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 abilityto 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."
