Cornucopia: Brooks and Streams

Brooks and Streams

By Kate Chamberlin

The billabong efflux originated on the Fairfield University Campus, ducked under Wakeman Road, sluiced through the culvert, and gushed into the brook traversing Nana’s Fairfield, CT backyard. She dubbed us the Eager Beavers, because, we had re-arranged the stones from the bottom and sides of the brook to dam up the stream. The resulting mini-pond riffled with little frogs.

I sprawled on my belly in the verdant, green grass under the lush grape vine. Slender blades of Red Fescue tickled my nose, but My 8ine-year old brother told me I had to stay stock still or he wouldn’t let me play the game with him. So, I dared not sneeze or squirm; not an easy feat for a 5-year old.

Behind me, the lawn stretched to the steep rise to the chunky granite steps up to my Grandmother’s back porch. My brother hunkered down on my right, beside the wheel barrow Pappy had left near the grape vines. The little black dog, Cindy, on my left, was poised to pounce and intently stared at the quarry. Could we catch it?

after waiting still and silent like statues for ages, my brother and the dog lunged at the same time. My brother grabbed at a frog, Cindy charged in front of him to snatch the snake that had been hiding in the grass with us.

Our Game of Frogs lost its appeal. We returned the stones to the banks, allowing Nana’s brook to babble on to become the neighbor’s plashing stream.