Today you’re seeing part 4 of a series. Read the beginning of River Apollo here.
Paul wasn’t an off the rack kind of guy. His rocky past and idyllic present were each a few standard deviations away from the middle of society’s bell curve. He knew this. He was thankful for this – even for the struggles and the scars that they left. As much as anyone would love a life on the banks of a picture-perfect trout stream, he enjoyed it more because of where he’d been. But his picture-perfect trout stream wasn’t average, either.
It was a spring creek. A wide, slow, grassy spring creek. The current never seemed to flow in a straight line downstream, but the water always ended up in the next pool. The bugs came out at weird times. The fish holed up where they shouldn’t be. The wading bordered on unsafe. Paul loved it for it’s eccentricity and how it paralleled his own perpendicularity.
He learned the value of maintaining the river’s eccentricity nearly 25 years ago. Within days of moving in, anglers and local historians were dropping in to “welcome” him. Gerry King’s predecessor, Carl Hybel, brought some sort of casserole that his wife had made. Paul wasn’t one to spurn generosity, even when it was a dish nearly a decade out of time. But if there was an emetic that could bring back something eaten in the late 90’s, Paul would gladly imbibe a bottle of it. Because that tater tot-topped trojan horse led to all sorts of trouble.
Carl returned a few days later to collect the casserole dish, etc.
I’m glad you liked it. Kathy is a real whiz in the kitchen. Hey, Paul. You mind if the guys from the chapter access the creek from your property to do a little stream cleanup?
“A little stream cleanup” sounded benign. Turning down “a little stream cleanup” would have been akin to spurning free snow plowing or trash hauling or pressure washing. “A little stream cleanup” was mitigated speech for another euphemism: habitat improvement.