Read Online After River by Donna Milner - Free Book Online Page B

fields and meadows. Both he and our mother made sure we did not forget.
    One summer day, when I was five or six, Morgan and Carl and I went with Mom to pick wild huckleberries that grew in the forest behind our farm.
    My mother’s blue flowered cotton dress swished against her black rubber boots as she walked in front of me. Mom always wore a dress, even in the bush. My father hated to see her in pants.
    â€˜Ya look ridiculous,’ I heard him exclaim one winter morning when she emerged from the bedroom in a pair of his woollen trousers. ‘I’m sorry, Nettie,’ he said when he saw her crestfallen face.
    â€˜But it’s such a shock to see those beautiful legs covered up.’ During my childhood I never saw her wear pants again.
    Sunlight seeped through the canopy of trees and danced through the branches as we hiked up the mountain that day. The air smelled of dry leaves, mossy bark, and dust. Mom jingled as she moved. Christmas bells, from the horse’s halter, hung around her neck. ‘We’re in bear territory now,’ she told us.
    â€˜Bears!’ I shrieked.
    â€˜Yeah,’ Morgan chimed in. ‘We’re gonna get eaten by bears.’
    Mom ignored Morgan and Carl’s laughter. ‘Bears don’t eat people,’ she said to me. ‘They eat berries. Still we don’t want to surprise them.’ She lifted the bells and gave them a shake. ‘We’ve got to give them fair warning.’
    She promised the noise would be enough to keep the bears away. I believed her. But then I believed every word she said.
    I followed close behind her, my red lard bucket swinging. My brothers and I ate more of the fat blue huckleberries than we put into our buckets. A few small berries rolled around the bottom of my tin pail, making lonely hollow sounds that were no match for my mother’s jangling bells.
    I tried to swing my hips, to swish my skirt across the top of my calves, the way Mom’s did. My feet became tangled. I tripped over my heavy boots and tumbled to the ground. My pail flew out of my hand and the few berries I’d gathered scattered onto the forest floor. My awkward sprawl sent Morgan and Carl into shrills of laughter. ‘Look at Nat. She’s gibbled,’ they shrieked.
    Neither of my brothers wanted to be there. They wanted to be with Boyer and Dad who were cutting trees for our winter’s firewood. ‘In such a hurry to be men,’ my mother chastised them earlier that morning when they tried to talk their way out of going berry-picking.
    They were bored with searching for berries; their laughter lastedlonger than my unceremonious stumble warranted. ‘Well that should keep any bears away,’ Mom said. She helped me up, my spilled berries too scattered to retrieve. ‘You two sound like a couple of braying jackasses.’
    Hearing the word ‘ass’ come out of her mouth only set Morgan and Carl off into another frenzy. They laughed and poked at each other as we entered a clearing in the sweltering afternoon sunshine. Clicking grasshoppers leapt from the dry overgrown alpine grass as we passed through. Wisps of steam rose like smoke from the black, moisture-laden tree stumps scattered across the hillside.
    Back in the cool shadows on the other side, the musty odour of dried lichen and crushed pine needles filled the forest air. In the shade of the overhead trees we came upon a dense stand of bushes, their branches heavy with the purple-blue huckleberries.
    â€˜Now, try to get some in your buckets,’ Mom told us.
    The four of us slowly worked our way through the patch. Even I managed to cover the bottom of my pail. The bushes thinned out as we moved further into the trees. I followed Mom as she meandered back along the edge of the clearing.
    Suddenly, Morgan and Carl started to holler. I glanced up to see them scrambling over a mound of rubble, an enormous pile of weathered tree stumps and boulders, overgrown with