Secrets of the Lakes

By By Cheever Griffin


I’m standing in a clear and gently moving stream. In hip waders. Olive green hip waders. Because I consider mowing the lawn an extreme form of outdoor activity, I never before have been in a pair of these things, and I’m pretty sure I look ridiculous.

It doesn’t help any that the Notre Dame students with me required no such get-ups – they marched right in wearing nothing more than sandals, shorts and T-shirts. They’re in the middle of the stream now, three of them, hunched together with their hands deep in the drink. They’re recovering the specimens of a project, something to do with the decomposition of various tree species. It was all thoroughly explained to me a short time before, but, well, let’s just say my ability to comprehend the particulars of biology has never been that strong.…

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