The Light in the Lake

by Sarah R. Baughman

  I really need to. I didn’t work with Rascal at all when I was grounded, and I know I wasn’t going to the farm enough before that either. But maybe now is my chance to show Liza I can still help. I take the rope and pull, but nothing happens. Rascal stands still as a rock.

  “Hold the halter rope right up next to her head,” Liza says. “You have to do that if you want her to follow your lead.”

  I shift my hands up the rope, hold tight, and pull. Still, Rascal digs her heels in. I know I’ll have to lead her during the fair, but I have no idea how. I should’ve practiced more. But with everything to investigate on Maple Lake, I just—haven’t thought about Rascal as much as I should have.

  “Don’t pull so tight,” Liza says. “Let it go a little.”

  I release some of the rope.

  “Now bring back some of the tension, but not too much,” Liza says. “And as soon as she takes a step forward, release it again. That will make her want to keep going.”

  Bit by bit, Rascal and I move forward.

  “Nice!” Tai says.

  “Okay,” Liza says. “Now stop her, and pose her. Do you remember how her legs are supposed to look?”

  I stop walking and gently nudge Rascal’s back legs so they’re evenly spaced.

  “Not bad,” Liza says. “I think you’ll be ready for the ring pretty soon. Not like you have much time.”

  I wince. Hearing Liza say the words out loud, reminding me I’ve spent much less time with Rascal than I should have, stings.

  “You’re getting there!” I turn my head toward Uncle Mark’s voice. I didn’t even realize he, Aunt Mary, and Grandpa had slipped into the barn and were watching us work. Even Baby Katy’s been quiet, sucking her thumb as she rides on her dad’s shoulders. Through the open barn door, I see DeeDee and Sammie pushing each other on the tire swing outside.

  I don’t think I’ll ever be too old to run over to Grandpa as soon as I see him, which is exactly what I do. “Addie Paddie,” he says, then tugs my ponytail and smiles.

  “Grandpa, Uncle Mark, this is my friend Tai,” I say. “I wanted to show him the farm.” Grandpa and Uncle Mark take turns shaking Tai’s hand.

  “We brought you girls a little something,” Aunt Mary says. She walks toward us with her hands behind her back, and Uncle Mark follows; I can tell he’s trying to squish his smile smaller than it wants to be.

  I walk Rascal back to her pen and let her in, slipping the halter off.

  “What is it?” Liza asks.

  Aunt Mary brings her hands forward and shows us a beautiful box made of polished wood, with our names—Addie and Liza—etched with a wood burner on the front.

  I let out a little gasp. Liza moves closer to me and squeezes my hand.

  “It’s your show box,” Uncle Mark says. “For your brushes, polish, fly spray, clippers, that kind of thing.” He scratches the back of his neck, his eyes on the floor, his smile still working to stretch past itself. I wish he would let it.

  “Your uncle Mark made it,” Aunt Mary says, “and I etched your names into it. Do you like it?”

  “I love it,” I say, and I throw my arms around Aunt Mary’s neck while Liza hugs her dad. Then we switch.

  There in the barn, for a second at least, everything feels okay. Liza doesn’t wish I’d stay away from Maple Lake. I don’t feel bad for not coming over as much as she thinks I should or for wanting to go look for clues instead. It even feels, for just a second, like Amos is there with us, squeezing our shoulders.

  “Hey,” Liza says softly, touching my elbow. “You’ll come to the art judging, right? It’s right before the calf show, so you just have to meet me a little early.”

  “I’ll be there,” I say. Liza lets herself smile then, and I feel my shoulders relax.

  “Then afterward, we can go back to the animal barn,” she says, her voice rising. She’s letting herself get excited again, and I feel my insides churn with worry. What if I let her down? “The judges will come through there too during the afternoon and make sure our calves are well-behaved and the areas are neat.”

  “Good plan, girls,” Uncle Mark says, and then he turns toward Tai. “Ready to learn how to milk?”

  “Definitely!” Tai’s so excited, he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “Well, let’s go, then,” Uncle Mark says. “Time for the tour.”

  We head over toward the big pasture, where the cows graze.

  “They get lots of the green stuff,” he says, “and fresh water, too.” He points out the creek that runs right along the fence line. Amos and Liza and I used to sneak in there to cool our feet on the hottest summer days.

  When we get into the milking parlor, Tai just stares. “Wow,” he says. “I’ve never seen so many cows in one place.” I blink, and the cows I’ve grown up knowing and watching and sometimes helping to milk look different somehow. New. I listen as Uncle Mark tells Tai about wiping down each cow’s udder with iodine and water, then placing the prongs of the machines on them. The milking starts up with sucking, hissing sounds as the machines pull milk out of the cows and push it through tubes into the bulk tank, where it’s cooled and collected and sent to a processing plant to be pasteurized, bottled, and shipped to stores.

  “Addie said you wanted to learn to milk by hand,” Uncle Mark says. “I saved a cow for you—Bess. She’s a sweetheart.” We walk down to the end of the milking parlor, where Grandpa places a small stool next to Bess and lowers himself onto it. She turns her head and looks at us with the deepest, brownest eyes.

  Grandpa’s been milking his whole life, and it’s fun to see how fast his hands work. Quickly, he wraps his thumb and forefinger around one of Bess’s teats, then squeezes the rest of his fingers down, letting the first few squirts of milk fall to the floor before placing a metal bucket underneath to catch the rest.

  Then he gets off the stool and motions to Tai, who sits down. Grandpa guides Tai’s hands, showing him how to position his fingers just right. It’s not as easy as people might think; I’m not the best at it. Finally, though, after a lot of tugging, Tai gets his first few drops of milk out.

  “This is so cool!” he yelps. Grandpa and Uncle Mark laugh.

  I pull out my phone and snap a couple of pictures and a short video. “What are your friends back in New York City going to say?” I ask.

  “They’re going to be super jealous,” Tai says. “Guaranteed.”

  When we leave the milking parlor, I can smell the hamburgers Aunt Mary’s grilling.

  Tai leans in and whispers, horrified, “We’re not going to be eating a cow they used to milk, are we?”

  “No way,” I say, laughing. “But they do raise steers—those are male cows, by the way, no udders—for meat. The hamburger you’re about to eat definitely didn’t come from a store.”

  “I—guess that’s good,” Tai says. “Kind of weird, though.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Maybe I’ve just never thought that hard about what cows look like before they—you know. Become hamburgers.”

  “Most people probably don’t.”

  A breeze carries the smells of meat and fire right over to us, and Tai shrugs. “I guess they should,” he says, “but in the meantime—I’m hungry.”

  “Same here,” I say. “They’ll be ready soon.”

  Tai looks around, eyeing the fields and the mountains beyond. “Hey, what’s that pond?”

  Uncle Mark looks where he’s pointing, just past the barn. “Oh,” he laughs. “That’s not exactly a pond. Not one you’d want to swim in anyway. That’s our manure pit.”

  Tai wrinkles his nose. “Seriously?”

  “Well, we have to put it somewhere,” Uncle Mark explains. “Where there are cows, there’s manure. It actually comes in handy as a fertilizer. Lots of phosphorus in there—helps the hay and corn grow!”

  Tai and I both stop walking. “Did you say phosphorus?” I ask Uncle Mark.

  “Yup,” he says. “Potassium and nitrogen too. Really keeps the
soil rich. We just have to store it somewhere until we can spread it on the fields.”

  “Oh, um—okay. Right. Got it,” I say. Don’t say anything, don’t say anything, I silently plead as I glance at Tai, who looks as surprised as I feel. I’ve known about the manure pit forever, and I knew it got spread on the fields, but I never knew it had phosphorus in it. I never even knew what phosphorus was until this summer. And how can it be bad for the lake, if it’s good for the fields?

  Maybe Tai and I are jumping to conclusions just because we heard the same word twice. Uncle Mark and Aunt Mary would never hurt Maple Lake, and their manure pit is miles away from the water. But suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.

  Chapter 18

  The next day when I arrive at the biological station, I head into the break room and find Tai and Dr. Li sitting there, talking quietly. They don’t look up; I don’t think they see me.

  Tai’s looking at his mom while he talks. He’s holding his hands out in front of him, palms open. I hear little snippets of what he says: “… really want to do it” and “I like this too, but…” And Dr. Li’s listening. Nodding. She reaches up with one hand and gently smooths down a piece of Tai’s hair that’s sticking up.

  Slowly, I back out of the room and head to the lobby. I don’t want to interrupt their conversation, so I spend time studying the diorama of Maple Lake, surrounded by miniature versions of Bevel Mountain and Mount Mann. This version of the lake is perfectly flat and smooth. No waves. Nothing under the surface.

  I hear footsteps and turn to see Tai heading down the hallway toward the lobby.

  “Oh, Addie!” he says. “You’re here.”

  “Hey, um—I was doing some more research last night.” I really want to ask Tai what his conversation with his mom was about, but I’m also super worried about what Uncle Mark said… and what I read.

  “So was I,” he says. “Let’s go to the computer lab.”

  We pull up sites we each looked at last night, and new ones too. Pretty soon we’re tripping over each other’s sentences.

  “Did you see this one about agricultural runoff—”

  “This one talks about industrial farms, though—”

  “But this one talks about smaller farms too—”

  “Wow, did you know one cow produces sixty-five pounds of poop a day? That means Uncle Mark and Aunt Mary have to deal with—”

  We must have gotten a little loud, because pretty soon Dr. Li and Mr. Dale are standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?” Dr. Li asks.

  I want so badly to just say “Nothing.” But Dr. Li might actually have a quick answer for the question I want to ask most—Is this my family’s fault?

  “We visited my uncle last night,” I say.

  “Yes,” Dr. Li says. “Tai had a great time—thanks again for inviting him. I was sorry I had to work late, but I’m just pleased Tai’s taking such an interest in local activities.” Her voice sounds softer than it did in the beginning when I first would hear her talking to him, and I catch him smiling in her direction.

  “The thing is—my uncle said something really weird.” I twist my hands together, squeezing my fingers until I can barely feel them.

  “What’s that?” Dr. Li cocks her head to one side. Tai must not have told her. I’m thankful to him for that.

  “Well, remember how you were asking us to research causes of phosphorus pollution?” I ask.

  Dr. Li nods. In her eyes I see a tiny bit of worry, but she also seems so safe somehow. Like just the right person to talk to.

  “Well, um… my uncle Mark said his cows’ manure is great for spreading on the fields because it has phosphorus in it. Is that—is that the same kind of phosphorus you’re saying is bad for Maple Lake?” My heart thumps against my ribs; I know that must be the dumbest question ever. Is phosphorus phosphorus? I just want so badly for her to say no. For her to laugh and say “Oh no, of course not, don’t worry.”

  But instead, she sighs and looks at Mr. Dale. They both come in and pull up chairs next to Tai and me.

  “We were concerned about this,” Mr. Dale says.

  “Yes,” Dr. Li says. “This phosphorus from farms could contribute to the problem.”

  Heat rises in my face.

  Maybe Dr. Li can tell I’m nervous, because her voice becomes even gentler when she continues speaking. “First of all, Addie, I want you to know that nobody’s saying farms are the only cause of pollution in Maple Lake. People who don’t live on farms can help prevent water pollution too, and Mr. Dale will have you research that.”

  “Okay,” I say, but I can tell Dr. Li isn’t quite finished. There must be some reason she’s pinched her lips together, her eyebrows wrinkling.

  “Still, this is a heavily agricultural area and there isn’t as much urban development, so we do have to look at the role farms play,” Dr. Li continues. She sighs. “Tasha and Jake have been pulling up articles about waterway pollution from farms in other parts of the state, and I hoped that wasn’t happening here. I know how vital farms are to the local economy. But over time, under certain conditions, even smaller farms can have a negative impact.”

  “But my aunt and uncle’s farm couldn’t be part of the problem,” I say. “It’s so far away from Maple Lake.”

  Dr. Li unrolls a map on the table between us. “I know you’ve learned a little about watersheds, but have you ever seen a topographic map before, Addie?” she asks.

  I remember Mr. Dale teaching us about different kinds of maps. This one’s mostly green, with squiggly brown and blue lines running all over it, and the big blue blob of Maple Lake.

  “You probably know, then,” Dr. Li says, “that topographic maps show physical features in a landscape—like lakes and rivers. They also show elevation, which is important in a place like this that has so many mountains.”

  I can see how the squiggly brown lines seem to lift Mount Mann and Bevel Mountain up from the page, showing their height above the lake.

  “Can you find your aunt and uncle’s farm on this map?” Dr. Li asks.

  It takes me a little longer than it would on a regular map, because it’s harder to see the roads and the town names, but eventually I find where the farm would be. Dr. Li leans over with a pencil and lightly circles the spot I’ve pointed out.

  “Jake and Tasha have analyzed the numbers we’ve found so far,” she says, “and it looks like the highest phosphorus concentrations in the lake are found near the mouth of the Pine River. Can you find the Pine River on this map?”

  It doesn’t take me long to locate the point at which it spills into Maple Lake, and I begin tracing my finger up the winding blue line.

  “Keep following that line,” Dr. Li says gently. “Where does the Pine River originate? Can you find the smaller creeks that feed into it?”

  I know where this is going. I can already see it. Part of me just wants to take my finger off the map, but I know that if I do that, it won’t stop what’s happening to Maple Lake. It’s better to know for sure.

  I can feel my heart tighten as the Pine River narrows into the skinniest blue line, no wider on the map than a strand of my hair: Black Creek. The same Black Creek that starts way up in Uncle Mark and Aunt Mary’s pastures. The same creek the cows drink from.

  “But that doesn’t have to mean anything,” I say. “There are lots of other farms. The manure pit Tai noticed isn’t right by the stream.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Dr. Li says. “Phosphorus attaches to the soil or is consumed by plants during the growing season, and rain can carry soil to the creek bed.”

  “But lots of farmers have manure pits,” I say, my heart racing.

  “You’re right, it’s not just your family’s farm,” Dr. Li says. “And I realize theirs is smaller than many of the farms in the county. But the Pine River does originate up near where many of Shoreland County’s smaller farms are located, and it flows into a part of Maple Lake that’s shallower.”

  “Shallow isn’t good, right?” I a
sk. “My parents always said Maple Lake stayed clean because it was deep.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Li says. “Those shallow parts I mentioned are also warmer, supporting more plant life, including algae that thrives on phosphorus.”

  “This still doesn’t make sense, though,” I say. “The farms have been there forever—well, for a long time. Why would this just be happening now?”

  “Well, you’re right about Maple Lake being mostly deep,” Dr. Li says. “That depth helps it stay clean. It takes a long time for phosphorus to build up. But as some of the farmers increase the size of their herds, and struggle to keep pace with crop demands, it gets worse.”

  “So we’ll just put up a fence,” I say. “That can keep the soil from going into the creek.”

  “A fence wouldn’t be quite enough,” Dr. Li says. “But there are a variety of different strategies a farmer can use.” She talks about something called a buffer zone of grass that sits between a farm field and a stream. She says that tilling fields less, covering manure and keeping it far away from water, and installing biodigesters to compost manure can help. While she talks, my mind clouds. Some of her words sound like static. Should I even have mentioned the farm? But then again, wouldn’t Dr. Li have figured it out anyway?

  “It’s really about changing a larger system,” Dr. Li says. “As we make more demands of the land, we have to put practices in place to protect it.”

  “That sounds like a lot,” I say. My tongue feels thick, my throat dry. “I mean—how much will it all cost?”

  Dr. Li clears her throat. “That’s a great question, Addie. Some state funds do exist to help farmers implement environmentally friendly practices. But—” She pauses and looks at Mr. Dale, who then clears his throat.

  “It’s… well… it’s not necessarily going to be easy,” he says. “We can’t promise the changes won’t cost farmers anything.”

  Mr. Dale leans forward and makes a steeple with his hands. “Addie,” he says, “I know news like this would be a big deal not just for your family, but for lots of families in Shoreland County. I take that very seriously.” He looks up at Dr. Li. “We take that very seriously.”