Soapstone Signs by Jeff Pinkney

Author:Jeff Pinkney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV030090, JUV003000, JUV013000
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2014-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

Dad has a big blanket wrapped around my brother and me. We sit on either side of him facing the back bench, where Stan drives the outboard. It is warm beside Dad, and he smells like home. The blanket is cozy, but I am way too excited to sleep.

Spruce, alder and tamarack trees reach from the shadows of shore. They are thin and very old. Stars twinkle through their tops. Behind us, the boat’s wake swooshes white against the moonlight, then disappears into the dark purple water.

The tide is out when we arrive at the hunting grounds. The mud sucks hard against our rubber boots as we make our way to shore. I look back at our canoe and know that it will be safe. Anchors are set a special way because of the tides. Our freighter canoe will be bobbing by the grassy shore when we return.

Onshore, there are some fresh patches of snow but mostly sedge grass and hard-packed dirt. Rocks form circles where campfires have been. The charcoal smell hangs in the air when we walk by. The trail to our hunting blind is completely hidden from view, but Stan has walked it many times. He goes right to it.

Dad tells my brother and me to watch the trail. He says we might see footprints from our grandfather’s grandfathers. I do not see them, but somehow I can feel them. We walk from the boats to the blind, which is way in on the marshy flatlands. A gentle hand rests on my shoulder. I look up and Stan is smiling at me.

“Hi, Stan,” I say.

Stan has a way of being silent.

“What if the geese don’t come this morning?” I ask him.

“Then we go to plan B.”

“What’s plan B?”

“Kentucky Fried Chicken.”

“Okay, Stan.” We both start to laugh.

He slaps me on the back like I’ve seen him do to Dad. When I look back down to my shotgun, I feel taller.

The blind is like a little tent made of tree branches and covered in dried grasses. Built to hide hunters from the geese, it is open at the top for shooting. All four of us fit inside, but just barely. Decoy geese made of tamarack are set up in front of the blind. One of the hunters will make noises like a goose. Real geese are tricked by the decoys into flying down to have some food.

Time passes in a special way when you are hunting. No one speaks and we hardly move. We all just sit and watch the sky turn from purple to light blue. Stan gives the signal and then shoulders his gun. We have agreed that he will shoot first.

Dad’s call sounds just like a snow goose. It was the birds that brought him here, but Mom who made him want to stay. At least, that’s what he tells almost every guest who comes to our lodge. He doesn’t get to shoot, because hunting season for white folks starts later in the fall. White folks

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