hill.
“Careful, Eli.” Grandpa beamed the flashlight on it.
“It’s a big one, Grandpa!”
“That’s a spotted salamander, Eli.”
Eli watched its slimy orange body creep over the yellow lines. The salamander’s long, spotted tail swished behind four tiny legs. Eli wondered how those legs got it this far. He knelt on the other side in the gravel to catch it.
“Just like in a dinosaur movie, ain’t it?” Grandpa smiled.
Eli watched its slimy orange body creep over the yellow lines
.
“He’s longer than my hand, Grandpa. And there’s another one right behind it.”
“Those’d be the males. They come first. The females follow.”
“There’s another one, wiggling through the grass. They keep coming, Grandpa!”
“Let’s help them along, Eli. Fill the bucket.”
Eli loaded his bucket with salamanders, trying not to squeeze too hard but holding them long enough to feel their rubbery bodies.
Just like Tater’s chew toys
, Eli thought as they squirmed along the pink ridges where his stitches had been.
But slipperier and wet
. Eli dumped the bucket of salamanders on the other side of the road. He listened to the rustling of grass as they slithered through, scurrying to get to the pond.
A brightness far stronger than Grandpa’s flashlight struck the side of Eli’s face as he knelt, blinding him for a moment. A motor rose higher than the hum of the rain as the swish of tires came closer.
“Can’t we make ’em stop?” Eli asked.
“And get us all killed? Get up, Eli.” Grandpa clutched Eli’s chest against his. “We can only hurry so many of them along.”
Grandpa and Eli stood on the side of the road, holding their buckets while the high beams came toward them, then past. As soon as they’d gone, Eli rushed onto theroad again to scoop up more salamanders. He went to lift one up and noticed another splayed on the pavement, its tail flattened and lifeless. Eli put it in the bucket anyway, just in case he was wrong and it had a chance.
“How come they cross the road, Grandpa? Can’t they go another way?”
“You mean a safer way?” Grandpa clutched two salamanders. “Been crossing this way for hundreds of years, Eli. Maybe thousands. It’s what they were born to do.”
The salamanders squirted out of Grandpa’s hands and onto safety in the grass. “They follow the path their ancestors took,” Grandpa said. “And no road’s gonna stop ’em. They cross it. If they go, they go. And that’s the end of it. Good night. You can’t beat a truck. But you know what, son? Enough of them do. Then they head to the pond and find themselves a mate.”
Before Eli and Grandpa got to the pond, Eli could already hear the high-pitched shrill of peeper frogs.
“They’re calling for a mate, Eli. That’s what brings ’em to the pond.”
Once they’d made it to the clearing, Grandpa shone his flashlight over the water. “Go on now, get closer, Eli.”
Eli gazed into the pond and caught his breath. Salamanders covered the water, swimming forward and backward and in circles. Some looked like they were hugging, others chasing each other in a game of hide-and-seek. Twosalamanders looped around. Eli caught a glimpse of their wrinkly white bellies before they broke the surface with their spotted faces, then swam away.
“Look at the branches, Eli.” Grandpa pointed to some sticks jutting out of the pool.
Eli stared at the see-through blobs slick as marbles building on the branches. Right before his eyes they grew thicker—like cotton candy—as if spun by invisible hands. Swirling thicker and thicker, the egg clusters sparkled until the brown of the branches could barely be seen.
“Those’ll be tadpoles in a few months. Or sallies. I can’t tell from here,” Grandpa said, squinting. “There’s hundreds of ’em.”
Plop plop
, just like kernels popping, Eli heard frogs leap into the water, while others called for a mate. The screeching sound pierced right through him. On any other day,
“Careful, Eli.” Grandpa beamed the flashlight on it.
“It’s a big one, Grandpa!”
“That’s a spotted salamander, Eli.”
Eli watched its slimy orange body creep over the yellow lines. The salamander’s long, spotted tail swished behind four tiny legs. Eli wondered how those legs got it this far. He knelt on the other side in the gravel to catch it.
“Just like in a dinosaur movie, ain’t it?” Grandpa smiled.
Eli watched its slimy orange body creep over the yellow lines
.
“He’s longer than my hand, Grandpa. And there’s another one right behind it.”
“Those’d be the males. They come first. The females follow.”
“There’s another one, wiggling through the grass. They keep coming, Grandpa!”
“Let’s help them along, Eli. Fill the bucket.”
Eli loaded his bucket with salamanders, trying not to squeeze too hard but holding them long enough to feel their rubbery bodies.
Just like Tater’s chew toys
, Eli thought as they squirmed along the pink ridges where his stitches had been.
But slipperier and wet
. Eli dumped the bucket of salamanders on the other side of the road. He listened to the rustling of grass as they slithered through, scurrying to get to the pond.
A brightness far stronger than Grandpa’s flashlight struck the side of Eli’s face as he knelt, blinding him for a moment. A motor rose higher than the hum of the rain as the swish of tires came closer.
“Can’t we make ’em stop?” Eli asked.
“And get us all killed? Get up, Eli.” Grandpa clutched Eli’s chest against his. “We can only hurry so many of them along.”
Grandpa and Eli stood on the side of the road, holding their buckets while the high beams came toward them, then past. As soon as they’d gone, Eli rushed onto theroad again to scoop up more salamanders. He went to lift one up and noticed another splayed on the pavement, its tail flattened and lifeless. Eli put it in the bucket anyway, just in case he was wrong and it had a chance.
“How come they cross the road, Grandpa? Can’t they go another way?”
“You mean a safer way?” Grandpa clutched two salamanders. “Been crossing this way for hundreds of years, Eli. Maybe thousands. It’s what they were born to do.”
The salamanders squirted out of Grandpa’s hands and onto safety in the grass. “They follow the path their ancestors took,” Grandpa said. “And no road’s gonna stop ’em. They cross it. If they go, they go. And that’s the end of it. Good night. You can’t beat a truck. But you know what, son? Enough of them do. Then they head to the pond and find themselves a mate.”
Before Eli and Grandpa got to the pond, Eli could already hear the high-pitched shrill of peeper frogs.
“They’re calling for a mate, Eli. That’s what brings ’em to the pond.”
Once they’d made it to the clearing, Grandpa shone his flashlight over the water. “Go on now, get closer, Eli.”
Eli gazed into the pond and caught his breath. Salamanders covered the water, swimming forward and backward and in circles. Some looked like they were hugging, others chasing each other in a game of hide-and-seek. Twosalamanders looped around. Eli caught a glimpse of their wrinkly white bellies before they broke the surface with their spotted faces, then swam away.
“Look at the branches, Eli.” Grandpa pointed to some sticks jutting out of the pool.
Eli stared at the see-through blobs slick as marbles building on the branches. Right before his eyes they grew thicker—like cotton candy—as if spun by invisible hands. Swirling thicker and thicker, the egg clusters sparkled until the brown of the branches could barely be seen.
“Those’ll be tadpoles in a few months. Or sallies. I can’t tell from here,” Grandpa said, squinting. “There’s hundreds of ’em.”
Plop plop
, just like kernels popping, Eli heard frogs leap into the water, while others called for a mate. The screeching sound pierced right through him. On any other day,
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