Early October

Small eddies lapped around the paddles in their gentle manner as they dipped beneath the surface of the calm water and were dragged toward the back of the canoe. Windows of sunlight passed over their heads as the trio took in the sundry sights and sounds of summer's lazy October yawns. A few leaves carelessly tumbled through the still air onto the shimmering water below. The browns, yellows, and oranges of autumn were just beginning to make their annual appearance. A pond slider blinked lethargically in a ray of sunlight atop a log close to the bank, taking little notice of his visitors. A few hundred yards more, and the canoe approached the end of the small backwater slough. Two sixteen foot logs ran from the of the shallow water up the bank, with a set of stone steps beside them. The logs sat next to each other, having spent many seasons without seeing a vessel launched. A picnic table laden with lichen peeked over the top of the bank. "Careful, boys" Ulysses called. His voice sounded foreign in his mind after the past few hours of lecturing from the sounds of nature. He almost hated to disturb that peace, and the boys had also been exceptionally quiet and observant. They had the same blood in their veins that Ulysses had. As foreign and harsh as he deemed his own voice amidst the chorus of bristling leaves and distant chirps, he was welcome in it to the creation around him. The mockingbird above them had never seen either Ulysses or his boys, but somehow knew and welcomed them.

He lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Ralph." The elder brother turned toward his father and took the knapsack held out towards him. Ulysses nodded toward the picnic table up the bank and Ralph darted up the stone steps. Ulysses pulled the canoe into the groove between the logs, just enough to ensure it wouldn't float away. The high water mark on the bank, logs, and stone steps were all in agreement that any amount of rainfall would be most welcome. The mostly brown straw sparsely shooting out of the mud at the water's edge would have nodded in agreement had it not been too parched to bend. Ulysses laid the paddles in the bottom of the canoe and they slid a few inches back with a gentle "shh-thunk."

The cotton field behind the picnic table was yet to be harvested, but wouldn't be around to cast a snowy backdrop for more than a few days. Ulysses stopped at the crest of the bank and surveyed the white blanket that stretched out over the earth to distant tree lines in each direction. The ginner had been squeezing the growers for a few seasons now, and Ulysses was at that moment thankful for the first time that he no longer needed to concern himself with such problems. Thankful though he was, no amount of vindication could completely absolve him of the pit in his heart burrowed by regret.

The rows of pure white bolls were tighter and more uniform now, but the cotton wasn't as full on the stems. Still, the season would yield a good harvest. As Ulysses surveyed the field, pangs of regret returned again. He looked at his sons crouched over the bank observing an insect. They didn't know this place from any other, despite the blood and sweat of their forebears that had sprinkled the earth beneath their feet for generations.

Ulysses dusted the sore thoughts from his mind and unpacked a bundle of twine bound sackcloth onto the planks of the uneven table. Three square parcels and one roll, all wrapped in buttered paper, were laid on the outspread cloth along with a glass jar of dark yellow mustard. The tomato sandwiches were unwrapped and spread with the mustard, then an inarticulate yet honest prayer was made. The boys took hungry mouthfuls as Ulysses cut slices of the summer sausage. He listened to the sounds of nature beginning preparations for cooler weather mix with banter of brothers. As beautiful and harmonious as they sounded together in his ears, he couldn't help but take note of the absence of babbling water where Gimlet Creek would have trickled into the backwater any other year.

There was nothing left over as the refuse was balled up inside the sackcloth, save the jar of mustard which was delicately settled atop the cloth in the knapsack. The sack was placed under the seat of the canoe and the boys clambered over the side. Ulysses shoved the stern deeper into the shallow water and stepped inside when the bow cleared the logs, steadying himself as the vessel bobbed back and forth. He sat down and grabbed the paddles, handing one to Ralph. Brown silt clouded the water around the swirls, which faded to dark shades of green as the channel deepened. The canoe cut through the brackish water leaving a v-shaped wedge in its wake that expanded towards the widening bank. Water lapped against the paddles and sides of the canoe, and the canopy of shade gave way to sunlight as the trees parted with the banks on either side of the little cove.

Ralph used his paddle to guide the front of the canoe eastward into the wide and deep river.