Chapter 3 Tash
Tash
A pre-dawn nature walk felt like the best way to start the Christmas parade day. There was just enough light to see the trail, and my phone was ready to serve as a flashlight.
The ground crunched under our boots as we headed for the path that ran along Whispering Creek.
The old barn loomed across the yard, red paint barely clinging in streaks.
I could already imagine the twins making it their own, string lights and all.
For now, we stuck to the trail, cold air making our cheeks sting.
"Are we going down to the creek, or just around the yard?" Mere called ahead, already trying to outpace me.
"Creek," I said. "Might as well get the lay of the land. We've got all day." Or at least, we had until the parade.
Huey, in his hideous and hilarious reindeer sweater, sniffed every inch of mud, fluffy tail swaying. There were animal prints everywhere. Deer, raccoon, and something big enough to be a neighbor's dog. Or a coyote. They were pretty common around here.
Fifi dragged her feet at first, hands shoved deep into her hoodie pocket, head ducked. Even with her hair pulled back, she looked sleep-deprived, but I pretended not to notice. If I pressed too hard, she'd vanish into her shell for hours. Or worse, just lock herself in her room.
"Did you remember the hand warmers?" she asked in a bored-teenager sort of way.
"Right here," I said, waving a pack. "And emergency granola bars, if you're about to faint."
She snorted, but shuffled closer. Small wins.
The path hugged the creek, winding between stands of pine, poplar, and walnut trees that had already lost all their nuts.
They were all over the ground, staining it black in places where the squirrels hadn't eaten them.
I loved tracing the roots, the way they tangled down into the water like holding hands.
The current was high. Last night's rain pushed the surface fast and loud.
Where the bank dipped away, the water spread out wide, then pulled tight again into deeper pools.
"You think there's anything alive in there?" Mere asked, peering through the bare branches.
"Hundreds of things," I said. "Thousands. You just don't see them unless you look really close. Hellbenders, crayfish, water beetles. Probably more microscopic things that you don't even want to know about."
"Are hellbenders rare?" Hold the presses. Mere was showing an interest in my work. I tried not to breathe too hard.
"Getting rarer," I answered. "That's why I'm so obsessed with the survey project. If we start finding healthy ones out here, it's a big deal. Some people work their whole careers and never spot a live one in the wild."
That got Fifi's attention. She slowed down, eyes fixed on the water now instead of her phone. "When do they come?"
I nodded. "Mostly at night. Sometimes, just after sunrise or right before sunset. If the water's clear, and we're quiet enough, we might get lucky."
The bank narrowed where a fallen tree made a little bridge across the shallow edge.
We tramped through the brittle grass, each step sinking a little.
Even in December, the woods held on to scraps of color.
Red leaves stuck to the rocks, bright green moss hugging the base of trees.
A woodpecker knocked somewhere in the distance.
It felt private, like nobody in the world could find us here.
Then Huey stopped.
He froze mid-step, nose pointed into the wind. The hackles on his neck pinched up, and he went into statue mode. Every part of him said, Something's here.
Mere whispered, "Does he see a bear?"
"Nah," I said. "He's smart enough to run away from a bear. Probably smaller wildlife. Mr. Dramatic." Actually, knowing him, he'd probably run straight toward a bear. Huey believed himself to be a much larger specimen of a dog.
But even I could tell this was different from the usual chipmunk sighting. I stilled the girls with a hand signal and crept to the water's edge.
At first, nothing. A swirl of current with muddy stones on the bottom.
Then, in the shadow under an overhanging rock, something shifted.
A smooth, grayish-brown shape, maybe two feet long, uncoiled from the silt.
It moved with almost no effort, just a slow, side-to-side glide, barely disturbing the water.
"Holy crap," I whispered, barely breathing. "That's it. That's a hellbender."
The girls edged closer, boots sliding on the slick grass. Even Huey seemed to hold his breath, ears flat.
At first, the salamander ignored us. It drifted downstream, then hugged the gravel, little legs working underneath like tiny paddles. It was huge, compared to anything they'd show in a classroom. Almost prehistoric, with that flat head and ruffly skin flaps along its belly.
And the eyes. Jet-black, beady but sharp. The animal rolled in the current, then turned and looked straight at us. It didn't even flinch. Just hung there, maybe curious, maybe judging us for the early-morning intrusion.
"I thought they were supposed to be ugly," Fifi whispered. "He's kind of cute."
"Right?" I grinned. "People used to call them snot otters, but I think that's unfair. They're just different. They've been here millions of years."
Mere knelt, careful not to spook it. "How does it breathe underwater?"
I answered as softly as I could manage. "See those flaps? They suck oxygen out of the water. No gills, really. Just skin. Evolution at its weirdest."
The hellbender fanned out its toes, then snatched something tiny from the rocks. Probably a worm or a nymph. It was a master of disguise. Almost invisible against the pebbles until it moved.
We watched, silent. I'd spent years learning how to be patient for sightings like this, and today my girls sat as still as church mice. The world narrowed down to the water and the cold air and the salamander, rolling bubbles from its nose with every move.
"Could we see more than one?" Fifi asked, hushed.
"Maybe. They like these deep spots. If we wait, we might spot another."
The first hellbender vanished beneath the ledge, but a flash of shadow darted downstream, quick as a rumor. I seized the moment and pointed. "There! See it?"
Mere gasped, eyes wide. "There are two?"
"Whole family, if we're lucky," I said. "Some people spend years looking for just one. We're serious overachievers this morning."
I cataloged every detail for later. Markings, size, even the way the water burbled around their bodies.
Most importantly, the exact location. I'd been called obsessive before, but this was a huge find.
Not for work, just for me, and my daughters, and this brand-new piece of our lives.
I'd come back later to make it significant for work.
Huey started chewing on a stick. I envied his ability to move on from once-in-a-lifetime moments, but I suppose a good stick was second only to bacon in his world.
Mere stood first, her breath steaming bright in the cold. "That was incredible. I want to draw them later. Maybe I can find a picture online for details."
"I'll help," I promised. "But you'll have to fend off my expert critiques."
Mere pretended to grumble, but a small smile slipped out.
We started walking again. The creek wound away from the house, the path getting more overgrown with every step.
The salamanders were out of sight now, but their magic clung to the morning.
The air filled my chest until the ache of it almost crowded out the other worries.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, that hum returned.
Not anxiety. Something sharper. Anticipation, maybe.
Ridiculous. I had more than enough on my plate without adding phantom nerves.
"You okay back there?" I called to Fifi, who trailed behind.
"Yeah," she said, voice clearer. "It's just the water. It actually helps. Makes my head quieter."
She didn't have to say what "quieter" meant. I knew her tells, the way her whole body wound tight when the world started to get loud.
"I read somewhere that watching moving water can rewire your brain," I told her. "It tricks you into feeling steady, even when you're not."
Mere piped up. "Who needs therapy when you've got a creek?"
"Later, if the parade crowd starts to freak you out." I looked at Fifi, waiting for her to meet my eyes, "just think of the creek. Breathe along with the water. In, out, steady, just like this morning. It'll help."
She nodded.
We circled back. The walk wasn't long, but it set the tone. I wanted to bottle the peace and make the girls drink it like medicine.
Fifi let out a little laugh, so small I almost missed it. "I want one of those fried pie things."
"You got it," I said. "Fried pies for everyone. The car's already packed."
We piled in and left, pulling into downtown Townsend half an hour later.
It looked like something out of a snow globe, even without actual snow on the ground.
Lampposts wore evergreens and bows. Homemade banners draped every streetlight.
I could hear the echo of Christmas music even inside the sealed car.
Parking was already tight. We snagged a spot at the far end of a gravel lot, then loaded up like pack mules and hiked two blocks to the parade route.
Countless other families had already arrived. A pair of old-timers in camo had parked themselves on an army cot, sipping from bright red thermoses. I took one look at our folding camp chairs and picnic blanket and decided we'd done pretty well, all things considered.
We squeezed in right at the curb, with enough room for all three of us, and Huey. The twins helped unfold the chairs while I spread the blanket and lined up the snack bag for easy access.
"Okay, ground rules," I told them, pointing to the street. "This is prime real estate. Someone must guard the spot at all times. If you wander off, you tag in the next person. It's, like, the law."
Mere nodded, completely serious. "I'll go first."