I, having been raised in a fashion typical of white swamp crayfish, spent my youthful days meandering about my home town, foraging, avoiding predation, and making idle conversation with the fathead minnows, those brainless swimabouts. Life had all the simplicity that nostalgia deepens and that aspiration laments.
Many generations ago, my family had grown tired of the cultural habits of the southern reaches of the USA--in particular, humankind's taste for crayfish--and they gradually made their way northeastward, where my kind are passed over in favor of larger, more glamorous crustaceans. They settled in a place known as Beddington, Maine. While it won't pass for what folks refer to as "quaint-essential Maine," it has its charm, and the lakefront property that we crayfish cherish is in good, affordable supply.
We lived in Pleasant River Lake. Life was much like an old New England caricature: icy winters that clung to the soul, muddy springs and museful autumns ... small-town values ... grumpy, frigid school marms ... plaid flannel lighthouses ... or perhaps my memory exaggerates.
At any rate, I never knew my father, and despite my family's long history in Maine, other less "invasive" crayfish species still referred to my kind as "from away". One summer, I had found myself growing grim around the mouth, and methodically clipping the fins off minnows. I decided it was high time to head seaward. Determining whence the water flowed, I embarked that very moment in the direction of the ocean, little knowing how many miles lay ahead...
My humble origins in Washington County, Maine.
Many generations ago, my family had grown tired of the cultural habits of the southern reaches of the USA--in particular, humankind's taste for crayfish--and they gradually made their way northeastward, where my kind are passed over in favor of larger, more glamorous crustaceans. They settled in a place known as Beddington, Maine. While it won't pass for what folks refer to as "quaint-essential Maine," it has its charm, and the lakefront property that we crayfish cherish is in good, affordable supply.
We lived in Pleasant River Lake. Life was much like an old New England caricature: icy winters that clung to the soul, muddy springs and museful autumns ... small-town values ... grumpy, frigid school marms ... plaid flannel lighthouses ... or perhaps my memory exaggerates.
At any rate, I never knew my father, and despite my family's long history in Maine, other less "invasive" crayfish species still referred to my kind as "from away". One summer, I had found myself growing grim around the mouth, and methodically clipping the fins off minnows. I decided it was high time to head seaward. Determining whence the water flowed, I embarked that very moment in the direction of the ocean, little knowing how many miles lay ahead...
My humble origins in Washington County, Maine.
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