“Spring Lizards and Crawdads” an excerpt from JR Collins’s The Boy Who Danced with Rabbits
Dad picked a good place to camp. I couldn’t ‘a-been more excited. My first night camped on the banks of Wolf Creek. I didn’t have a thought that life could get any better, till dad strung a river cane for fishin’.
Most folks didn’t fish with cane poles ‘cause there was an art to weavin’ horsehair fishin’ line and carvin’ bone hooks. It required what my dad called “the patience of Job.” I didn’t know Job, but I remember thinkin’ he probably carved some good fish hooks.
“We need to find some bait,” said dad. “We’ll look up in the creek branches, then see what’s bitin’.”
“What does a trout eat, Dad?”
“Spring lizards and crawdads, son. You turn over rocks in the branches. Get what’s crawlin’ underneath.”
God help me. What in the world was a crawdad, and what would wanna eat a nasty ole lizard anyhow?
We started up the nearest small creek we found. Didn’t turn many rocks ‘fore dad started grabbin’ some of the God-awfulest lookin’ things I ever saw. I weren’t expectin’ the likes ‘a that.
Dad said to hold open the leather bait pouch and I got a good close look at my first ever crawdad. They was fearful. That pincher thing looked like it could take my finger clean off. I weren’t gonna let dad know, but I was scared of ‘em. Their beady little eyes was evil lookin’. I weren’t gonna put my hand in that bait pouch. Dad would have to fetch his own.
We took eight crawdads and some spring lizards. I liked them spring lizards. They was fun to catch. I still hadn’t touched one of them crawdad devils. I was makin’ no plans to have at ‘em, neither.
He grabbed his fishin’ truck and we headed down stream to the big bend he wanted to fish. You could hear the water ‘fore we ever got there from a waterfall no higher than I was tall. It was calmin’. Like a church choir mixed with a soft summer rain. It was a while ‘fore dark, so we just lay there on our bellies watchin’. Suddenly, he pointed at a trout feedin’ on bugs what lay on top of the water.
“Now ain’t that somethin’,” I said. “Them fish lay around in there and God just sends ‘em their supper. All they got to do is rise up and eat. He must think a lot of them fish, ‘cause He sure makes it easy for ‘em.”
Dad smiled as he listened. All I was seein’ was new to me. Made me feel lost; small. I know’d very little about the world we was in, but I know’d Dad had all the answers. Give me courage. I watched him close, so I wouldn’t miss what he saw. Followed his path to the creek exactly as he did. It was most excitin’. I’d feel guilty askin’ God for more.
We was startin’ to move when dad caught my arm. I followed his gaze to see a dark form movin’ under the surface. It was in no hurry, turnin’ up under the falls then easin’ out. I watched as it broke water dead in front of us takin’ a bug. I seen it plain.
“We’re goin’ after that fish, Jeb. I’m surprised the Cherokee ain’t caught it ‘fore now. Fetch me one of them crawdads, boy” Dad said while reachin’ his hand back.
My blood turned cold. I couldn’t reach into the black for one of them little demons. I’d just as soon take a whoopin’. What was I gonna do?
Tears slipped from my eyes as dad kept his hand waitin’. After a little time, I guess he wondered why there weren’t no crawdad for him ‘cause he looked back. Saw my eyes. The look on his face was confusion till he noticed the pouch layin’ on the ground. It didn’t take him long to understand. He reached and picked up the pouch, then stuck his hand in and fetched out the ugliest of them critters.
“Hold out your hand boy. Take hold ‘a this crawdad.”
“No sir. I can’t. I’m scared.”
“Scared? You’re a lot bigger than he is. Don’t you figure he’s more scared ‘a you?”
“No,” I said, crossin’ my arms behind my back. “I think he wants to eat one of my fingers. It ain’t gonna happen, even if you whoop me. It ain’t.”
“Aw, now. Bein’ scared don’t call for no whoopin’. You’re a good boy. I’m proud of you whether you cotton to nasty ole crawdads or not, but he ain’t nothin’ to be scared of.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I can’t. Look at that thing stickin’ off him—looks like the hand ‘a Lucifer himself. I ain’t touchin’ it.”
Dad could tell my back was up, and I meant to stand my ground. He was understandin’ that way, so what he did next weren’t no big shock. He opened his mouth wide and laid that crawdad right in. Slowly closin’. I didn’t hear no crunch. He never swallowed, so I know’d it was still in there. I near feinted as he reached out and put my hands together, leaned over, then spit that critter out into my right palm closin’ my left over top of it. My world stopped dead still. My breath got hard to come by. My dad was tryin’ to kill me.
