeled
gas station and held a fully stocked gift shop. A large, open room had been added
on in the back which held displays in glass cases that told the natural history
of the area, focusing specifically on the sandhill cranes, which had been
stopping along the Platte River for an estimated ten million years to feed and
rest on their spring migration from Mexico and New Mexico north to Canada and
Alaska.
Standing next to the car and looking
up, Nate was beginning to see why his granddad had made the long drive. The sky
was alive with flocks of cranes flying overhead, each group spread out in an
undulating ribbon of ten to twenty birds. His granddad told him the cranes were looking for food, primarily leftover corn
from last year's harvest, and they spent all day flying from cornfield to
cornfield, stopping to feed and then to rest. Nate estimated there were hundreds
of them in the sky. Off beyond where they stood he could see a sliver of the
Platte River only a quarter of a mile away. All around them the land was flat,
with only a few rare clumps of trees seen along the edges the river and the
fields. But the fields weren't bare. Two or three hundred feet away, there were
about fifty cranes feeding in the corn stubble, slowly working their way across
the uneven ground.
"The cranes roost at night in
the river," Al said as they walked to the building's entrance. They
stopped again and looked up, watching the sky some more.
They'd seen a few cranes east of
Grand Island feeding in open fields, but now they were in the heart 'crane country,'
as his granddad called it. He also said that the Sandhills ( he referred to the
big, ungainly yet stately birds almost lovingly, Nate thought) liked the long
stretch of fields and river between Grand Island and Kearny, town about thirty
miles further west of them.
"What's with that noise they
make?" Nate asked, looking up at a flock of twenty five cranes as they
flew over about one hundred feet above them. They were big birds. His granddad
told him they stood about three and half feet tall and had wingspans of nearly
seven feet. Their call was unlike any bird call he'd ever heard before,
certainly not sweet and musical like a robin. The call the cranes made was a
loud, rattling, bugle-like sound that was pretty weird to hear, yet was also
kind of neat, Nate thought.
"Yeah, isn't it different?"
Al said, looking skyward and grinning. "It's totally unique to the bird
world." He'd only seen and heard the cranes calling on television or
YouTube. Seeing them live like this was blowing him away. "I think it's
beautiful. They have a larynx about twenty feet long and have a number of
different calls they use to communicate with each other. You can hear them up
to a mile away." He glanced quickly at Nate. He could go on and on about the
(majestic, in his opinion) sandhill cranes. He'd studied them for the last forty
years, and they headed his list of all time favorite birds, but he didn't want
to bore his grandson.
He was surprised when Nate responded
by saying his usual, "Cool," like he actually meant it.
They both continued to stand
mesmerized, looking overhead, watching the cranes flying over in never ending
groups, oblivious to the people walking past them going into and out of the
visitor center. Al had to agree. It really was cool.
After a few minutes he asked, "Do
you want to go inside and look around? I've read they've got displays that
might be interesting to see."
"Sure. Yeah. That'd be great,"
Nate said, and Al actually thought he detected a note of enthusiasm in his grandson's
voice.
"Well, let's go, then."
They hurried inside: Nate to see
what there was to see, Al to find a place to sit and rest - those twinges in
his abdomen were getting worse. In fact, they had been ever since they passed
Lincoln. Just a little sit down, he thought to himself, that's all I need.
He found a place to rest for a few minutes,
letting the twinges subside, before joining Nate. He wasn't really worried,
just mildly inconvenienced. What the hell, he thought to himself, it's probably
nothing. Maybe something I ate.
They stayed half an hour in the
visitor center, most of it spent in the large room in the back looking at crane
natural history and studying the diorama displays depicting cranes in their
natural habitat. Once he had rested a little and the twinges had subsided, Al
warmed to being in the midst of crane information and soon became an ad-hoc
tour guide for Nate, telling him that sandhill cranes mated for life and were
very social birds. "Many people think that the spring gathering of them
along the Platte River is a chance for families to get together and catch up on
what's been going on since they'd last seen each other over the past year.
That's why they're so noisy and boisterous. They're excited to see each other."
When Al told him that Nate laughed
and said, "All most like us when we get together for the holidays."
"Actually, that's quite an
accurate observation. I might make a bird watcher out of you yet," Al told
him, smiling and enjoying Nate's interest.
Right now, becoming a birdwatcher
was the furthest thing from Nate's mind but, then again, it didn't seem so far
out. He was surprised to find he was actually having a pretty good time. Being
away from home was nice diversion and being with his granddad was turning out
to be more fun than he'd thought it would be. And learning about the cranes was
actually pretty interesting, although he wasn't sure how much of that he'd be
telling Steve and his friends back home. He walked over to a big window
overlooking an outdoor feeding area that was covered with rambunctious birds flitting
in the air, feeding from bird feeders or scratching around on the ground. Off
in the distance were more and more groups of cranes flying by. The sky, in
fact, was full of them. Everywhere he looked there were cranes in groups, both
on the ground and in the air. He was enjoying counting them: the smallest group
had been three, the largest had been thirty-five. He'd never seen anything like
it before in his life.
"What do you think of all those
different birds?" Al asked, coming up from behind. "See the ones at
the feeder? Some of them we hardly ever see back home." And he pointed out
a big Harris' Sparrow, a rufus colored fox sparrow and a purple finch, just to
name a few. He didn't want to overwhelm Nate, but truth be told, Al was in
seventh heaven. He never expected that he'd be able to observe such a wide variety of birds. And
the spectacle of seeing the cranes was way more than he ever imagined it to be.
Estimates were that during a six week period including all of March, nearly
five hundred thousand sandhill cranes visited the area. Some people, and not just
birdwatchers, considered the springtime gathering of cranes along the Platte
River one of the wonders of the natural world. He was beginning to see why.
Al checked the pocket watch Ellen
had given him for Christmas. It had a painting of a two cranes on it, standing watch
over a nest of two eggs in a remote northern swamp, probably in Canada. He
smiled, thinking of his wife. Maybe someday he'll talk her into coming down with
him on a little vacation. Who knows? She might actually enjoy it.
He pulled his mind back to Nebraska.
It was getting late in the afternoon so he suggested they go check into the
motel he'd found on-line. It was seven miles further west down the interstate.
"Do you want anything before we go?" he asked, thinking Nate would
get some candy from the gift shop, but was surprised when his grandson said,
Yeah, and hurried around the corner of one of the aisles that held tee-shirts
and sweatshirts.
"How about this, Grandpa?" he asked,
reappearing moments later.
Al laughed a delightedly. Nate had selected a
tan Crane Meadows baseball hat with a sandhill crane in flight on the crown set
against a pretty orange sunset.
"Looks good," Al said
putting his arm around the boy's shoulder, "Let's pay for that and then go
check into our motel. After that, I've got a surprise for you."
"That'd be great,
Grandpa."
And, for Al, the smile that appeared
on Nate's face right then and there made the trip a bona fide success. And
they'd only just begun.
They signed in at the front desk of
the Great Plains Motel just off I-80 and checked out their room. It had two
beds and was neat and clean. Both Al and Nate felt it was perfect. Then they drove
across the road to a big truck stop which was made up of gas pumps, a small
grocery store and two restaurants.
"Let's get some snacks before
we head to the river," Al told Nate, "We might stay out after the sun
sets and check out the stars."
They made a quick stop in the
restroom. Al was happy that the twinges had diminished and were almost
non-existent. Then they loaded up on chips, nuts, raisins and candy bars along
with water and juice and headed the Wind River Observation Platform.
Right around this time, in the early
evening with the sun sinking toward the horizon, the cranes leave off feeding
in the corn field stubble three miles on either side of I-80 and make their way
to their roosting spots on the Platte River. Some stretches of river are nearly
two hundred feet wide and less than one foot deep. The cranes choose sandbars
or areas were the river is shallow enough to stand but deep enough to protect
them from roving predators such as coyotes and the occasional bobcat, usually
not more than six inches of water. The sights and sounds of thousands of cranes
filling the sky at sunset as they approach the river draws locals as well as visitors
from all over the world. To accommodate them, Crane Meadows has built an
observation platform near the bridge where the Wind River Road crosses the
Platte River. That's where Al and Nate, proudly wearing his new hat, were
headed.
Al parked the car on the side of a dirt road a
couple hundred feet from the bridge and they got out. They slipped on their
jean jackets and Nate started walking toward the platform, but Al stopped him.
"Hold on there, Buddy. I've got
something for you." He went around back, opened the hatch and rummaged
inside for a moment. Nate, curious, went to his side, then gasped. "Here
you go," Al said, straightening up, "These are for you." He
opened the carrying case and handed over a pair of binoculars. "These are
an old pair of mine, but they work great. I just needed a stronger power
because of my eyes. They aren't what they used to be..." his voice trailed
off for a moment, remembering better days, vision-wise, "Anyway, these are
for you. Do you know how they work? How to adjust them?"
"Sure. One of my friends has a
pair." Nate lovingly took the gift in his hands. It wasn't so much the binoculars
themselves that made the moment special to him, but the fact that his granddad
had thought enough to bring them along and give them to him. "These are so
cool. Thank you so much, grandpa," Nate finally said. He actually was
quite touched.
Al smiled, happy he'd thought to
bring them. He understood that nearly sixty years separated them and that Nate
had other interests. As well he should, he was still a kid after all. If Nate
hadn't shown any curiosity earlier in birds he wouldn't have made a big deal
out of it, probably wouldn't even have given the binoculars to him. But his
grandson least had shown some interest, asked a few questions and listened to
the answers. For Al, that meant a lot.
"Well, let's head out. The
sun's not going to wait for us forever."
Al got his own binoculars and each
of them hung them around their neck. "All set?" Al asked and Nate
echoed, "All set." Off they went.
They walked from the parking area to
the river past a grove of huge old cottonwood trees and then out into the open.
There were thin wisps of clouds to the west and the sun was sitting just above
the horizon, turning sky a brilliant hue of orange and red, almost like it was
on fire. All around them the sky was filled with sandhill cranes streaming in from
nearby fields by the thousands, the cacophony of their calls filling the air,
making it almost impossible to talk and be heard.
But Al tried anyway.
"Nate, look over there."
He leaned close to Nate's ear and pointed to the west. They had bypassed the
observation platform because it was packed with people and had walked up to the
bridge and were glad they did. From where they stood they had a panoramic view
of the wide expanse of river, land and sky. The colors on the horizon had
turned from orange and red to fiery crimson as the sun began sinking below the far
tree line, over half a mile away. In about half an hour it would be nearly dark
out, but right now thousands of cranes were silhouetted in the flaming sky as
they streamed by in gently shifting patterns - coasting over the trees and then
to the river, wings barely moving, floating along until they finally selected a
place to land. Then they dropped down into the water and stood tall on their
stork like legs, fluffed up their feathers and began talking loudly to their
neighbors - 'Socializing' as Al called it. The sound of their vocalizations filled
the air with a kind of wildness not often heard in this modern day and age; it
was certainly something Nate had never heard before. He was speechless.
All around them, other bird watchers
were looking on in awe, most of them whispering almost reverently at the
spectacle before them.
Al showed Nate how to adjust his
binoculars to get a clear view and they both stood, scanning this way and that
up and down the river looking at groups of cranes standing out in the water,
which in this area of the river was about ankle deep. When it became too dark
to see clearly, the two of them put the binoculars aside and just stood
watching."Cool," was all Nate could think to say, he too, whispering like
the people around him as he followed his grandfather's arm when he pointed out
a particularly boisterous group of twenty or so cranes flying by. Then he
slowly spun around in a circle, looking up and all around, mouth hanging open. At
an age where he was not easily impressed, especially by anything having to do
with nature or adults, Nate was fast falling under the spell of being outdoors
at sunset with the phenomena of so many sandhill cranes flying by. He finally had
to admit to himself how much fun he was having and how glad he was he'd decided
to come on the trip with his granddad. Steve can have Arizona, he thought to
himself, I'll take the Platt River anytime.
The bridge was wide enough to
accommodate people as well as cars. Careful to keep to the side railing and not
in the road, Nate had a full range of view. To the west the sunset had now
changed the sky to deep sienna-orange, so uncommonly real, he had to check to
see if the sky was truly not on fire.
In the distance, against that flaming backdrop, more and more cranes continued
to almost magically appear into view from far out on the horizon, floating
across the tree tops and then flying right down the river, coming so close
overhead their soft wing beats could be heard and Nate felt he could reach up
and touch them. Many of the birds continued in flight down the river past the
bridge to the east, before dropping gently into the water where they were
greeted by the raucous calling of all of the other cranes that were already
there. Everywhere he looked, the sky was filled with cranes, calling or
'talking' as his granddad put it. He'd never seen anything like it or imagined
anything like it and, he had to admit, it was more than 'cool.' It was pretty
amazing.
People around them were friendly.
Most were older, closer to the age of his granddad, but there were some
families, too. Nearby there was a young couple who Nate overheard talking .
Apparently they were from a small town in the area. They had a little boy about
five years old who took a shine to Nate, calling him 'Mister' and pointing out various
groups of cranes as they flew by, most of them now only thirty feet or so above
the water. Nate showed the young boy his binoculars and how to use them and
then grinned at how excited the boy became when he was finally able focus in on
some people standing on the observation platform two hundred feet away. In
their excitement they 'high fived' each other. Nate didn't even notice the
young boy's parents smiling at them.
Messing around with the little kid
was fun and Nate found himself having a really nice time. So nice, in fact,
that he realized he'd completely forgotten about the joints he had back in the
motel room. But now, for some unexpected reason they clawed their way into his
brain and got him thinking about things other than the sights and the sounds of
the cranes all around him. Grandpa Al was talking to some other old people, the
young family had decided to call it a night (the little boy waving 'Good-bye'
as he left), and Nate's mind started wandering. First he thought about the
joints he planned to smoke probably once they got back to the motel, which led
him to think about Steve and his friends at William Blake Middle School back
home. He wondered what they'd think of his spring break down in Nebraska on the
Platte River. Probably not much, especially compared to more exotic places like
a ranch in Arizona where Steve was, riding horses and what not, but that was
Ok. Sixth grade had been a good year so far. They were the youngest class in the
school, of course, but he and his friends were tight. They enjoyed hanging out
together and that was good. But why now, standing out on a bridge in the middle
of nowhere with the sky almost dark , the calls of thousands of cranes filling
the air, and a bunch of people around him who enjoyed watching birds and
talking about birds...why was he now starting to think about Katie Johnson,
that cute little red head who sat one row over and three seats in front of him
in Mr. Jensen's history class? Katie, who had started to smile at him
occasionally over the last month or so, and sometimes every now and then even said
'Hi' to him in class and in the lunchroom and at recess? Why think of her now?
And, why, try as he might, could he not get her image out of his mind?
Geez, what's the matter with me? Is
what he was thinking when his granddad poked him and said, "Say there,
young man, did you hear me? We should get going. It's starting to get dark."
Which it was. Nate looked around as
if seeing the world for the first time. "Oh, Ok Grandpa," he replied,
shaking himself and started following along, still thinking of Katie, all
thoughts of smoking that joint suddenly gone from his brain, her imagine now
perfectly clear: her friendly smile, her red hair, her freckles. Cute little Katie.
Katie, Katie, Katie...
Al was having a great time. From the
moment they'd crossed into Nebraska, he'd felt energized and alive, his
prostate concerns nestled far away in the back burner of his mind (except for
those annoying twinges). Opening up conversations with Nate back in Minnesota had
been a good idea and pointing out and identifying various kinds of birds as
they traveled across Nebraska had been entertaining for both of them. In fact,
Al was aware that Nate hadn't used Minecraft once since they'd left Omaha; that
said something.
Being at Crane Meadows had been a great
experience and he felt not only did Nate learn something but so did he. And it especially
had been fun to see his grandson unexpectedly pick out that hat, giving him the
feeling Nate was really getting into the spirit of the trip. That was why he'd
decided to give him a pair of his own binoculars, just to let him know he was
appreciating the time they were spending together and was happy to be sharing
the experience with him. And even though they hadn't seen the whooping crane
yet, tomorrow was always another day.
But the big plus so far had been the
evening spent on the bridge. The sights and sounds of thousands of sandhill cranes
coming in to roost on the river had been even more spectacular than he'd ever
imagined it to be. One of the people he'd been talking with was a local bird
watcher and volunteer at the visitor center. He said there were an estimated
ten-thousand cranes coming in to roost on the river each night in the half mile
stretch on either side of the bridge. Al believed him. It was a stunningly
beautiful sight, in a way almost spiritual, and he guessed there were at least
two or three hundred people out with them watching, enjoying among the cranes
just as much as he and Nate.
Walking back to the car was tricky.
With the sun now completely set, nighttime on the plains quickly turned so dark
they could barely see. And why not? Al thought to himself, there was no ambient
light like he was used to back home in Minnesota - no street lights, no lights
from homes, no nothing. Out here the darkness was complete and, in a way,
disorienting - he could only make out vague shapes and found himself holding on
the Nate's shoulder so they wouldn't get separated. Fortunately some people had
thought to bring flashlights, and Al and Nate followed a few of them back to
where the cars were parked. With the help of an older couple parked nearby he
was able to find his just fine.
"Nate, hold on. Let's wait here
a minute," Al said, stopping his grandson from getting in their car. They
both stood in the dark and watched as the other vehicles started leaving,
headlights cutting in to the night. When sounds of their engines eventually trailed
off into the distance the two of them were completely by themselves. They stood
close to each other as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was a light breeze
from the south, warm on their faces. The temperature was around fifty degrees,
Al estimated, so they were comfortable in their jackets. In the background,
about a quarter of a mile away on the river, the cranes were calling back and forth,
settling in until sunrise the next morning. The thought of so many of them
waiting out the night, anticipating flying off at dawn to continue to feed in
the nearby fields, gave Al a sense of well-being unlike anything he'd ever felt
before. Some deep part of him felt he wasn't just visiting the area but truly
belonged out on the great plains in the wide opens spaces with the cranes and
the river. He smiled, thinking what Nate would say if he shared his feelings
with him: 'That's weird, grandpa, really weird,' he guessed, or something like
that. And maybe it was, but that was Ok with him.
After a few minutes, their eyes finally
adjusted to the lack of man-made illumination. But in the utter darkness, there
still was light. It came from above.
"Nate, look up there," Al said,
pointing. They both looked and were instantly mesmerized. Above them the sky
was filled with stars unlike anything they'd ever seen before. So many stars,
in fact, the sky appeared to be hazy (the Milky Way, Al thought) and mixed in
with countless other pin-pricks of light all set against a dome of darkness
stretching first from horizon to horizon and then all the way to infinity - the
end of the universe. Al had read of people describing such view, and realized
then how hard it was. But with the stars, the inky blackness, the soft wind and
the calling of cranes in the background nearby on the river...well, it made him
think of long ago civilizations and how people were inspired to begin worshipping
the night sky - it's stars and planets, it's beauty and mystery. He considered
himself non-religious, but with what he was feeling, he could easily see how
his ancient ancestors had come to hold the night sky in holy reverence.
"What do you think?" he
said, quietly, suddenly feeling the emotion of the moment. He put his arm
around the shoulder of his grandson. "Pretty amazing isn't it?"
Nate truly was impressed. The star filled
night sky was blowing him away like nothing he'd ever seen before, even on his iPod.
He had only one thing to say in answer to his granddad's question and that was,
"Yeah, grandpa, it's really cool." He hugged his granddad back.
That was good enough for Al.
They stayed out on the night time prairie
for a while longer, watching the stars, or "Watching the night," as
Al was moved to say. He was able to point out some constellations: Cassiopeia,
The Swan and Orion. Nate picked out the Big Dipper. They even saw some falling
stars, which Al explained weren't stars at all, but just bits of cosmic dust
burning up when they hit the earth's atmosphere. But he didn't want to get too
technical and bore his grandson so mostly they just enjoyed the big night sky, and
the expanse of the land, talking occasionally, pointing out things that interested
each of them. It was as inspiring as being on the bridge watching the cranes.
Finally their necks became stiff
from looking up so much, so they decided to leave, but not before making a pact
to come back the next night. And they shook on it, too, marking the moment at
extra poignant.
The motel was seven miles away and
they drove on a dirt road that ran parallel to the river to get there. On the
way they saw a family of quail race across in front of them, the little chicks
like feathery ping-pong balls scurrying in a line behind their mother. A few
miles further on an owl drifted by, it's haunting white fact momentarily illuminated
by the headlights before disappearing into the darkness. Al thought it might
have been a barn owl, a kind owl he'd never seen before.
In fact, almost everything Al and
Nate had seen on their trip so far neither of them had ever seen before; so
much of it was new, all of it memorable for both of them, each in their own way.
In fact, who knows how things might
have played out for them if they'd had more time in Nebraska? But when they got
back to their motel after a dinner of scrambled eggs and toast at the truck
stop (Ellen had been right about that), a tired Nate flopped himself out on one
of the beds, started flipping through channels on the television and Al decided
to take a shower. While he was soaping up, feeling like he was washing a truck
load of Nebraska dust off of himself, a sudden and stabbing pain struck him in
his abdomen. It doubled him over and he sank to knees groaning, the shower spray
streaming over his back. Suddenly the pain intensified, cutting into him like the
blade of a burning knife. He fought back the urge to vomit, clutching his guts
until the pain subsided and he finally got himself under control. After a few
minutes he struggled to his feet and turned off the shower, holding his abdomen
and gasping for breath. His first thought was it had to be his prostrate doing
more than just acting up; something was seriously wrong. His second thought
was, 'Shit, not now. Not when we're having such a good time.' And his third
thought was, 'I better get home and get this thing checked out.' He never once
thought about calling Ellen.
It took a while, but he finally got
himself dried off and into his clothes. As he stumbled out of the bathroom and
onto the bed, Nate rushed to his side, shouting, "Grandpa, what's the
matter?!" He helped his granddad lay down and pulled a blanket over him.
Then he hurried to bring him a bottle of water.
"Thanks, Nate," Al gasped.
He took the water and drank a grateful drink before handing the bottle back. His
instincts told him he needed to do something to calm his grandson. He
contemplated for only a moment before deciding to tell Nate what the problem
was. "Nate, sit here next to me," he said, patting the bed,
"I've got something to tell you."
So he told him that he was having a
little 'internal problem' was how he put it - not the whole prostrate thing,
but enough to let Nate know that even if it sounded serious, it wasn't all that
bad (he was trying to convince himself as much as his grandson) and that they'd
have to leave that next morning.
In spite of Al's assurances to the
contrary, Nate was still worried, "Do want you some aspirin, Grandpa? To
help with the pain? I could run over to the store at the truck stop and get you
some?" He couldn't bear to see his granddad hurting. And if something
really bad were to happen to him...well, he couldn't bring himself to even think
about it - they'd been having too good a time.
Al closed his eyes and fought back a
groan for Nate's sake. The pain was coming back. Aspirin might help.
"Thanks, Nate. That'd be good."
So Nate took it upon himself to run
across the road to the truck stop to get a bottle of aspirin. He also bought a
candy bar. He knew his granddad liked chocolate and figured it might cheer him
up and help him feel better.
But in the midst of all the concern
he was feeling for his granddad, there was also something else on his mind. On
the way back from the store he stopped in the parking lot and took one of the
joints out of his pocket and held it carefully in his hand. He'd transferred it
there from his pack when his granddad was in the shower, thinking he could make
an excuse to go outside to smoke it. Maybe now was the time. He hurried around
to the back of the motel away from the bright parking lot floodlights. In a
corner of darkness by an old shed he rolled the joint over in his fingers and looked
at it, thin and white. What would it be like to light it up? Then he smelled
it, finding the aroma not unpleasant. Yes or no, he thought to himself? He put
his hand in his jeans pocket and touched the lighter Steve had given him. Should
I try it or not? The wind was blowing steadily from the south, kicking up some
swirls of dust. He tugged his new hat tighter on his head. Then he looked up.
The sky was still studded with stars, just like an hour earlier when he'd been
out on the plains with his granddad. Behind him, a half mile away was the river
and he could hear the gentle murmuring of the cranes as they roosted for the
night. He thought back over the day. It had been so different from what he'd
expected when he'd first started out on their trip. Or like anything he'd ever
experienced before for that matter. In a way, he kind of hoped he could come
back. Maybe someday. He looked again at the joint and made his decision. Right
now his granddad needed him. Who knew what would happen if he smoked it? He
didn't want to take a chance. He crumpled it up and tossed the paper and
fragments to the wind and watched the pieces as they scattered away into the
night. Then he did the same thing to the other two. There'd be enough time to
try something like that when he got home. But not now. Now he had to get back
to his granddad.
He brushed his hands off on his
jeans, held tight to bag with the aspirin and candy bar and headed back around
the corner into the bright lights of the parking lot. In the distance, the nighttime
calls of the cranes on the river were carried to him on the wind, keeping him
company all the way back to the room. He was glad they did.
In the middle of the night when Al
went to the bathroom, there was blood in his urine.
They left early the next morning and were home
at the end of the day just as the sun was setting. Al had called Ellen before
they left, only telling her that he wasn't feeling well and he'd talk to about
it when he got home. He might have imagined it, but he thought he could hear
something in her voice, like lava bubbling, but he let it pass. "Just let
Rick know Nate will be home later today," was what he told her, forcing
the unsettling image of his wife turning into a volcano out of his mind.
Driving into the city, though, in spite of Al's
discomfort, he and Nate couldn't help but think about the difference between
the cold, snow covered ground and traffic congestion of Minneapolis, compared
to the beauty of the wide open spaces on the plains and the spectacle of the
cranes at sunset flying in by the thousands to roost for the night on the
Platte River. At a stoplight just before they got to Nate's home, they looked
at each other and Al said, "It's sure different than down in Nebraska, isn't
it?"
Nate nodded and said, "It is."
And it was, but he had to add," It really is Grandpa but right now all I
want is for you to get better."
"I'll do my best, Naterellie. I
promise, I'll do my best."
Nate looked at his granddad and was
moved to say, affectionately, "I had a great time, Grandpa. A super cool
great time," And he reached over and hugged his granddad.
And right then Al knew that the
memory of being together in Nebraska was something that would last them
forever. "Me too," he said, fighting back a tear and hugging Nate
tightly, "Me too."
Maybe one day they would come back,
but before Al could even consider thinking that far ahead, he knew his grandson
had been right. He had to get better.
Four days
later on a Saturday, Al was resting on the living room couch after completing
his first two sessions of radiation treatment. He had at least four more weeks
to go, five sessions a week. He was pretty wiped out.
"God, Al, you were such an
idiot," Ellen said for about the hundredth time, sitting down next to him,
feeling his forehead and shaking her head. "I still can't believe you
didn't tell me about that damn prostrate." Then she held up her hand, like
'Stop. Don't say anything.' So he didn't and let her talk; well, expound, was
more like it.
The long and the short of it was she
was angry at him (but slowly becoming less so) for not telling her about his cancer
when he'd first been diagnosed, even though he reminded her what they'd agreed upon
last summer, to which she'd replied, 'That's all just a bunch of crap, Al.' So for
now he just kept his mouth shut, his head down, and took his wife's
recriminations, figuring the sooner she got it all out of her system the
better. For both of them.
At least she cares about me, he'd
occasionally think, especially when her verbal barrages became too
overwhelming, her tirades rolling over him like relentless tidal waves (no lava
images now, but still, end result was just as bad). But maybe she doesn't have
to care quite so much.
When Ellen wasn't raining down on
him with her version of tough love, Al had a lot of time to think, and what his
thoughts kept returning to time and time again was his trip to the Platte River
and the time he'd spent there with Nate. When he'd got back home and gone to
his doctor and started the radiation treatments, one of the things that kept him
going was how much fun it'd been being with his grandson. Well, maybe fun
wasn't the right word. It was more than that.
The drive back to Minnesota had been
different than the drive going to down the day before. Nate was definitely
worried about his granddad and they talked about that, Al doing his best to
allay his grandson's fears and stressing that his old granddad was not going
away anywhere just yet, trying his best to make light of the matter. But
moreover, Nate seemed changed somehow. Different, but in a good way - a little
bit more mature maybe, Al thought at the time. Sure, they talked about his
illness, but they also spent a good portion of the drive talking about seeing
the cranes, watching the stars and even about some of the people they'd met and
talked with at Crane Meadows and out on the bridge. The interesting thing from
Al's perspective was that eventually the talk had shifted to Nate's school and the
kids he hung around with. When they crossed the Missouri River into Iowa Nate
opened up and had asked about Al's friends in school when he was Nate's age and
what they were like and what they used to do together, which lead to talking
about Al's first girl friend which lead Al to realize Nate was actually talking
about himself. So, around the time they hit Des Moines, he found out about
Katie and he even found out about Steve and the joints Nate had been given. So
they had a lot to talk about. By the time Al had dropped Nate off at his
parent's, the relationship between grandfather and grandson had grown. They'd
become much closer than before and a bond of sorts had been built between them from
a sense of shared confidences that only comes about when two people have love
and trust and respect for each other. Which they now did, each in their own
way, and that knowledge was doing as much to make Al feel better as the radiation
treatments. Even more so, as far as he was concerned. So, yeah, the trip had
been fun, but more than that - it had brought the two of them closer together,
and for that he was grateful.
Al was thinking about all of those
things when the kitchen phone rang and Ellen picked it up. She talked for a minute
and then said, "Yes, he's fine. He's good, Nate, let me get him for you."
She came into the living room and handed the phone to him, "Nate wants to
talk to you."
"Hi there, Naterellie, Al
said," looking at Ellen who rolled her eyes and left to go back into the
kitchen, "How're you doing?"
"I'm good. I just wanted to see
how you were feeling Grandpa. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, but Dad said you
needed to rest."
"I'm doing fine, Nate. You
don't have to worry about anything. It's good to hear from you."
They talked for a few minutes about
Nate's school and friends...just catching up. Al was overjoyed to hear his
grandson's voice, and he could feel his mood brightening. Finally Nate said,
"Grandpa, I was wondering if you've thought about going back to Nebraska
next year."
"Actually, I have been thinking
about it. Why?"
"Well, we never did get to see
that whooping crane you wanted to see."
"I know. I checked on-line this
morning. I guess it's still there. Some people have reported seeing it a few
miles west of where we were on the bridge." Al smiled to himself. He had a
feeling he knew where Nate was headed.
His grandson was silent for a few
moments and then said, "Oh." Al thought he sounded disappointed.
"It would have been fun to see it when we were down there."
"I agree," Al said and his
heart finally went out to his grandson, "You know, there's always next
year. I was thinking about maybe going back there. Do you want to go with me?
We could start planning right now. I could order some maps of the area."
The excitement in Nate's voice was
evident, and Al could actually visualize his grandson pumped up and smiling."Study
them, you mean? Maybe even find out where the one is that's there now. Maybe
it'll come back to the same area. Didn't you say they sometimes do that?"
Al smiled. It made him feel good to
hear the enthusiasm in his grandson's voice."Yes, Nate, I did say that.
That'll be a good place to start to look."
A little
while later Ellen came into the living room. She'd been in the kitchen making
up a healthy, brown rice and vegetable dish for dinner and was ready to take a
break. She couldn't help but overhear the conversation between Al and their
grandson. It sounded like he was planning another trip. With Nate, again. Well,
as long as he's feeling better and gets his doctor's Ok, she thought to
herself, that would be fine with her. A good thing, probably. Dr. Kashani had
told her the chances of her husband's recovery after the radiation treatments were
excellent. And, like Ellen figured he would, he also told her he was shocked
beyond belief Al hadn't told her about his cancer in the first place. Ellen had
reassured him with a pointed expression that it would never happen again, not
on her watch, and she noted that Dr. Kashani had actually shivered when he saw the
depth of the conviction in her eyes.
But that's all in the past, Ellen
was now thinking, feeling Al's forehead again before going to her favorite
chair, sitting down and taking out the square of the quilt she was working on.
In the background she listened as Al stayed on the phone talking with Nate about
that crazy whooping crane. It sounded like they were making plans to go see it
next spring. Ellen glanced at Al as she started her sewing. He was smiling as
he talked, looking out into a far distance, seeing things only he could see and,
she had to admit, looking lots better than he did a few days earlier. She was
thinking that it was a good thing...this blooming relationship between her
husband and grandson.
Ellen's fingers worked her needle
through the material. In the background Al's voice dimmed as her mind now traveled
toward the future, thinking that with him going back to Nebraska, she could already
start to plan her next year's mini-vacation. As her thoughts meandered, she unconscientiously
touched the tiny lump again. She had decided to wait awhile before saying
anything about it to Al. After all, with his shortened trip she'd not even had
the chance to get together and tell either Cathy or Jenny.
Maybe I'll tell them later, after
all this has blown over, she was thinking as she went back, first to her sewing
and then to wondering when she should tell Al. Well, certainly not now, she
thought to herself. He's got enough to worry about what with going through
radiation treatment for the next four weeks, and then taking who knows how long
after that to get healthy again. Besides, even though I've been berating him
for not telling me about his prostrate when he first found out, truth be told,
that is what we agreed to the
beginning of last summer. When he got back from Nebraska and told me about it I
just lost control. I was so worried about him. She looked at the pattern she
was sewing without really seeing it. Whatever the case, now's not the right
time, she finally concluded. I think I'll just wait.
Satisfied for now with her decision,
she sat back, suddenly very tired. The cushions and side arms of her chair felt
so comfortable right now, folding her in like a lover's embrace, nice and warm
and secure. She hands fell to her lap and her needlework went untouched. Her
eye lids felt heavy and she closed them. In the background Al's voice started
drifting, becoming softer, quieter - something about a whooping crane. She had
a sudden thought: maybe I'll see if Al still wants me go down there with him
next year. He and I and our grandson, all together. It might be fun. Our own
special road trip. Just the three of us. She smiled, happily imagining her
future with her husband. Pleasant thoughts. Then his voice faded away, away,
away and finally was gone. Ellen sighed deeply and her head tilted to the side.
A nap would feel good. She'd been more tired than usual lately - didn't have
the pep like she normally did. Maybe it's old age or something like that, she
thought to herself, drifting nearer to sleep, hardly thinking, except finally
that yes, I'm sure that's what it probably is, just old age. Her last thought
was that maybe she should make an appointment and see her doctor. See what she
had to say. Yes, that's what I'll do, she told herself, finally drifting off. Later
on. First thing. Right after I wake up.
