The Legend of Dead Lake: What I Learned from My Summer Internment With Grandpa

By R. B. Green

This coming-of-age ghost story blends fact and fiction to create a roller coaster tale, taking you from the 1800's through the 1960's. With dozens of photographs, a nautical chart, and missing and torn pages, this book will sometimes read like a treasure map leading to the two sunken ships and the mystery that surrounds them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483554747

Book preview

Hurdle

Chapter 1

Summertime Blues

You’re going to spend part of the summer with Nana and Grandpa. My mother said as she plopped a pile of undercooked green beans on my plate. She called them al dente, I called them raw.

What? I gasped, "That’s gonna be the worst summer ever!"

She continued to serve and pass the vegetables around the table. My two older brothers kept their heads low and grinned at me as they ate. My brother Howard squished beans at me through the gap in his teeth. My mother droned on, "Well, you’re not going to camp this year and Dad and I are not going to cancel our trip to Europe in July…"

That’s not fair! I stared at her in disbelief as my life crumbled around me.

You should have thought about that when you failed math last quarter. I glared at my brothers. One of them made a face as my mom looked away. Anyway, you’ll only have a few weeks of summer school. My mother wouldn’t shut up. Then your dad and I will put you on a plane and shoot you down to Grandpa and Nana in Florida.

Grandpa and Nana? For how long? I groaned.

I don’t know… several weeks until we get back. We come back on the tenth.

The tenth of June? I asked hopefully.

No. The tenth of August.

"What? August! That’s the end of summer! That’s my whole summer."

Your brothers will both be at camp for eight weeks and Mrs. Barrett just isn’t available for babysitting that length of time.

Why do I need a babysitter? I moaned. Why can’t I just stay by myself?

Honey, Dad and I will be gone over a month. You don’t want to stay by yourself.

Oh, yes I do!

Besides, you’re thirteen years old, so you can’t.

I’ll be fourteen in July… hey, I’ll be at Grandpa’s over my birthday. That’s not fair.

My mother looked at me solemnly, Would you like to go over what’s fair again?

No.

No, what?

No ma’am.

I ate dinner in silence while my mom and brothers made idle chit-chat. I continued to sulk even after they excused themselves and left me there alone with my cold, green beans. After a few minutes, I slid my beans, one by one, down the air register on the floor. Somewhere in the bowels of the duct work of our house lay enough vegetables to feed all the starving children in India I had always heard about. I had learned this trick from my brothers years earlier. Both dogs were outside where I couldn’t rely on them to act as my personal tasters, so the air vent was the next best choice.

I left the empty table and dragged my feet into the kitchen. As I rinsed my plate, my mother came in behind me, Sweetie. You knew something like this was bound to happen if you didn’t get your grades up. I didn’t answer.

You’ve only got three weeks of summer school. She continued. So just slog through it and make good grades. I stared at the water running down the sink, carrying my summer plans.

After summer school is over, we’ll fly you down to the River House.

Alone? I must have looked panicked. The first and last time I had flown alone ended in catastrophe. How was I supposed to know to pick up my luggage? Heck, it always just appeared when I traveled with my parents.

Grandpa or Nana will meet you at the gate and take you down to Baggage Claim. My mother continued, sensing my alarm. School doesn’t start back until the end of August.

I’m gonna be there all summer? I stared at her. I gonna be down there on my birthday? I’m gonna miss my birthday!

Honey, you’re not going to miss your birthday. You’ll just be in Florida.

On my birthday! On my fourteenth birthday. I’m gonna spend my birthday with Nana?

And Grandpa. My mother finished wiping the kitchen counters. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll do something really fun for you.

Great. I grumbled. "This is gonna be the worst summer ever! In history!"

Then my mother added, Now you know it was your grandparents that have been paying for your camp… so they may ask you to do a few chores down there to pay them back.

My life was over. I was an innocent bystander, watching as the final days of school waned. Watching as my older brothers left for camp.

The few weeks of summer school was mind-numbing. In fact, it was so easy, I wondered what I had done to fail math in the first place. None of the students were happy to be there and neither was the teacher… and he told us so. He made it clear to us that by failing, we were punishing him too.

I could be on a beach somewhere today… But no. I’m here. This was how Mr. Shaum started each day of class in summer school. At the end of each day, he ended class with the same quote, Come get me Mother, I’m through. Then he simply stood up and walked out the door.

Each morning, I crawled out of bed, ate a bowl of cereal and mounted my bicycle to ride to school. It wasn’t really my bike either. It was the cobbling together of two different color Schwinn Krate bicycles. My brothers had been given them new. By the time they gave them up, neither one was rideable. Dad had dissected them and made one useable bike, with the deadly five speed shifter between your legs and less than perfect brakes. It was a Frankenstein amongst Schwinns everywhere.

One of my brothers had taken a machete and hacked a narrow path through the woods as a shortcut to school. It was steep, bumpy and narrow. Each morning I pushed the bike up the hill through the trees, where it came out beside the lower-school playground. Then I would ride down the paved driveway to the middle school. In the afternoon, I would push the bike up the paved, steep driveway and then walk it through the woods again. My brother would brag he could ride the bike at speed through his wooded pathway, but I never dared as it was much too narrow with the wide handlebars of the Schwinn likely to catch on a tree.

The bike really didn’t save much time over walking with the hills and trees and such, but the Krate looked cool to someone who didn’t know it what it was. Besides, it was the only bike I had.

There were three mournful weeks of pushing my bike around, squinting at the blackboard and listening to Mr. Schaum drone on about how miserable we made him. However, I passed the class with flying colors, hoping this feat would defer my upcoming internment with my grandparents.

It didn’t.

Chapter 2

Death Row

I sat in the blue plaid airplane seat staring out the window into the dark night. My parents had walked me on and gotten me settled. They said they would wave to me from the huge window at the gate. Now here I was, at the rear of the plane with my window facing some baggage trucks. I was sure my parents had already left.

Below me on the tarmac was one of those guys with the long orange flashlights that direct planes. He was juggling the lights as he waited to direct our plane. I smiled to myself and thought of a plane coming in to land. The pilot would see three crazy, orange lights flipping around in the dark, just before he crashed and burst into flames. Maybe my brothers could be on that flight.

After an eternity of staring at the blur of blinking lights outside, the plane began to lurch backwards. Slowly, some little vehicle was pushing us out, away from the gates. As we swung away, the window at the gate finally came into view. It was empty. My parents were not there and my summer had officially begun. Off to the side, the man with the flashlights signaled the plane, then darkness filled my window.

An evil, sour-faced stewardess ran the plane and its dozen or so occupants. It was nearly empty and I sprawled out across two seats. This seemed to annoy her and she took her time fulfilling my needs, and I had many! I needed a continuous flow of ginger-ale, peanuts and a deck of cards to satisfy me completely.

A year earlier, my class at school had taken a train trip to Williamsburg. Two buddies, Troy and Jay, had spent the overnight ride teaching me various poker games and in particular, shuffling and one-handed cuts.

I sat in my plaid seats and practiced my craft, much to the delight of my stewardess. Apparently, she was an avid poker player. By the end of of the flight, she had sat beside and befriended me and later stood at the gate with me since my grandparents were running late on the pick-up.

A few minutes later, they trotted up to the gate, huffing and puffing. My grandfather gave me a huge grin, Hiya partner! How was your trip?

My grandmother did not say a word to me, but directed herself to my stewardess. We’re so sorry we’re late! I hope you didn’t have to put up with him too long?

My stewardess smiled at me, No, Bobby and I are old buddies. She handed me an unopened deck of Bicycle playing cards and said, thanks for the tip. Then she winked.

Tip! Oh my, do we pay you anything? Nana popped open her purse and started to plow through it. A tip. Howard, do you have any change for the woman?

The stewardess backed away, No ma’am. No tips, he’s ready to go and he was a pleasure. Bye-bye Bobby. She turned and started back toward the gray door that led to the plane.

Bye, um… Miss… But the door had shut.

My grandmother scowled at Grandpa. Well, she was a hussy!

Grandpa ignored her and looked down at me. Did they feed you?

My Grandmother licked her hand and started straightening my hair. Look at him Howard, he’s all skin and bones. Of course they didn’t feed him.

I shrugged her hand away, I ate some peanuts on the plane.

Grandpa started walking. Well come on sport. Let’s go get your bags and then we’ll stop somewhere and get you a bite for dinner.

We went outside to a little area where they put the baggage on display and I pointed out my two brown suitcases. They were the ones that were super-pass-me-downs. Mom and Dad weren’t using them for their trip to Europe and my brothers refused to use them for camp. They sucked. The aging leather and canvas was cracked all over. Faded round and triangular stickers signaled visits to far off places. The kind of places I would probably never get to go, because I was here… in Florida… with Grandpa and Nana.

Grandpa picked up the bags and started off into the parking lot.

Nana scurried after him, Howard, please wait for me.

I followed in silence. My life was officially over. Fortunately, the walk was short as the tiny parking lot was almost empty. I dragged my sneakers through the packed grey sand as we arrived at the large yellow Buick with a convertible top.

Bobby, now kick off your feet before we get into your grandfather’s car! my grandmother snapped. And don’t track any of that filth into the house either.

Grandpa tossed the bags into the trunk. Bertha, leave the boy alone. He’s old enough to know better. I knew better now; it was going to be a long summer.

We drove down Highway 17 through the darkness. After an eternity of silence we came upon a small stadium all lit up. Its parking lot overflowed with cars and I could hear the jabber of some voice on a loudspeaker.

Grandpa, what’s that?

That’s the dog track.

What? They race against dogs?

They race the dogs against each other. After a moment we had passed and the lights faded behind us.

Like a horse race?

Sort of…

My grandmother interrupted, I cannot believe they ever allowed that place to be built!

Can we go there? I asked.

No! Absolutely not, shrieked my grandmother.

Bertha, you don’t need to yell, we’re all sitting right here. Grandpa said. Bobby they race those skinny little grey dogs called greyhounds around a track, and they bet on them.

For money? Like poker?

My grandmother started in again. Gambling. Next thing you know they’ll allow casinos and…

I know how to play poker. I chimed in.

Grandpa looked at me in the rear view mirror, You know how to play Gin Rummy?

Umm… I don’t think so…

Oh my goodness! Young man, there will be no poker playing while you are here in Florida, Nana said through her teeth.

It’s just a little Gin Rummy dear, there’s no harm in that… Grandpa added.

Ahead in the distance, a Stuckey’s restaurant came into view.

Oh goody, said Grandpa. Let’s stop here and get Bobby a bite to eat.

Howard, we have got plenty of leftovers at the house. But Grandpa had already pulled into the dusty parking lot in front of the Stuckey’s.

Bertha, it won’t take us but a minute and that way you won’t have to fix anything when we get home. Grandpa hopped out of the car, opening my door for me. Let’s go sport. He trotted around the car and popped open Nana’s door, too. Nana got out and strode into the restaurant like a food inspector in a bad mood.

I followed. Grandpa, I’m really not all that hungry. I had some peanuts on the plane. I’ve still got some.

Not hungry huh? He walked in. The restaurant was more like a candy and souvenir store with a small dining area. On a side wall was a small ice cream counter. Grandpa made a beeline to it. How about some ice cream?

Uh, okay. How could I turn that down?

The little lady that had tried to seat Nana came over and scooped us some ice cream. I ate mine as I walked up and down the isles looking at plastic alligators and seashell ashtrays. A steel rack displayed various novelties. I admired the itching powder and exploding cigarette loads, but knew I’d never get away with buying them as Nana stood near tapping her foot. Besides, I had no money and no prospect of coming across any. I tried on some x-ray glasses and held my hand up to see. Everything was just blurry. It was the story of my life.

So, you had room for ice cream after all, huh? Grandpa interrupted my thoughts.

Um, yeah.

Yes, sir. He corrected me.

Yes, sir.

And try not to say ‘um’ so much.

Um. Yes, sir.

Now Grandpa smiled at me. "You know there’s always room for ice cream?"

Uh… I had no idea how to respond. Was this a trick question?

"There’s always room for ice cream, because it just melts and fills in the cracks." He smiled.

I smiled back at Grandpa as he continued. When you finish there, go wash up and head out to the car.

I took one last loving look at the hand buzzer and hung the x-ray glasses back on the rack and licked my fingers all the way to the restroom. When I came out, Nana had already gone out and was sitting in the car like a carved stone. Grandpa was paying for our ice cream at the register. He had also purchased a small tub of pistachios with a few other items and the lady behind the counter wrapped them tightly in several brown paper bags.

Then we went outside in the dusty lot and watched the bugs fly around the neon light by the highway. Something dark and much larger than the bugs swooped in occasionally driving the smaller insects into a frenzy. Every now and then, the ‘ey’s’ part of the Stuckey’s sign flickered off for a moment and the roadside stop became ‘Stuck---.’ I thought of how I was now stuck here for the entire summer.

Grandpa came out and motioned to me to get in the car. As I climbed in, Nana spoke, I hope you boys had fun.

Yes, ma’am. Um, thank you for the ice cream.

It was my pleasure. Grandpa responded.

Nana cut in, Now it’s late, so when we get to the River House, you need to go straight to bed. You can unpack your clothes in the morning.

Okay.

What was that?

Yes, ma’am. Nana, where’s the River House?

It’s on the river.

Where we’re going?

Where we’re going is crazy. And you’re coming along for the ride.

Grandpa whistled some tune as he drove us down the highway through the darkness. Deep in the trees I could see a light from a window every now and again. Eventually we passed a low yellow building with a large sign announcing Sewell’s Egg Hatchery. Then it was darkness again. After another few miles I could see a house with its windows lit up, but it seemed much higher than the usual Florida flatlands.

What’s that little house way up there?

Nana didn’t react as Grandpa answered again, That’s the ranger station.

Ranger station?

When we get up closer you’ll see his house below it. That’s the tower that he goes up in and watches for forest fires. It also means we’re getting close to the bridge and the house.

How come I don’t remember any of this?

Last time your parents brought you down here, you were pretty little, but you’ll remember the draw bridge.

Swing bridge, corrected Nana.

He continued on, It makes that funny noise when you drive across. You called it the Waa-Waa Bridge. When you get out on the dock, you can see the ranger tower pretty clearly. You can also hear the cars going over the bridge. Nana might as well have been asleep or dead. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell.

Can we go see the ranger station during the day sometime?

We’ll see.

I just had ice cream, so I was probably pushing my luck now. Then the swing bridge came, Waaaaaaa! It screamed a terrible noise under our tires. Iron girders flashed by, then a small house hanging off the side of the bridge with a man reading a paper behind filthy yellowe-scummed windows, then more girders. Then the noise went away.

Grandpa was slowing the car to turn left. Through the trees on the right I could see lights flickering in the distance. Otherwise, it was dark all around us. We bumped down a sandy road cut between tall trees. As I leaned forward and looked into the distance, the headlights revealed frogs leaping out of our path. Flying things bounced off the windshield leaving their greasy remains. Behind us, the tail lights made the column of dust look like our car was on fire. Then as suddenly, we were driving across grass and were there.

The little flat house had a few lights left on, but nothing looked really familiar to me. It was late and I stumbled out of the car. A yellow bug-light lit up the carport with a mass of cobwebs around it. The moist night air was filled with cicadas sounding off in the trees. I had become dead tired and Nana led me to a small bedroom with a narrow window, high up near the ceiling. Two single beds sat against opposite walls of natural wood. Between them, a small handmade table held a gleaming Eveready flashlight and a lamp, not much taller than the flashlight. Grandpa came in and tossed my bags onto one bed as Nana attempted to slide open the closet door. Halfway open, the door hung up and Nana started to wrestle it, until Grandpa took over. He gave it an upward jerk and the door slid free.

Howard, maybe you and Bobby can get that fixed this summer. Nana said curtly as she slid some hangers around. I opened my bags and pulled out my pajamas.

Sport? You know which bed you want? Grandpa asked.

No, I don’t care. I didn’t. I just wanted to sleep and began to pull back the covers. Ahhh! I leaped backwards hitting the table. The lamp rocked back and forth.

What now? Nana asked.

It’s a spider! I gasped. Between the sheets lay the largest spider I had ever seen. It was easily as big as my hand, brown and hairy.

Grandpa smacked it with the flashlight before Nana or I could do anything else. It wiggled for a moment then curled up and was motionless.

Howard! I cannot believe you did that! Nana admonished. Now I’ve got to have Lillian wash and iron those sheets tomorrow.

Grandpa wiped a spider leg off the Eveready and placed it back on the table. Then he took my bags from the other bed and placed them on the spider bed.

Nana stormed out of the room. I cannot believe it! It’s was just an old spider! I stared at the second bed as I changed into my pajamas.

Grandpa left the room and came back with a paper towel. He picked up the remains of the spider and crumpled it up. Don’t worry. It was just a large house spider. They’re really harmless although they get pretty big down here, but wait’ll you see the roaches. He looked at my face. …Don’t worry, partner. Hop in the other bed and get some sleep.

I didn’t move.

Okay. He looked at me and sighed. Grandpa pulled back the covers to reveal the absence of bugs and stood there until I got in. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, so get your rest. I didn’t answer, but slowly entered the bed. "Well, goodnight Bobby. I’ll see you in the morning.

The bathroom is just there, across the hallway." He flipped out the light and shut the door of my new little prison.

I gasped and finally took in some air, scrabbling for the flashlight in the dark. It turned on. That was a good sign. I shone it around the room, checking every corner and under the beds for brethren of the spider. These things never live alone. I sat in the dark like this for about fifteen minutes until I heard my grandparents turn off their own lights. Then I leapt out of bed, yanking my covers off and shook them hard for good measure. My door opened with a short squeak and I made my way to the paneled den that overlooked the river. From my flashlight I could make out a leather sofa facing the large picture window.

I was pretty sure that if spiders enjoy sleeping in beds, they probably don’t like leather. Under this assumption, I lay down and wrapped myself tightly in my sheets. No bugs were going to sneak in if I could help it.

Although I had been exhausted, the spider had wakened my senses and now I lay staring out the window. Way out on the river, a speck of green and white light slid along. I shone the flashlight around the room. To the left of the window was a brass pole from floor to ceiling with three conical lights attached to it. Behind it on the wall, a huge Bowie knife was mounted on a plaque. To the right of the window sat a brown leather recliner in a funny curved shape and a huge, magnificent television set. I focused the beam onto the shiny objects atop the TV. A lamp, a bunch of ashtrays, some kind of leather or wood duck and a wooden carving of monkeys. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. I ignored it. Across the room, near the kitchen was a tall bookshelf filled with dusty leather books and rows of paperbacks. Books of all sizes and colors were scattered on the shelves On the top shelf was a matched set of books that looked somewhat older and more organized than the rest.

Out the window, the green light from the boat was almost out of sight. Way in the distance, a blinking light glimmered on the water. I curled up tightly and turned the flashlight off. My hell had officially begun and I finally fell asleep.

Chapter 3

Daily Chores

That is where they found me the next morning.

What on earth are you doing out here? My grandmother yanked at my covers.

I had wrapped myself so tightly during the night, only my nose showed, and that was just for oxygen. It’s time to get up! You’ve got things to do today with your grandfather. She poked at me with her boney finger.

Okay, okay. Oww! I looked out at her.

"What was that? Don’t you raise your voice at me, young man."

I’m getting up. I sat up. It looked bright and hot outside the picture window.

You hop up right now and get those sheets back on that bed.

Alright.

What?

I said okay. I answered.

"What?

Yes, ma’am. I loosened my covers enough to waddle back into my little cell with the high window.

Nana called from the kitchen. Hurry up and get dressed. I’ve got your breakfast in here getting cold. And your grandfather will be back any minute.

Yes, ma’am, I grumbled. I pulled my bag away from the spider-spot and selected some clothes for the day. It wasn’t hard. I had brought along pretty much what I would have been wearing at camp; shorts, tee shirts, flip-flops and a pair of ratty tennis shoes.

My grandmother continued on, "You can use that bathroom in the hall there. Now that’s my bathroom so you keep it clean. And make sure you flush the potty good and lift the seat! Your towels are the yellow ones on the side of the tub…"

I rebelliously made my bed in a disgraceful way and strode into the little blue bathroom. It smelled like rotten eggs. A large, louvered glass window looked into the laundry room directly from the shower. The glass was textured but if you pressed your face close enough you could see out… and in. Great.

The faded, yellow kitchen was not much better. A tiny table, just large enough for two people, sat next to the stove. Nana swept away the existing plates, plopping them in the sink and clunked down my plate. Some cold, gray eggs stared back at me. I picked up the toast and began to nibble. It was also cold, but much less offensive. I slathered some jam on it and munched in silence, glaring at my grandmother’s back as she wiped the countertop into the sink.

She spoke to me over her shoulder. As soon as you’re finished, you put away your clothes in the dresser. Lillian will be here today and she’ll get those sheets cleaned up.

Lillian?

Lillian? She’s my help. She only comes four days a week, but now that doesn’t give you an excuse to mess things up.

I took a gulp of water from the glass on the table. Ewww! Gross! Nana, there’s something wrong with the water.

There is nothing wrong with that water. I poured it myself.

No, it tastes funny. Like it’s rotten or something. It smelled just like the bathroom.

It was cold a little bit ago. You just took too long to get in here.

What?

Go get you some cold water from the fridge. I jumped up and dumped my glass into the sink. In the fridge was a green enameled container with a spigot.

Nana, the water is in here?

Yes. Now you can be a big help and check it every now and then to make sure it’s full. I tasted the water timidly. It was fine. Why did that other water taste so gross?

It’s the very same water.

It is? I looked into my glass.

It’s got a lot of minerals and sulphur and such in it. If you chill it though, you don’t taste them.

Oh. Where’s it come from?

The little well over at the edge of the swamp. Your grandfather will probably show you how to check it too. She looked at me over her little cat-eye glasses. Now finish up before your grandfather gets home.

Yes, ma’am.

I was putting away my clothes when my grandpa called in, Bobby?

Yes… yes, sir?

He walked into my room. Hey, let’s hop to it. We’ve got a lot to do this week. What have you been doing all morning?

Umm..

Hurry up here and meet me out on the front porch. I hustled out and found him sitting in an iron chair whittling a small piece of wood with a pocket knife. He glanced up at me and continued to whittle. Have a seat there. I sat down opposite him.

Grandpa spoke again without looking at me. So, you know why you’re down here?

"’Cause Mom and Dad sent me here?

Guess again. He continued on the stick.

Um, ‘cause I’m not going to camp. I mumbled.

And why aren’t you going to camp this year?

Um, ‘cause I had to go to summer school.

Why’d you have to go to summer school? He stopped carving and stared at me

I wasn’t getting out of this. Because I failed math class. I hated to say it out loud.

Grandpa started to carve again. Did you know that your grandmother and I have been paying for your camp each summer?

Yes. Mom told me.

She did? Well, we couldn’t get a refund when you failed your schoolwork.

Oh. I didn’t know what else to say. Um, I’m sorry…

So your parents discussed this with us and we thought you wouldn’t mind coming down here this summer and helping your grandmother and me out with some work around the river house. I was silent. You don’t mind doing that for us do you?

No… no, sir.

Good. Well I think it’s only fair. You know, we don’t mind paying for your camp because we love you and we can afford to do it. But it’s not fair to us when you don’t do some things that are expected of you on the other end.

I stared out at the river and the dock.

You know, your grandmother and I are getting up there in age and it’s not as easy to do stuff around here. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring at me. "Now I’m not gonna work you to the bone down here. We’ll have some time to do some fun things too."

Okay.

Look here. Look me in the eyes and stand up straight.

I did, although it was hard.

He continued on, I’m gonna put you to work. You can be a really big help on some projects around here, but we’ll also do some fishing and crabbing. Have you ever been fishing?

I shook my head. No.

You dad’s never taken you fishing?

No, he’s always working or out of town.

Well that’s because he works really hard for you and your family. But you and me… we’re gonna do some fishing. Have you ever driven a boat before?

Um, no sir.

Well, we’ll do that too. He stood up and brushed the wood scraps off his lap. Then he noticed my flip-flops. I want you to run back inside and put on your sneakers, then come back out here.

I did as I was told and returned. Grandpa was standing in the grass near a small pile of sand. I walked over to him to see what he was so interested in. As I got closer, he put his hand to stop me.

You know what this is? He asked.

"Uh, a pile of sand?

No, it’s a nest of fire ants.

Oh.

Just a word to the wise, don’t wear your flip flops out here until we get them under control.

Okay.

Right now, I want you to follow me.

Grandpa strode off around the house on his long legs and I jogged behind. He introduced me to the location of the artesian well by the swamp. It had a small roof over the cement block basea and a screen lid covered the water to keep the insects out. Under the lid were two separate tanks. One side had clear, clean water bubbling up with a little sand on the bottom. The other side was the same but was full of minnows.

We went past a dirty, green picnic table and on to a large metal shed. On the ground at the entrance to the shed were hundreds of funnel shaped holes in the sand. Ant lions lurked just beneath the surface, waiting to strike.

Grandpa smiled. When you were down here about ten years ago, you called them ‘doodle-bugs’. Inside the shed was a battered army Jeep, a tractor, a riding lawnmower and a mish-mash of ancient, rusting tools. Here Grandpa showed me where to find rakes, brooms and any other tool with a long handle that I might be using. I didn’t remember any of this place.

On the outside of the shed was a rusted out refrigerator and behind that was a series of small fenced pens. He explained that they used to keep hunting dogs here. We continued to walk the property across a huge expanse of grass, Grandpa pointing out Nana’s sister’s house through the trees, their well, and the path that led to other relatives.

Eventually, we came to another smaller yet nicer shed. This was painted grey with two windows and two doors. This was Grandpa’s workshop and all his power tools and hand tools were kept here. In addition, he had metal bins with assorted nails and screws and such. Grandpa explained that I would probably be coming here a lot for supplies.

He grabbed a hammer and a pail of nails, shoved them in my hands and said, Follow me. We walked around the house again towards the dock. I made careful steps to avoid the fire ant hills along the way.

The dock sloped down from the yard and then straight out, almost a hundred yards to a boathouse. Halfway out a small deck jutted out from the dock with some chairs. This was called the Poop Deck and was used regularly by the adults to watch the sunset and have a drink… Or as Grandpa called it, an attitude adjustment period. A third of the way out to the Poop Deck was a birdhouse for purple martins. It sat high atop a steel pole with two thin cables running down to the dock. As we passed, I touched the cable; it was loose and the pole jiggled slightly in tempo to our walk. A few martins flitted out of the house.

We continued on to the boathouse until finally we reached the end. The far deck had an old porcelain for cleaning fish and two benches. Several bamboo fishing poles hung on the wall as well as some sort of net. There were also some paddles and orange life preservers hanging on corroded nails. To the left of the sink, a green hose hung on a metal bracket.

Grandpa turned to me. Okay, here’s your first mission. I looked at the bucket of nails in my hand. You can set down the bucket over there because you won’t need it for a while. Always set it near a wall so you don’t kick it over by accident.

Why?

Because I just bought those nails this morning and you don’t wanna have to go swimming after them. Just set it over there. Now start over here at the farthest corner.

I walked over with my hammer.

"I want you to go along every single board and make sure every nail is hammered down good and tight."

Why?

’Cause you’ll stub your toe on a nail and it’ll really hurt.

Do I stop when I get to there? I pointed at the bucket.

"No. I want you to check every single board."

Where do I stop?

Grandpa pointed back to the house. When you reach the grass.

I squinted through the morning sun. What? All the way back? That’s like a mile!

It’s right at two hundred and eighty feet actually.

Well, how’d they all come up?

Over the years with the heat and all, the nails work their way out. I have to do this every year.

"Every year?" I stared at the dock in disbelief. Couldn’t he have bought better nails?

Grandpa continued, Now if a nail is completely gone, use one from the bucket, but put it in the same hole and try not to drop any of the nails in the water. Now let me see you do a couple right here at the edge of the dock. I squatted down and whacked away at the nails.

That’s good, just like that. I’m going to head back to the house. You just carry on and your Nana or I will come fetch you for lunch.

Lunch?

"Well, I let you sleep in this morning so it’s pretty late now. We’re gonna get up a little bit earlier tomorrow. Oh, and make sure you check all the nails." He walked off and left me to my misery.

He let me sleep in? Well, at least I knew what I would be doing the rest of the summer, because this would probably take me all summer. I sat down and set to work with my hammer. One nail after the other. On a rare occasion, I would come across a nail that had not risen up out of the wood and this was like a blessing and a miracle. I could actually skip a nail.

What the hell did I do to deserve this? A drop of sweat fell from my nose onto the back of my hand baking in the sun.

The sun continued to beat down and soon I was drenched in my own sweat. I was thirsty, but not thirsty enough to venture back to the house. At least not yet.

When I had completed about half of the deck, Lillian showed up with a thermos of ice water and a sandwich.

Hi, sweetie.

I looked up. Hi. Are you Lillian?

I am. I brought you something to eat. She smiled. Lillian was a young black girl, not much older than my oldest brother. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she wore a blue dress with a white apron. She had a pretty face with upturned, almond-shaped eyes.

She pulled one of the benches away from the wall and set me a place to eat. From her apron she pulled a red metal cup and a baggie with a dill pickle and a paper bag of potato chips. After she laid it all out carefully, she sat across from me at the other end of the bench, but straddling the bench like a boy.

Miss Bertha had me fix you a cheese sandwich. I hope you like it. She said she didn’t think you ate her breakfast, so I snitched you some chips and a pickle.

Nana’s eggs are gross. I said as I gulped down some water.

Lillian laughed. You better not let your Nana hear you talk like that.

But they are. I tore into the sandwich. They were grey and hard and cold.

She ain’t the best egg cooker. Lillian straightened her apron. But I think she fixes a real nice Sunday dinner.

I had already finished the cheese sandwich and was dumping the bag of chips down my throat.

Child, you gonna choke eating like that? You want me to fix you another sandwich?

I looked hopeful, "Could you? Please?"

Gimme about ten or fifteen minutes and I’ll bring you another. Lillian stood up and inspected herself before rounding the corner and walking the long walk back.

Thank you Lillian, I called after her. I stared down the long catwalk back to the house. The cattails on either side of the dock were swaying un the summer breeze. Perched on one cattail was a bird of some sort, swaying back and forth with it. I thought about how that catwalk would be a whole lot nicer if it was two feet wider. The railing on the east side was a little too rickety for my liking. Somebody ought to give it a few more nails. I went back to hammering.

Nana let me take a break in the afternoon. She sent Lillian down with an Eskimo Pie. An Eskimo Pie was a frozen delight - a little bar of vanilla ice cream, covered in a thin crispy layer of chocolate. It was not too much later in the summer that I became addicted to them. Fiendish cousins would lure me into stealing them from the freezer, right behind Nana’s back in the kitchen. Apparently I was the sneakiest.

Now I experienced it for the first time. The Eskimo Pie. It was late afternoon when I finished and stumbled off the dock exhausted. I was amazed at myself for getting it all done in one day.

In the kitchen, Nana asked, Did you finish everything your grandfather set you to?

Yeah… I answered.

Yes, what?… She snapped.

Yes, ma’am, I offered.

Every single nail?

Yes, ma’am. I rubbed my sore hands and looked at a blister.

How’s your hands? Lemme see, Nana demanded.

I turned them palm up to her. My right hand in particular was bright red from the day’s work.

"Hmm… well, you’ll get used to it.

Great, I answered solemnly.

"You get used to anything eventually… except hanging by the neck. She turned me around and whacked me on the butt. Alright, you can go play outside until your grandfather gets home."

Play? Play what? I thought. Can I have another Eskimo Pie… please?

No. You already had one today and that’s enough. Besides, I’m cooking supper, so you’ll fill up and spoil your appetite.

Grandpa says there’s always room for ice cream, because it just melts and…

"I said no!" My grandmother’s voice rose.

Yes, ma’am. I went outside. I was already craving them. My grandmother wasn’t cooking supper, she had Lillian cooking supper. But she was taking credit for it.

Outside I wandered around. There were tons of things to interest you if they didn’t have to be exciting. The artesian well, of course. The faded warped picnic table, so laden in cobwebs I knew I would never eat off it. There was the large metal shed, next to the abandoned kennels. The guest house, locked up tight, except for the junked up guest room attached to the carport. It was full of deflated pool toys, crusty beach toys, filthy bicycles and other detritus that never got washed off after being used. I prayed Grandpa would not have me clean this mess. Scattered on the floor around them were hundreds of dead cockroaches and spiders. On a dusty table was a sandwich that someone had started making a year or so ago, then stopped eating in the middle. On a paper plate sat two dried green slices of bread with some sort of brownish substance on them. Next to this was a knife and a can of snuff. I would later find out that one of Nana’s previous maids would spread snuff between two slices of white bread and chew it. Snuff Sandwiches she called them. Yuck.

Grandpa’s cinder-block workshop was unlocked so I poked around in there for a while before wandering the grounds. The little guest house was next to the swamp. At high tide the swamp might fill up with water about six to ten inches deep, but at low tide it turned to dried muck. At the edge of the swamp by the river, a dangerous looking dock led out to a tiny whitewashed boathouse. The catwalk looked like a roller coaster missing dozens of boards. Between the guest house and the dock stood a huge oak tree with a rotting rope swing lightly swaying in the breeze. The end of the rope had long ago broken off about ten feet from the ground. A smattering of Spanish moss grew from the branch onto the rope. At the base of the tree, a small one legged table sat attached to the trunk. A few leaves and some moss rested on the table.

In the distance, Lillian was approaching. As I walked towards her, she said, Your Nana wants you to come on in and get yourself cleaned up for supper. I followed her back to the carport of the main house.

What’s for dinner?

I fixed you some fried chicken and collards.

Collards?

Collards. And your Nana is fixin’ some gravy… she won’t let me touch that. Um, and I think she’s fixin’ some… oh, no I fixed them. Some mashed potatoes. You’ll like them, it’s my mama’s recipe. Lillian now stood in the empty carport, She pulled a dingy black bicycle from the wall and loaded a small wrapped something into the basket on the handlebars.

Where are you going? I asked.

I gots to go home.

On that? I pointed at her mode of transport.

That’s how I got here.

Are you here tomorrow? I had decided I liked Lillian and followed her down the sandy road a bit.

"No, I usually just come every other day during the week.

Where do you live?

Oh, ‘bout two miles down the road a bit… with my mama and brothers.

Can I come to your house sometime?

She gave me a quick peck on the cheek, smoothed my hair and then she rode off. Bye, Bobby!

We had walked to the first turn in the road. Several ‘For Sale’ signs were stuck in the ground pointing down another track of road and I could just make out the rumbling noise of an engine. I wandered down to see.

Occasionally, a strand of pink surveyor’s tape hung from a low tree branch, separating lots. A little further, the noise was revealed as a bulldozer pushed some small scrub brush to the side. Nearby in a clearing a flatbed sat with stacks of lumber along with several pallets of bricks. Closer to the river was a large rectangular pad of concrete. The workers were securing some small machinery as they readied to leave.

Out past the pad, on the river a dozen or so pilings had been placed as a dock was starting to be built. A small barge laden with the long poles sat peacefully tied up. I realized that I had been so intent on my own hammering that day that I hadn’t even heard them placing the pilings down the river from me. The engine to the bulldozer grumbled to a stop as the driver called it a day. I turned and headed back to the river house.

The light outside was dimming when Grandpa got home. I had taken a shower and was trying to tune in a channel on the television with the long rabbit ears antenna.

My grandfather walked in. Hey, sport. How was your day?

Um, okay. I felt the blisters on my hands.

So you finished everything?

Um, I finished the dock.

Great, we’ll have a look at it after supper. He left me to my devices and the antenna on the television. After a delicious supper (the differences between supper and dinner were explained to me but would forever confuse me) of Lillian’s cooking, Grandpa invited me out to the dock… for inspection.

It was dark now and the frogs chirped from everywhere. After crossing the yard, you could not even see the dock until Grandpa flipped on the switch. Yellow bug lights shone down the wooden planks all the way to the end. I followed Grandpa in silence. It was low tide and you could hear the water slapping the pilings beneath you, even though you couldn’t see it.

About half way down the walk Grandpa stopped short, blocking me with his arm. Hold up there, hoss.

What? What is it?

Just a snake, let’s let him get off. A dark rope slid over the edge and plopped into the water. Then Grandpa continued on.

Just a snake? Just a snake?

Yeah, a Cottonmouth, but he’s gone now.

I thought they were poisonous?

They are… very dangerous. He continued down the walk coming to a darkened patch of dock. Well, lookey here. I’ve got a bulb out. He looked down to the end at the boathouse. It looks like another one is out down there too. Grandpa looked at me, Bobby, do me a favor. Run back up to the house and get your grandmother to get you two bug light bulbs.

What? But…

You heard me.

But the… snake. Cottonmouth…

That snake is long gone. He’s more scared of you anyway. Go get me some bulbs. He looked at me.

Yes, sir. I turned and looked down the catwalk. Now I had cotton in my mouth.

I ran half-walked as fast as I dared up the dock and back into the house. My grandmother found the bulbs for me and pushed me back out the door. I sprinted back to the edge of the yard, where the dock began. Grandpa was nowhere to be seen. I’d have to walk all the way past the snake again, around the boathouse to the very end to find him. After another high speed cat run, I found him and offered the bulbs.

He looked in my hands. Are those the burnt out ones?

No sir. These are the new ones.

Well what are you standing here for? Go ahead and replace the bulbs.

But you said…

Be a little proactive.

Pro-what?

Don’t wait for me to tell you to do something if you know it needs to be done.

I rolled my eyes and turned back towards the bulbs that were black. Then I dragged my feet towards certain death by snakebite. Thankfully, it was not to happen. I changed the bulbs without incident, marveling at how insects swarmed to the new light source immediately. Then I returned to Grandpa who was now in the boathouse.

What did you do with the old bulbs? he asked.

I put them in the trash can under the sink out on the dock.

Good boy. Can you climb up there for me? He pointed to the blue and white boat hanging above the water. A red stripe shot down the length of the boat accenting its hull.

My grandfather had the largest boathouse on the river. It had four slips for boats, when every other dock had only one, if any at all. One slip had a small john boat, two were empty and the fourth held the large boat we now faced.

Climb up in the boat?

Here, let me lower it down a few feet. He flipped a large switch and the ancient motor in the rafters hummed to life. The rafters creaked and moaned above the boat. It slowly came down until it was even with me and Grandpa shut the winch off. Climb over in there for me. I lightly sprung into the boat causing it to sway a bit.

Yeah, My grandfather offered. You gotta do it slowly there, sport.

Now what?

Up there on the dash should be my sunglasses. See if you can find them for me.

I searched around and found them in the side pocket, then held them up. Are these them?

That’s them. Bring ‘em on out here. I climbed back out of the boat, careful not to rock it this time. Grandpa motioned to the rusty switch, You wanna raise her back up?

No, you can do it.

No, go ahead. Switch it to the right.

I eyed the switch. It looked like it powered an electric chair. I had noticed a spark jump off when Grandpa switched it earlier.

Go ahead Bobby.

Okay." I had to stand on my tip-toes to reach it and flipped it to one side. Then Grandpa and I stood together and watched the boat slowly lower itself towards the black water.

Hey! It’s going down.

Grandpa smiled. Well, switch it back off and wait for the motor to stop turning up there.

I flipped the switch again and jerked as a spark jumped towards me. Ipeered into the rafters. The rusted wheel on the motor stopped.

Flip it the other way. Grandpa offered. I did and the boat started to creak back up.

Is that it? I started to leave.

Hold up there, sport. This doesn’t turn off automatically. Get back over by the switch and be prepared to shut it off.

What’ll happen? I moved back to the switch.

It will smash up into the rafters, where the hoist will break free and the whole thing will crash into the water.

Oh, I said.

And then it’ll sink, Grandpa added.

That would be bad, I said. Then I asked, Have you ever done that before?"

Grandpa ignored my question and started whistling.

I raised my hand up near the switch. Should I turn it off yet?

Give her a little bit more. We waited a bit. Okay, shut her down. I snapped off the switch. Grandpa checked on some lines coiled up and then showed me where the additional secret cut-off switch to the hoists were located. Hidden in a closet on the dock was a large switch that cut the power to the entire dock, making it difficult for a would-be boat thief to snoop around. This one appeared to power all the electric chairs in the state.

He flipped another discreet switch and floodlights lit up the entire area. As he walked over the dock making his inspections, he told me valuable bits of information like: always check ladders and catwalks before you use them -you never know what might be sleeping there. Always coil your dock lines -it makes them easy to handle and you can tell if anybody has messed with them. Also, always verify that it is actually a dock line you are about to pick up as snakes sleep in odd places.

He took a handheld spotlight and shone it way out on the water, pointing out the little red reflections. What do those look like? He asked.

I dunno. A tin can? A Coke can?

Those are alligator eyes. My own eyes grew huge.

Right out there? Off the dock?

It’s a good idea to not swim after dusk… if you can help it. He turned and flipped off the bright lights and walked back towards the house, placing the spotlight back in the storage closet. I scampered after him as fast as I could.

Halfway down, he stopped at the Poop Deck, the small seating area off the side of the main walk. Four weathered Adirondack chairs sat around a spinning wooden cocktail table. It’s iron legs rusted dull red. Grandpa sat down next to Nana who had brought out a small tray with drinks and some fruit.

She had also brought a shiny steel Eveready flashlight. Nana was no fool. At the beginning of the dock, where it landed between two huge bushes… the ones with the birdhouses poking out, was an additional cut-off switch to the dock’s power. She had been out on the dock one dark night when someone had turned off the power by the birdhouses. Grandpa later insisted that he had no idea that Nana was out there, he was just trying to save electricity. Nana now had herself a fine flashlight.

The two of them spoke about the weather and an upcoming fishing trip as I leaned over the rail peering into the dark but shallow water. It was low tide and the water appeared orange. At low tide, the water here was only about a foot deep. A few dreary clams sat motionless as a small frog drifted along. The cadence of frogs in the cattails pulsed louder then softer, then ringing out to a brief stop. Then it would begin again. I peered into the darkness hoping for a brief glimpse of an alligator.

Bobby? My grandfather’s voice broke my thoughts.

Yeah. The two of them stared at me in stony silence.

Yes, sir. I stated.

Come on over here and have a seat. My Grandpa motioned to the empty pine chair beside him. Your Nana and I need to go over what is going to be expected of you for the next several weeks. I swallowed as he continued on.

Grandpa filled me with awe as he explained the many duties I would have for my internment with him and Nana. He had typed up a list on the Corona typewriter that sat in a little office in the house. He had also numbered them, one through fifty. I noticed there were only forty-two spots filled, but he had gone ahead and typed out to fifty, Just in case, he said.

I would be mowing, painting, clipping, chipping, cleaning, spraying, sanding, scraping, raking and any other type of work that could end in ing. He would spend the next couple of days showing me what and where and then he was driving across Florida to fish in Homosassa. I would be left in the clutches of Nana with the list. Great. Just… great.

The list would be kept on the refrigerator door so I could always find it. Great. I would check