The Greenish-Gray Glow

The Upper Basin Chronicles

Chapter 12

The Greenish-Gray Glow

"Ok, class," said Laura, "We can thank our friend the heron for that fine demonstration of wetland avian predation. Before we go back to study the environment in more detail, please walk by the microscope for a look at the small life in every drop of water. You will see a world you may never have even imagined."

The magnified parade of protozoas, amoeba proteus and paramecia aurelia, with spirogyras and volvox green algae, amazed the kids. "They're dancing!" one exclaimed. "It's like MTV!" yelled another.

"We'll be looking at these microscopic animals and plants again next week," said Laura. "Please carefully take a magnifier from Mr. Murphy. Let's walk to the wetland for one more look before we go."

Like a tribe of young Sherlocks, the children spread out. They began sleuthing the wetland, peering at everything, including themselves and each other, all in 10 power. Their assignment was to find one item of interest, and to draw it. Gradually they sat in small groups, or wherever they were. They peered and drew, looking from glass to page and back, absorbing the amazing tiny details many were seeing for the first time.

Johnny Allen had tried to all day to catch a leopard frog. Now, with a magnifying glass in hand, he became that much more determined. His sneakers were wet, and the knees of his pants muddy and wet, too. He wondered what the frog's yellow eye would look like under the glass. There! He froze. Another leopard, this one just four feet away, but facing the water. It sat unblinking, unmoving except for a little motion in its throat. Carefully, the eight-year old approached his quarry, hands outstretched, moving very slowly. Two feet, eighteen inches, twelve inches. Darn!

"Plop." The leopard frog disappeared. Johnny Allen, however, had tried his best. He did not stop. In four bounding steps, yelling his frustrations, he ran splashing into the marsh. Yet before his mother, Marge, could yell her traditional, "Johnny Allen, you get out of there!" Johnny vanished like the leopard frog.

Alexander Murphy had not spent a lifetime working with domestic and near-wild beasts with no effect. From his conversations with Rose, he knew Johnny Allen was a kid to keep an eye on. In a whipstitch, he had Johnny Allen by the back of the shirt. He hauled the coughing child out of the chest-deep, still cold water. Alexander climbed out of the only deep spot in the pothole, tucked Johnny under his arm, and waded to dry ground. He handed him to his mother and Laura. He headed up the hill.

"You look a bit damp," said Delbert, as he snapped Tom and Dan back into their traces. Laura had the kids heading in their direction. The Percheron brothers tossed their bits and reins at the commotion, both eager to shine the hide-polished grain boxes in their stalls once more. "Easy now, easy," insisted Delbert, "You boys ain't worked that hard today."

Delbert patted Dan's right shoulder when he walked back to take the driver's station. The children climbed up, offering each other hands, and settled into the straw bales. Mrs. Allen wrapped a sulking Johnny in a tarp, and whispered emphatically into his ear. Alexander and Delbert felt the southwest wind freshen. A faint potatoes-in-a-barrel rumble sounded a warning of an incoming storm. The two men and Laura looked to the southwest where a mid-afternoon thunderstorm rapidly built a towering cumulonimbus anvil.

"Giddup," said Delbert.

"Home, Tom! Home, Dan!" shouted the children. Delbert smiled and spit. The big grays lifted their feet like circus horses, as if proud to draw such an important conveyance of young learners.

Rose and Mai began singing, and others joined in, "This land is your land, this land is my land, from Cal-i-forn-ya to the New York eye-lands, from the red-wood for-ests, to the gulf-stream wa-ters, this land was made for you and me!" Such a spontaneous expression of enthusiasm made Laura blush. She felt her smile spread ear-to-ear. "This, I will never forget," she thought.

As soon as they topped the rise, and swung west a bit, Alexander could see his apron-ed grandmother standing near the back door looking in their direction. Grandma Teresa waved and hurried inside. She'd seen the hayrack load of cookie monsters framed against the darkening sky.

With one look at her watch and another toward the thunderstorm coming in behind them, Laura waved a circling finger toward the bus driver, who'd just arrived. He could tell they would not be long. He swung the bus around in the barnyard. Grandma Teresa came out again with a tray full of cookies.

In moments, Alexander titled his cap toward the back of his head. He exhaled a satisfied breath. Laura swung aboard and stooped to wave at him. The yellow bus rolled toward the county gravel. The kids waved vigorous good-byes. Alexander looked toward his pickup as the wind began rising, whipping limestone gravel dust behind the bus.

"Crrrr-ack! Boom!" the thunderstorm began hammering with definite intent.

"Ho!" exclaimed Alexander aloud. The first heavy droplets splattered around him. Delbert, had already unhitched the hay rack by the barn. His animals were in the stalls with hay. Delbert sat before hot coffee and warm cookies. Wet as he was, Alexander still ran for his pickup. "I think I'll just tag along once," he thought.

The prairie sky took on the greenish-gray glow that heralds a midwestern tornado. The rain drove sideways. It cut streaming water curtains around the farm buildings. The big pines whipped mighty arms about, bending with the gusts. Alexander waved to his grandmother as he drove down the lane. The rain-smeared kitchen window glass could not mask the concern in her face.

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Next week... Chapter 13, "By Golly, That's a Storm!"

The Upper Basin Chronicles, Chapter 12 was written and edited by John Gabbert.

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The characters presented here are purely fictional, and neither bear resemblance to persons living or dead, nor represent the views or opinions of Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota.