surrounding her, taking in the sunlit grasses swaying in the light breeze and breathing in the fresh, cool air. Then she opened her book and began to read about a different method of germinating orchids, one that Ms. Moore didn’t use. Rachel was thinking of trying it. Soon the frog resumed its singing, and some sparrows that had flown away to a nearby tree at her arrival ventured back to the pool to drink.
Rachel was happily lost in her book for some time. Once, a dragonfly buzzed by her, investigating her presence. The iridescent flash of its wings caught her attention for a moment, but she soon went back to her reading. The germination method the author described seemed fairly simple, and it promised less chance of rot. Rachel wasn’t sure she could get permission to try it, but she thought Ms. Moore might let her if she showed her the percentage of healthy plants the book’s author claimed it yielded compared to the method they used now.
“Caw-caaaaw!” Rachel jerked in surprise and looked up from her book. A huge black crow was stalking along the edge of the pool, screeching at something. He looked indignant, as though he was personally affronted at whatever he saw there, which made Rachel laugh. At the sound of her giggle, the crow darted his head toward her, one glittering eye glaring for a moment, then dismissed her and turned back to the pool. “Caw-ca-aaaw!!” he screamed. He hopped back and forth, toward the edge of the pool and away, agitated.
“What is it, buddy?” Rachel put her book down and sat up straight, craning to see over the reeds that fringed her view. The crow screamed again, skipping sideways away from her. Rachel stood and the crow turned to face her. “I’m not going to hurt you, buddy,” Rachel said, starting toward him. With a muffled clap of his wings, the crow leaped into the air, swooping upward and screeching the whole way. “Sorry,” Rachel muttered, and walked closer to the pool to see what he had been so excited about.
At first she saw nothing unusual, just the water flowing around in lazy swirls, making its way to the pool’s outlet, where it would bounce and bubble along the rock stream-bed and off to oblivion. Then Rachel caught a glimmer on the water’s surface. The sun reflecting off the ripples? No, it was something silver, floating in lazy spirals on the water, trapped in an eddy. She leaned out over the pool, trying to see what it was, but couldn’t tell. She broke a long reed off and poked at the object until she had it by an edge. Carefully, she maneuvered it toward her. She almost lost it to the current when she tried to get it clear of the eddy, but she was able to catch it again and bring it close enough to grab. With her free hand, she plucked it from the water.
It was a thin, flat rectangle of silver-colored plastic, smaller than a playing card. It looked much like the corder Rachel’s mother kept in a box of odds and ends from her college days, except Vivian’s was black and less battered around the edges. This one had the same three buttons on the front, one to activate the audio recording mechanism, one to rewind and fast-forward, one for playback, though they were of a clumsier, older-looking design than the buttons on her mom’s. Vivian’s still had part of a lecture on Renaissance artists on it from a long-ago class. Rachel had played with it when she was little, fast-forwarding endlessly to turn the instructor’s sonorous voice into skittering chipmunk chirps.
She wiped the corder on her pants to remove as much water as possible. Her mom’s corder used the energy generated from the rewind and fast-forward functions to continually recharge its tiny batteries. This one was older than her mom’s, but Rachel thought it might work the same way. She pushed the playback button. At first there was nothing, but after a moment the tiny speaker on the back emitted some scratchy sounds. A few seconds more and Rachel heard a voice. It was a male voice,
Rachel was happily lost in her book for some time. Once, a dragonfly buzzed by her, investigating her presence. The iridescent flash of its wings caught her attention for a moment, but she soon went back to her reading. The germination method the author described seemed fairly simple, and it promised less chance of rot. Rachel wasn’t sure she could get permission to try it, but she thought Ms. Moore might let her if she showed her the percentage of healthy plants the book’s author claimed it yielded compared to the method they used now.
“Caw-caaaaw!” Rachel jerked in surprise and looked up from her book. A huge black crow was stalking along the edge of the pool, screeching at something. He looked indignant, as though he was personally affronted at whatever he saw there, which made Rachel laugh. At the sound of her giggle, the crow darted his head toward her, one glittering eye glaring for a moment, then dismissed her and turned back to the pool. “Caw-ca-aaaw!!” he screamed. He hopped back and forth, toward the edge of the pool and away, agitated.
“What is it, buddy?” Rachel put her book down and sat up straight, craning to see over the reeds that fringed her view. The crow screamed again, skipping sideways away from her. Rachel stood and the crow turned to face her. “I’m not going to hurt you, buddy,” Rachel said, starting toward him. With a muffled clap of his wings, the crow leaped into the air, swooping upward and screeching the whole way. “Sorry,” Rachel muttered, and walked closer to the pool to see what he had been so excited about.
At first she saw nothing unusual, just the water flowing around in lazy swirls, making its way to the pool’s outlet, where it would bounce and bubble along the rock stream-bed and off to oblivion. Then Rachel caught a glimmer on the water’s surface. The sun reflecting off the ripples? No, it was something silver, floating in lazy spirals on the water, trapped in an eddy. She leaned out over the pool, trying to see what it was, but couldn’t tell. She broke a long reed off and poked at the object until she had it by an edge. Carefully, she maneuvered it toward her. She almost lost it to the current when she tried to get it clear of the eddy, but she was able to catch it again and bring it close enough to grab. With her free hand, she plucked it from the water.
It was a thin, flat rectangle of silver-colored plastic, smaller than a playing card. It looked much like the corder Rachel’s mother kept in a box of odds and ends from her college days, except Vivian’s was black and less battered around the edges. This one had the same three buttons on the front, one to activate the audio recording mechanism, one to rewind and fast-forward, one for playback, though they were of a clumsier, older-looking design than the buttons on her mom’s. Vivian’s still had part of a lecture on Renaissance artists on it from a long-ago class. Rachel had played with it when she was little, fast-forwarding endlessly to turn the instructor’s sonorous voice into skittering chipmunk chirps.
She wiped the corder on her pants to remove as much water as possible. Her mom’s corder used the energy generated from the rewind and fast-forward functions to continually recharge its tiny batteries. This one was older than her mom’s, but Rachel thought it might work the same way. She pushed the playback button. At first there was nothing, but after a moment the tiny speaker on the back emitted some scratchy sounds. A few seconds more and Rachel heard a voice. It was a male voice,
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