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Marshy Point Nature Center was a short drive east from Baltimore. A quiet little park in Middle River, it was situated on a peninsula between Dundee and Saltpeter Creeks. There was a convenient canoe and kayak launch on the Dundee side that TP often used, and that's where he was headed with Harold.
They'd stopped at a store along the way to outfit Harold with tall rubber boots, a child sized life jacket and a small pair of binoculars. Archie got a life vest as well.
"This is going to be a really good field trip," said Harold, delighted with his new gear and all the interesting things they were bringing.
The back of the pickup held TP's canoe, two buckets, specimen jars and some small nets, plus an ice chest with a hastily packed lunch.
Harold was fascinated with TP's field kit. Inside a rolled up canvas cloth were compartments holding tweezers, tiny scissors, vials, eye droppers, labels, magnifying glasses and glassine envelopes.
As they were leaving the outfitter store, Harold stopped to look in the window of a small shop next to it. Back Then Antiques read the sign over the door. The display window held a hodgepodge of dishes, faded clothing, books and toys from years past: hoops and sticks, marbles, china dolls and tin soldiers. In one corner of the window, a small group of medieval figures clashed with swords and shields. One wore a crown and held aloft a cross.
"That looks like Richard the Lionheart, doesn't it," said TP.
Harold nodded. "And there's the Duke."
Sure enough, a fellow in tunic and tights held a horn to his lips.
"Let's go in," said TP, opening the door.
Ten minutes later they emerged, Harold clutching a small brown sack containing Richard and the Duke. TP had winced at the price, but when was the last time he'd bought a gift for anyone, let alone his only great nephew? And the look on Harold's face was well worth the cost. It was the right time and the right gift, and that was that.
Paddling along the banks of Dundee Creek was one of TP's favorite pastimes. Each season held its treasure trove of scents, sounds and colors. In spring and fall, scores of migrating shore birds visited the shallows to fuel up on crustaceans, fish, insects and aquatic grasses. Osprey, eagles, herons, cranes, geese and ducks, rails, plovers, willets, coots, gulls and terns - so many species one could be dazzled by them all on any given day.
Spring peepers were deafening in the swamps in spring and the redwings warbled their watery notes in the rushes. Later, bullfrogs chug-a-rummed and the trees vibrated with the rasp of cicadas and katydids.
In summer, too, turtles and snakes sunned themselves on logs, and ducklings jetted along behind their mothers, bobbing for tiny crabs and periwinkle snails, snacking on widgeon grass, coontail, wild celery and milfoil. Warm, still evenings brought the high pitched whine of hungry mosquitoes and an occasional owl's call.
In winter when the grasses turned russet-brown and cream and silver-grey and rattled in the wind, one could hike the trails, listening for the many calls of ducks and geese, and spot swans, mergansers, buffleheads, gadwalls and soaring eagles. In wooded areas there were fungi and lichens to hunt for, and after a rain followed by a hard freeze delicate frost flowers bloomed around the base of ironweed and dittany, looking for all the world like swirls of icing on a fancy cake.
Today was a fine day for a paddle. A good stiff breeze would help keep the biting insects away, the sky was clear and the sun was warm but not overly so. The only glitch was getting Archie into the canoe and keeping him there, but once they'd launched, the old dog sat still with his quivering nose in the air, breathing in exciting new smells and watching the ducks dive with focused intent.
After a half hour or so of paddling, TP pulled the canoe into a small inlet and banked on a sandy spot where a fallen tree made a handy bench. TP showed Harold how to use his net, and they scooped up tadpoles, immature crabs, jewel- toned pumpkinseed fry and little mummichogs, the mud minnows, one of which could eat up to 2,000 mosquito larva in a day. They put their catches into jars to study up close, then released them.
With magnifying glasses they looked at daphnia, cyclops, mosquito wrigglers, tubifex worms and fairy shrimp, TP explaining the importance of these miniscule creatures in the food chain.
He told Harold the names of the aquatic grasses - curly pondweed, starwort, water stargrass, widgeon grass and wild celery, necessary as food and shelter for many small creatures. He pointed out the rushes and reeds and how they stabilized the banks, preventing erosion.
After awhile they rested on the sand, drank limeade and ate their lunch from the ice chest. Archie had finally gotten tired of hunting frogs and lay snoozing in the shade.
Harold would not remember all the names or the facts recited to him, TP mused as he watched the boy sail King Richard and the Duke through the shallows in a bark boat. But he would remember the day, and hopefully TP had planted a seed or two in him that might blossom later in life. A wave of melancholy came over him. He may never have another day like this with Harold. One day was not enough, but it would have to do.
He'd been on countless field trips with his students over the years, all up and down the bay. He'd taught them as much as he could, trying to instill a sense of reverence for the magnificence of this place and the vital importance of preserving it. But the most important thing of all he couldn't teach them. They would have to find it for themselves. Many, maybe most of them never would. He was lucky enough to have found it when he was a young man. He'd been crouched down in a marsh, looking at something in the water, when a heron flew up nearby, cronking loudly. He'd stood up quickly, squinting into the late-afternoon sun as it sparkled on the water. The air was filled with darting dragonflies, their wings glinting as they dipped and turned, and suddenly he fancied they were all flying in an intricate, predesigned pattern, weaving an invisible tapestry.
There were no words to describe what had happened next. It was not a thing you could explain. One instant he was TP Dunlap, college graduate about to take his first teaching job, standing alone in shallow water watching dragonflies, and the next instant he was staring into the face of the Lord of the Dance. He was surrounded and filled with Presence. There was no separation of anything, anywhere. He knew, in that moment, that the entire universe was a conscious, living being, filling everything, even chaos, with meaning and purpose.
He'd tried to explain the experience to a few other people; his parents, his girlfriend at the time. But he could tell they didn't understand. Words were not enough. He didn't know why this wisdom had come to him, only that it had been a gift, and it was the most precious thing he possessed.
It certainly didn't make him any better than anyone else. He was still the same gangly, socially awkward, self-absorbed introvert he'd always been. But it gave him a certain strength when he needed it. And now he needed all the inner strength he could muster to meet the terrible challenge facing him.
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