That Wild Berries Should Grow by Gloria Whelan

Author:Gloria Whelan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497673885
Publisher: Open Road Media

The Great Lake

Its jeweler’s window

offers bright stones,

wheedles me with shells.

Its little waves

lick me like a dog,

sing me to sleep.

But the selfish lake

never lets me

see the secret

of its other shore.

The last thing I hear at night before I fall asleep is the sound of the waves slapping against the shore. The first thing I see in the morning is the reflection on my ceiling of sun glittering on the water.

For a long time I was afraid of the lake, but I loved its wide, sandy beach. I’d climb down the stairway to the beach, past the pump house where the water from the lake is pumped up to our cottage, and past the poison ivy. When I first came, Grandpapa showed me the three green leaves you have to watch out for. I forgot all about it, and one evening there were itchy blisters all up and down my legs. Grandmama mixed up baking soda and water and put it on the blisters. After that I was careful to watch where I walked.

You can sit on the beach where the sand is dry and start digging. When the hole in the sand gets deep enough, water creeps into the hole. It’s as if the lake is hiding, just waiting for you to find it.

You can walk for miles along the beach. Every few feet you find something to keep. The top of my dresser was heaped with things leaking sand: snail shells to turn into bracelets, gulls’ feathers, tangles of driftwood. My favorite finds are the pieces of glass that have been in the lake for years and years. The water and the sand have rubbed all the sharp edges smooth.

I’d see a pretty stone or shell in the lake and reach for it. When a wave chased me, I’d jump back. It was as if someone were offering you a piece of candy and when you put your hand out for it they snatched it away.

Finally I made myself stand there and let the waves wash over my legs and splash my bathing suit. Little by little the lake invited me into it. I got so that I laughed at the waves, diving into them and letting them carry me back to shore. I floated facedown, my eyes open. I watched bubbles gurgle up from clam shells and snails inch along the slippery stones. Minnows came and nibbled at my toes.

I know there will be days when I am still afraid of the lake. Days when the storms come. Days when the waves leap and foam, striking the beach and rushing out again to become more and bigger waves. Days when the fishing boats head for the pier. On those days I’ll hurry inside. Then the lake, like a spoiled child, will have everything for itself.

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