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Chapter One
L'tle Possum
L'tle Possum is the canoe I made. We set off on her maiden voyage on a hot August dawn.
I paddled her out from Uncle Hamp's dock on the St. Mary's River in Georgia and went north through the glistening pine trees that hug the water's edge. I felt unbound. I was free as the wind. And I wasn't in just any old canoe, but one I had made myself She floated., she sped, she was unreal.
As we moved upriver, I heard Dizzy, my dog, bark to say Mattie Lou, Uncle Hamp's sister, had arrived to spoil him and feed the hogs and chickens. She lives down the road and helps Uncle Hamp with the livestock.
I pressed the paddle against my chest, leaned forward, and then pulled back. We rode forward like a falcon on the wind.
I paddled until I came to the East Branch of the St. Mary's, but I didn't stop. With deep J strokes I pushed on to the river's source, the Okefenokee Swamp, a bog more than half the size of Rhode Island.
I sat there. L'tle Possum and I were headed for the "haunting mysteries and fancied terrors" of the Okefenokee. Mom tells stories about voices and gaseous clouds here. She tries to scare me away from "this nether world of snakes and 'gators and eerie voices." She doesn't like the place. She doesn't even like to spend time at Uncle Hamp's farm on the St. Mary's River, one of my favorite places in the world.
I entered the swamp on the East Branch, a river that flows through water, not land. That's how rivers are in the Okefenokee. They are moving water within still water. Stand in the still water around the edges of the swamp. A shadowy forest of cypress trees.I paddled among them. It was strange to be paddling in a forest J-stroking around trees.
Suddenly I was out of the smoky light of the cypress, into the brilliant sun. I had come to an Okefenokee prairie. A prairie, like a river and a forest in the Okefenokee, is not what you think it is. The prairie is water, not land. A swamp prairie grows water lilies, not corn. On the lilies five bugs, frogs, birds, snakes, and lots more.
It was tough paddling, but L'tle Possum was amazing. She turned on a nickel to dodge the clumps of yellow pond lilies and answered every haul and draw of my paddle.
Now and then I stood up to look for a lake where I could stop and test her stability. An Okefenokee lake, like an Okefenokee prairie and an Okefenokee river, is water within water. A lake is too deep for plants to take root, so it is open and clear. But it is not very deep. Nothing in the Okefenokee is very deep. Uncle Hamp says the bottom of the swamp is only two or three feet down at the most.
After twisting and turning, I did come to a large lake. I paddled L'tle Possum to the middle of it and gave her a thrust. She rocked to the left and quickly came back to center. She rocked to the right and came back. I stood up and rocked her again. She did not dump.
"Jack," I said out loud to myself, "you did it." I sat down and patted L'tle Possum. "You're one wolf whistle of a craft. I wish Dad were here to see you."
I made L'tle Possum from cypress slats and canvas. Dad kept telling me not to make her of canvas. "Not tough enough for the swamp.." he said. He also warned that she wasn't balanced right and that I would dump as soon as I paddled hard or stood to pole her. I was not about to listen to him, even though he's done a lot of canoe fishing and is an engineer. He designs special parts for airplanes. But I know canoes. I've paddled many summers on the St. Mary's with Uncle Hamp.
As I rocked harder and harder, and L'tle Possum held true. I really wanted Dad to see her. He and Mom were on a trip to Europe, and it would be quite a while before I could show him that Ede Possum was one great outfit. I'm not good at technical things like Dad is, but after I tested L'tle Possum, I felt he might think I had done a four-star job.
Dad keeps trying to encourage me to be an engineer. I want to be, but I just can't do the math. I can remember the names of plants and animals and know how they work together, like acorns and squirrels, but I can't remember square roots or logarithms. Both Dad and Mom tell me I could if I would just apply myself.
And I try. I really do try.
I put my paddle across the gunwhale and stared at the beautiful silver-and-black lake. A graceful egret stalked the shallows, looking for fish. Wham. She caught one! A flip sent it into the air and gravity plopped it into her open beak. I laughed.
"Cool bird," I said, and waited to see what she would do next. She caught another one.
When Dad and Mom told me they were going to Europe I begged to stay with Uncle Hamp in the piney woods on the St. Mary's. Uncle Hamp is tall and has long arms and legs. He moves with the grace of a heron. His black curly hair and blue eyes are sort of like mine, but I have a cowlick that makes the hair over my forehead grow straight up. I don't know whether he's Dad's age or eons older. His face is weathered red-brown...
Tree Castle Island. Copyright © by Jean George. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
