"What is this thing?" Esme asked as she examined a large wood rectangular contraption with a metal crank.
"That's a roller spawning box," he answered, crossing the room to show it to her.
"A spawning box?"
"It's how I collect the fertilized eggs from the trout," he said. "It's a new idea, but I like it a great deal. It seems more natural for the fish."
He turned the crank to show her how it worked.
"The fish lays her eggs here on top. Once they are fertilized, the roller carries them down to this end compartment, where you can remove them to the hatching house without disturbing the fish."
Esme examined the box more closely. It was really three boxes within a box. The top layer was a mesh screen obscured by coarse gravel. Under this was an endless apron of fine wire-cloth that passed over rollers at the ends of the box that were turned by the crank. Esme was impressed by the ingenuity but curious about the purpose.
"Can't you just leave the eggs in the ponds?" she asked.
Cleav shook his head. "There are too many predators. Birds, frogs, and lizards consider fish eggs a treat. I hate to admit this, but a lot of my fish are so dumb they don't know family from food."
Her eyes widened. "You mean they eat their own babies?"
"It can happen. That's why I keep the small fry separate from their elders until they're old enough to defend themselves."
"It seems kind of sad," Esme said.
"For me, too," Cleav admitted. "Nature isn't always sweet and pretty the way we'd like it to be. I am a student of the natural order and have great admiration for it, but I believe there must be a balance."
"What kind of balance?"
"It's hard to explain," Cleav answered, wrinkling his brow as he sought the best phrasing. "Some men believe that only human needs are important. That trees should be cut to make farmland and dangerous animals should be destroyed routinely."
Cleav sighed and shook his head. "In contrast to that, there are many naturalists who would alter nothing. They believe that man should not use his superior intelligence to compete with animals and plants."
"But you don't agree with either view," Esme said.
"No," Cleav answered with a chuckle. "I agree with both." He turned his gaze to look out the doorway to the ponds beyond the hatching house.
"It's like a man with a house full of children," he said. "I believe it's his duty to see that his children have bread on the table every day."
He turned his eyes back to Esme. "But that doesn't mean that he can ignore his neighbor's children who may be hungry."
He reached for Esme's hand. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Esme smiled at him. "You are a wonderful man, Cleavis Rhy," she told him.
"I'm just a man," he said. "Trying to do what I think best. That's why I prefer keeping the fish as close to their wild heritage as I can. The spawning box helps me do that. It's more natural."
"More natural?" Esme asked. "More natural than what? What do other people do?"
"Well, most trout breeders simply wait till the fish are fertile and then catch them in nets," he told her. "They pick a fish up in their hands and then press on its abdomen. If it's a female and she's ripe, the eggs will just pour right out of her into a pan. They can be fertilized right in the pan and taken immediately to the hatching house. The fish don't really have much to do with it."
"But with the spawning box, they do?" Esme asked.
Cleav nodded. “Those trenches I've built at the far end of the ponds are called the races. When it's time for the female to lay her eggs, she wants to go as far upstream as she can and find a nice still place to leave them.
“I put this box in the far end of the races. I put lots of nice gravel on the top here for her nest and then I just leave it alone."
Cleav's eyes were bright with the excitement and pleasure of the memory.
"The female comes up to the top of the races, finds her nesting spot, and deposits her eggs. Her mate is watching her all the time, and when she leaves, he goes behind her and puts the milt on the eggs."
