The Curious World of Calpurnia Tate by Jacqueline Kelly Page A

Then I was just your age when Texas won its independence from Mexico and became an independent republic. I saw General Santa Anna, the defeated dictator of Mexico, led through the streets in chains. Five years after that, we fought the Comanche. Then, only four years later, we became part of the United States but had to fight another war with Mexico to make them accept it. Fourteen years after that, we tried to leave the United States, leading to the most terrible war of all, the only one we lost. We could not break up the Union. Now here I am, an old man, having survived four wars and lived long enough to see the age of the auto-mobile.”
    He stood up, saying, “That is more than enough reminiscing for one day. Let us proceed on our journey.”
    We tidied up the remains of our meal and climbed back into our little boat. A few minutes later, Granddaddy suddenly held his fingers to his lips and pointed over my shoulder at the high bank. A furry wedge-shaped face peered down at us from the shadows. Alert and inquisitive, the face was neither cat nor dog but something in between. Was it a baby black bear? There were still some Ursus americanus around but they were increasingly rare, what with the encroachment of civilization on their habitat. We studied it, and whatever it was studied us back; it seemed at least as interested in us as we were in it, maybe even more so. It stepped forward into a patch of dappled sunlight, and I could see that the muzzle was too short for a bear. It was a river otter. I’d heard about them but never before had the luck to see one.
    And then the otter gave me a birthday show: It launched itself onto its belly and plunged headfirst down the steep bank on a narrow muddy slide, almost faster than the eye could follow, landing in the river only a few feet away from us with barely a splash.
    I was so startled I nearly dropped the oars. “Gosh, did you see that?” I whispered hoarsely.
    The otter surfaced and floated on its back, staring at us with palpable curiosity, giving us a good look at the bright eyes, the silky fur, the bristly whiskers. The creature was, in every way, enchanting. Deciding it had had enough of us, it suddenly dove and disappeared, leaving behind nothing more than a trail of small bubbles to prove it had not been a mirage.
    â€œ Lutra canadensis ,” said Granddaddy. “It’s been years since I saw one in these parts, and I thought they’d all gone. They live on the river mollusks and smaller fish. Mark this sighting in your Notebook, Calpurnia. It is truly a red-letter day.”
    I dutifully marked it down, and added (most unscientifically) Happy Otterday to Me!
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    W ELL, ONCE T RAVIS heard about my birthday otter, there was nothing for it but that he had to see it too. He nagged me mercilessly until we set off a couple of days later in the boat, provisioned with ham biscuits and a bottle of lemonade. We trailed the bottle behind us in the water on a length of string to keep it cool.
    Rounding a corner, we surprised a great blue heron fishing in the shallows on its stilt-like legs, stabbing at passing minnows with its daggerlike beak. It uttered a sour croak, so at odds with its beautiful plumage, and flapped away, the sinuous neck folded into its chest.
    When we reached the gravel bar, I told him Granddaddy’s story of the Indian battle, and he looked deeply impressed. He said, “How come he tells you this stuff but he never talks to any of the rest of us?”
    It was true. Granddaddy spoke so seldom to my brothers that I wasn’t sure he could tell them apart. But Travis’s question made me uneasy. I loved my grandfather with a deep, unquestioning love, and I knew he loved me. I also knew that part of our love for each other rested on our mutual love of Science and Nature. And if one of my brothers, for whatever reason, wanted to wiggle his way into Granddaddy’s affections, that would be the