On the Yahara

"The great spire burst upon us so dramatically,– a smooth, swelling, mountainside, and then, presto!– this amazing picture. We had been ascending only the shell of a vast and irregular amphitheater from out of the middle of which, a thousand feet below us, this arrogant tower sprang, to rise a thousand feet above." – Halliburton, from The Glorious Adventure




2

What it feels like to walk out of the school is something that not every kid gets a chance to experience – Cory knew this as she walked out over the bridge and looked down on the water flowing in big gurgles, but there was somewhere to go, that was the key to it all, as she knew, and thought of the giant oaks that lined the river as something like friends, guards, whatever you will, and sure felt far more at home outside of the building than inside. Before she even got to Grandpa's, she knew exactly what the scene would be like. There were always things happening at Grandpa's, really a little shop of adventures, as Grandpa had always "wanted to turn this house into a restaurant," as he called it. He woke in the morning with a cookbook in hand, made out his two-dish menu, and headed off by bike to the grocery store, his saddle bags big enough to hold at least four bags, and when he returned he cooked for the rest of the day. "Cory, you will be in charge this summer of the roof top garden," in fact, was the very first thing that he said to her the first day she arrived in the dead of winter. "It's snowing out," Corey said, as she had been looking around the 'restaurant,' every corner stacked with small mountains of books, little plants of herbs in the front windows of the porch. "Well we solved that little problem a few years ago." Cory wasn't entirely sure who 'we' was, as grandpa was famously allergic to all animals, he could "barely eat em without sneezing," he would say, smiling, as he hunched over his cutting board at the counter which was the only spot on the 'restaurant' that was completely immaculate. "Let me show you our little greenhouse upstairs," he said, swiping his flat hands together and setting down his chef's knife on the board. As they walked up the old wood staircase, Cory could begin to smell a strange scent – something that had never smelled before, something sweet, like a rose, something like far more bitter and earthy.