The Florida heat was relentless and cruel. Summer air, heavy with humidity, lay over the St John’s River like a blanket. Little Cal watched the river running sluggishly from his perch on a tree branch. The boy preferred to sit in the tree, out of the Florida brush. “Shit-Brush” he had heard his momma call it; and though she would never let him say those words aloud they stuck in his mind regardless. It was thick, full of itchy vines and sharp palm fronds. It never grew anything worthy to eat, and it was chock full of bugs.

  When he got bored or when Momma kicked him out of their shack, he would come to this spot on the river and watch the pretty blue water run by. The river wasn’t wide here, nor was it particularly fast-moving, but it made for nice watching to the little man’s eyes. Occasionally, a fish would hop out. That was fun to watch. He also loved to spot the gators floating lazily in the water, only the tops of their heads poking from the surface. He would count them while they lay on the riverbank sunning.

  His Pa had taught him these simple river joys. He remembered the days when his Pa would come out with him and show him all the wonders of the woods and the rivers. There in the Florida brush, he would follow his Pa around learning all about their home. The man seemed so tall in his memories. Cal often thought of his Pa when he sat alone, Momma never spoke about him and hated when Cal brought him up. Things were so great to Cal before his Pa left, before the Trouble Times.

  The Trouble Times, as his Momma called them, were the times he had been living in for a few years now. Momma tried to explain it to him, in her gentle way. He remembered she told him the Market crashed. Cal wondered if it was like an auto car crash, and he wondered what any kind of crash had to do with the money. Momma had no money, she told him. They couldn’t go to the stores anymore. He had to eat garden food and stuff Momma caught in the traps, or fish he had caught from the river. He hated these times, all Cal wanted to eat was a slice of Wonder Bread. He had had some when he was smaller, remembering seeing the colorful packaging at the grocery store. Back when Pa was there, and Momma had money for groceries, Cal would have Wonder Bread fairly regularly. He ate Peanut Butter sandwiches with it. Soft and sweet, Wonder Bread was the food he had missed the most.

  Momma had told Cal that they weren’t the only ones in trouble during the Trouble Times. She said that everyone was struggling, and they were lucky to have the forest and the river to provide for them. Though, she had said, they were very unlucky to have Pa instead of someone else. In the rare times she actually mentioned him, she told Cal that Pa had left for his job and had not come back for years. She told Cal that Pa left them both and had obviously never looked back, so they only had each other. Some of the other families in the forest helped out where they could by providing some game meat to Momma when they shot a deer or a hog. It was clear to them that Cal and his Momma were having just a little more trouble in these times than most people.

  “Calvin!” a shout struck through his thoughts. His Momma’s voice called out to him, shaking him from his daydreams about Pa and Wonder Bread.

  He looked down to see her, her blue dress and pretty blonde hair stark against the brown Shit-brush. Her hands rested on her hips, blue eyes glaring up at him. There was another feeling behind the aggravation in her eyes. Calvin Baird was almost spitting image of his father William, aside from the color of his eyes and his hair. While William Baird was a dirty blonde, his son inherited a head of dark brown hair. But his prominent brow and jaw reminded Momma of William such that she would often get upset just looking at him. In those times Cal would draw away from her, thinking he had done something wrong. She never explained what set her off, Momma was not one to talk about her feelings. This left little Cal believing it was his fault, something he carried with him silently. Like his Momma, Cal rarely talked about his feelings either.

  “Would you come down from there, Calvin?” She raised her hand to keep the sun off her eyes as she tilted her head back. “I been callin’ you for minutes. I about thought you fell down and hit your head, baby.” Her voice softened as she went on.

  “Well I’m sorry, Momma. I guess I was just thinkin’ is all.” Cal answered. He turned his body and slipped off the branch, hanging from it for a moment before dropping to his feet. He sprung up straight again and looked up at her.

  She snickered a bit, “Ain’t you just a little monkey man?” She shook her head, “What am I gonna do with you…”

  “What do you need me to do, Momma?” he asked, green eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Well, baby, I…” her voice trailed off. Her eyes had left him, now staring off behind him.

  Cal turned around to see what had grabbed her attention. At first he could hardly see it among the tree branches, but with enough focus he noticed what she was staring at. Hanging from one of the tree branches he could see a strange set of sticks bundled together with palm fiber. They were arranged to look like some sort of stick doll, they looked like a man.

  “Momma, what’re those sticks hangin’ there for, you think?” Cal broke the silence. The stick effigy had puzzled him. He hadn’t seen anything like that before.

  He looked to his mother and could see only cold concern on her face. That look gave the boy chills, like he was seeing something he shouldn’t see. Momma was rightfully concerned at things like snakes, black bears and wasp nests, but the look on her face when she warned him about those was way different than how she looked at this moment. An instinct stirred in him, something he hadn’t known was there. The instinct told him that this stick doll was a very bad omen.

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  “Baby, I need some help wrestling up dinner.” Momma had come back to him. “Go get your fishing pole and see about a couple of big fish. I will take care of the rest.” She placed a hand on his cheek, holding it in the gentle way she liked to.

  “What about that thing?” He started to look to the effigy.

  She turned his head back with her hand, “We don’t know who that belongs to, so let’s not touch it, ok? Matter of fact, don’t touch anything you see like that, Calvin. No buts.”

  “No coconuts…” He answered in the way she taught him.

  With his mother’s orders and advisement on the stick effigy, Cal went to work. He skipped along back to their shack for his pole, which rested around the back wall of the wood structure. Taking the pole, he marched along the path to his fishing spot on the riverbank. The heat of the early afternoon bore down on him as he walked, wetting his shirt with sweat. His footsteps navigated the path he had cleared with a stick that spring, to give himself easier access to the St. John’s.

  When he arrived at his favorite bend in the river, he checked for a lazy gator napping. He gasped when he saw what had also claimed his spot, eyes bright with excitement. A big Sandhill crane stood on the riverbank; head raised to greet the visitor. The crane met his gaze with its orange eye. Cal had always loved the cranes, particularly the red spot on their head. He had seen one hanging around the river near his house fairly regularly in recent weeks, and his imagination had taken to the idea that it was the same crane every time. He named it Peeper, for its bright-colored eye.

  “Peeper!” He gasped with excitement, “Are you gonna fish with me today? Huh?”

  Peeper didn’t move as Cal approached. The crane was about as tall as he was, not easily frightened. Glee on his face, Cal set up his bucket and hooked an earthworm that Momma had foraged as bait. Just as his Pa had taught him, Cal cast out into the river and waited for a bite. He breathed in deep, closing his eyes, and held the pole in both hands.

  Cal’s father had taught him that intense focus and emotional calm would sharpen his senses and let him feel the fish in the water. As with all the things Pa taught him, Cal held onto it. He treated the words as law. As he stood on the riverbank next to the Sandhill crane he called Peeper, he could feel a coldness come over him. The focus set in, chasing the hot feeling of the air from his mind. He could hear the water better, the droning sound of it that his ears usually tuned out had emerged to be heard. He could smell the grass and the mud around him, even Peeper’s feathers. Most of all, Cal felt the fishing line through the pole he held in his hand. He could feel the breeze tousle the slack in the line, and he could feel the current shifting the line beneath the surface. He stood there for a long time letting his focus take hold. As his Pa taught him, the focus eventually revealed the unseen truth of the world around him. He could sense the presence of life, the energy of the creatures around him. With his eyes closed, he could locate the little swirling masses of energy emanating from the fish under the surface, drifting along in the river. He could feel the warm energy of Peeper next to him. He even sensed the energy of the plants all around, though their low level of life energy only formed the backdrop for the sharp energy of the animals among them.

  When a fish bit his baited hook, he could feel the change in pressure clearly on the line, even before the fish had actually tugged on it. He yanked back on the pole, hooking the fish at just the right moment. Still in his focus, he felt the fish’s energy shift to an agitated state. It was too late; Cal had hooked it. He reeled his line like Pa taught him, well-practiced now in the angling art. The fish fought futilely and found itself hanging limply from the pole.

  “Dang it!” Cal knew better than to curse like Momma did, “A Crappie!”

  He examined his catch, the speckled fish still breathing. “I was hoping for Bass…”

  As with most of his other skills, he had learned to distinguish the fish of the St. John’s from his Pa. He took the Crappie off of his hook and lay it in the bucket, taking care that Peeper didn’t go for it. Cal took a few deep breaths as he baited his hook again and cast his line.

  By the time he had caught a few Crappies, the sky had gone from blue to orange-purple. Peeper had gone off on his next crane adventure, leaving Cal to carry his haul back alone. He left the pole out back and went inside. His mother already had some carrots on their wood stove. Their home was not very large, a single room dwelling. This was very common in the woods, particularly during the Trouble Times. Cal had always lived in this home, though, even before the economic hardship had hit his family. They were never very wealthy; but Cal had no conception of wealth and so he did not know the difference. He only knew that he couldn’t eat food from the grocery store or get new clothes anymore. The true hardship of the situation was lost on a kid like him. Even through the troubles, Cal’s Momma had kept their home inviting. Things were never cluttered, and the structure was reinforced where necessary with dirt.

  Momma took the fish and prepared the meal, letting Cal wash himself and rest up. She lit their gas lamps as the sunlight drained from the sky, and Cal could feel the day’s heat subside a little. He was thankful for the window screens, as the skeeters got worse at night. He could hear them and all manner of bugs singing in the evening. By the time he and Momma sat at the table to eat, he noticed she hadn’t said anything since he came in.

  “Um… Momma?” He pawed at the carrots with his fork.

  “Hmm?” she answered, eyes lowered in thought.

  “You been quiet. Are you feelin’ alright?” He looked to her.

  He tried to read something on her expression. Cal caught himself doing that more and more as he had gotten older. His mother often went for long periods without speaking, and it made the already isolated boy feel even more alone. He felt like Momma wasn’t even there, despite sitting in front of him.

  “I’m sorry, baby.” She looked up, “I’m just tired is all. After dinner let’s you and me hop to bed, okay?”

  “Ok, Momma.” Cal nodded. He knew there would be nothing else from her.

  After finishing his dinner Cal took to his bed. He decided it was far too hot for the blanket and just lay on top of it. He watched Momma slide into her bed, that sinking feeling returning. He could feel something was bothering her, but he knew he couldn’t help. A pang of restlessness always hit him, spurring him to think of what he could do for her, but nothing ever came to mind. He was still a boy, and though he did not know it he just didn’t have the faculties to help. Cal closed his eyes and let sleep take him.