There is a stream rushing through the
woods on our property this morning. With the temperature finally reaching into
the 40s, all the snow that fell last winter is now making its way to the creeks
and rivers that surround us here in southern Wisconsin. This stream is very
polite this morning. It is moving quickly, but it is staying in the small
ravine it normally uses. I remember a different time when the water wasn’t as
well mannered and I was a stupid kid.
I was raised on the banks of the Fox River
between Mukwonago and Big Bend. In the late 50s and early 60s - before I-43
went through - those towns were still small communities, providing supplies and
entertainment (limited) to small farmers like my Dad. The Fox ran along the
south edge of our land and every year we would duck hunt along a stretch of the
river that was surrounded by a marsh. Because it took a while to haul our
decoys down to this spot on the river, we would often leave the decoys hidden
in the weeds near our duck blind. At the end of the season it was the
responsibility of the LAST person to use the decoys to make certain they got
back home. The fall when I was in 7th grade, the decoys never got
home. There is some disagreement between my brothers and I about who last used the
decoys, but the fact remains they were left behind. As I recall now, we knew
the decoy bag was securely tied to a tree and we just figured we would collect
the decoys when the weather warmed up. Pa would never know the difference. Then
the Fox went wild.
The Fox River is a very typical Wisconsin
river that meanders through the countryside most of the year. In the spring it
often spills over and fills the marshes along its banks, but it does so
moderately. This particular spring the flooding was amazing. The gentle Fox
became this torrent of dark, swirling water and debris. Alarmed by the rise in
water and worried about my Dad’s consequences, I made perhaps the dumbest
decision in my life. I decided to go after the decoys. Alone.
Being the youngest in the family, I often
got the hand me downs from my brothers. Unfortunately, none of them had ever
handed down a pair of waders or even hip boots. The only water proof boots I
had went just to my knees. I knew I was going to get wet, but I figured I could
handle it. I set off on the half mile hike to the river determined to get our
decoys. I was startled by how far the water had already risen. A part of the
woods that would generally only get muddy was now knee deep in water. I made my
way through the first water, but soon was confronted with a much deeper pool. I
tried to make my way across without getting wet, but the pool was too deep.
Chilly spring river water flooded my boots, but I pressed on. As I got closer
to the river, I could not recognize the spot where we hunted nor identify the
tree where the decoys were tied. I should have turned back. Just then I started
to get my bearings. I recognized some land marks and was pretty sure I had the
tree with the decoys. The only problem
was the thirty yards of river that separated me from the tree. I figured the
water would be maybe waist deep and since I was wet already, what did it
matter? I started to wade toward the
tree. The water quickly was over my boots and soon up to my waist. There was a
steady current and I had to firmly place my feet as I shuffled through the
swamp grass on the bottom. I had perhaps
fifteen yards to go and every step the water came up several inches. Soon I was
standing in nearly shoulder deep water just short of the tree. I knew if I went
any deeper I might float and be whisked away by the current. I still remember
thinking I needed to get those decoys even as I stood there shivering in the
cold water. I shudder now also as I think back on my stupidity. The river was
easily ten feet deeper than normal and fifty yards wider. No one in my family knew I was wading in the
river. The channel of the actual river was only a few feet away. Had I stepped
into that channel, I certainly would have been carried away by the strong
current and left to try to swim in my bulky clothing. I only hesitated a moment
before I abandoned the decoys and carefully made my way out of the river. I
collapsed on the marsh grass at the edge of the water. I managed to stagger to
my feet and drag myself back through the water and mud between me and our house.
The hike back was a lot less fun than the hike in. I arrived home wet and
exhausted. When my mother saw me she asked what the heck I had been doing, I said
I slipped and fell crossing the creek. I don’t know if she believed me or not,
but she let it pass. They say cold, wet weather doesn’t cause illness, but when
I came down with pneumonia a few days later, I blamed the River. I also believe
there is a force of nature that sometimes looks out for stupid kids.
Despite the fact that we never found those
decoys, I learned to love that river. Cat fishing on those sweet July nights. Ice
skating in December. Always wondering where that current was heading. Even now,
as I stand here watching this spring run-off tumble through the woods, I am
comforted by moving water. Some part of
that little boy standing beside the Fox still lives inside. I hope I can keep
him away from those decoys.
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