Kate Hove Writing Exercise 3

“Well shit,” Jasper said. He was muttering under his breath at the height he had accomplished, at the view from the top of the tree. It was summer and he and Philip were shimmying themselves up every birchtree in the forest they could manage. He was sixty, maybe seventy feet up, working at the device to attach himself to the rope, to lower himself down. “Well shit.” It was the first time he had been that high and he could see forever. “The river’s damn near frightening from up here. “Have you seen the river from up here?” He was yelling down at Philip but he wasn’t really yelling; his voice and his nerves didn’t allow for anything more than a whisper, a murmur. He was imagining where he would land if he fell. “Surely those birchtrees would catch me. But how would I fall to begin with? I wouldn’t fall; no way would I fall. “But I suppose the rope could snap, or if I put the gear together wrong, or if my harness broke its straps. “No way this thing would snap. The nylon, the stitching. I don’t weigh that much anyway. How much? Just over a hundred pounds? Guys double my size, hell, even triple my size have hung from these things. No way it will snap. “Are those birchtrees really that soft? They look so damn soft from up here. Surely they’d catch me if I fell. That mass of green, all those leaves, they look soft as a cloud. How’s that happen anyway? How’d they get so pretty? “Maybe God had something to do with things after all.” Jasper shifted his weight and let the prussic on his waist hold himself to the rope; he’d since forgotten about the lowering device. “Nawww. Anyone with any sense knows that God doesn’t exist. All that crap my parents say, the teachers say. They just need a lean on, something to help them make sense of things. “Grandpa died and mom said he was in God’s hands, but I knew better. Sure it made her feel good, knowing Grandpa was taken care of, but shit, sometimes things just hurt. That’s life, I guess. “But those trees just look so soft. I bet they’d rip me to pieces if I fell into them. Or maybe I’d just lay there like a canopy had caught me. “No way God made those trees. They’re too … perfect. They look scary and soft all at once. “And the river. There must be ten million burbot just swarming those eddies. Feeding off the bottom. We should have set some hooks. Some flank steak. God knows they love that flank. I bet they’d be eating it up the way that river’s flowing. So fast they’d need a break from all that flow. They’d smell that meat, see it floating just above the river bottom, and snap, that’d be the end of them. We’d find them in the afternoon and have burbot nuggets that evening. “Tomorrow, tomorrow we’ll set the hooks. The poor man’s lobster hooks. God takes care of the poor man if he lets Him. “That’s what dad says. Ol’ dad. You’d think he’d know something after all those years.” Philip was yelling at Jasper from below. “Jasper! What the hell are you doing up there? Jasper! Why not come on down and let your big brother show you how it’s done?” “Man, there aren’t hardly any spruce until the riverbanks. Hardly none.” Jasper was muttering to himself again. “And there’s that damn spruce where the porcupine’s hung. I bet that’s it. I can almost smell the stench of him from here. Ha! We strew his guts damn near everywhere, even with that little .22. Pow! And that was it. Two of the dogs wanted to have at him—dumb dogs don’t know any better than to get needles stuck throughout. “I’d bet a bear’s had at it by now, or tried anyway. Until his sense got the better of him, or a needle to his nose.“No way I’d fall from here. Unless a bear spotted Philip and got scared and spotted me and shook the tree down. But no way.