Published September 5, 2004 in the Hibbing Daily Tribune
In a crystal pond, shimmering under the midday Iron Range sun, an exhausted goose splashes down, soaking a nearby duck. “Oh, man, I am so sorry, dude,” says the goose. “I sure biffed that landing.”
“Gary?” inquires the duck.
“Hey, Quackers. Sorry I’m so late this year. It’s been wicked trying to get north with all the traffic.”
“It’s September, Gary. You missed most of summer,” says Quackers.
“Yeah, but we still got some warmth left. September, man, it’s like summer without the tourists.”
A yellow leaf flutters from above, landing on the pond.
“Oh, hell no, that is not a leaf,” bellows Gary, craning his long neck over the specimen.
“Yeah, they’re all over,” says Quackers, motioning his wing to the nearby forest. “Look at those trees over there. They’ve turned colors already.”
“No way, man. I just got here.”
“Well, where were you?” asks the duck. “I thought we were going to clean up in bar league sand volleyball this year. Remember what you said last year? ‘Wings beat feet; down with the human race.’ I even bought shoes.”
Gary the goose rubs his beak with his large, gray wing. “Yeah, I remember. I though that didn’t start until after the Olympics.”
“Those are done, too.”
“No way!”
“Yes way.”
“How’d the USA basketball Dream Team do?”
“They lost to Argentina,” says Quackers.
“No kidding?” Gary shakes his head, then stops, realizing something. “Oh, dude, that totally explains those Argentinean geese I met in the jet stream.”
“Where were you?” asks Quackers, exasperated.
“I was on a side trip, man. I had to take care of some things.” Gary takes a moment to fish a weed out of the pond. Chewing loudly, he continues. “Anyway, these geese were honking off about something in Spanish and laughing at me, except, I only honk American so I didn’t know what that was all about.”
“English.”
“No, man, they were Argentinean. Don’t tell me we lost to England, too. Man, I didn’t even know they had a basketball team.”
“No,” says Quackers. “You don’t honk American, you honk …” The duck interrupts himself, rapidly shaking his head, feathers fluffed out. “It’s not important. The whole point is you missed everything. You missed the hot weather. You missed July in the Canadian Midwest. You even missed mating season. You know that hen you were so hot for?”
“Gertrude?”
“Yeah, she’s shacked up with Gus.”
“The guy with the arrow stuck in him?”
“Yeah, him.”
“He’s got a friggin’ arrow stuck through his body,” says Gary, tucking a nearby stick under his wing for effect. “She can do better than that!”
“Well, if you had been here back in May like everyone else, she might be feathering your nest right now, buddy.” Quackers crosses his wings, looking away.
“I just … I thought we might still have some warm weather left, you know. I didn’t realize the season would be done so soon. Dude, I screwed up, alright.”
“You’re a wild animal,” says Quackers.
“Thanks.”
“No, you’re a wild animal and you’re supposed to have a natural biological rhythm that brings you back here to this precise spot every year. In May.”
“Yeah, well, the weather’s been funky this year.” Gary pauses. “Dude, I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I don’t want to fight, either.”
“Let’s go enjoy the nice weather.”
“It’s 58 degrees. Everyone’s leaving,” says Quackers.
Gary thinks for a moment. “Ever consider indoor volleyball?”
“I’ll get my shoes.”
Aaron J. Brown is a columnist for the Hibbing Daily Tribune.