Lost in the River of Grass Read Free

in tightly between its wings, but I can’t take my eyes off the alligators. They are enormous things, basking in the sun like lumpy, gray logs. There are five of them, one of which is sleeping with its mouth wide open, exposing a pale pink throat and lots of big, round teeth.
    On top of the tower there is a nice breeze. I lean with my elbows spread apart on the railing so my underarms get maximum exposure to the wind. We all smell of sweat and Deep Woods Off, which keeps the mosquitoes from biting but not from whining nearby, searching for an unprotected square inch of skin.
    The boys are daring each other to go down and pet a gator. Two of them pretend to drag Courtney, who screams in mock terror, to the edge as a sacrifice. I stand off to one side, watching, kind of smiling. I wouldn’t want Mr. Vickers to think I’m as silly as they are, but I don’t want the others to think I’m a stick-in-the-mud, either.
    The girls take turns taking pictures of themselves with their cell phones held high, so that the alligators are in the picture too. I have a Tracfone for emergencies. It doesn’t take pictures, but I can’t imagine a phone could take a picture as good as Dad’s Leica.
    â€œI have my dad’s camera,” I say. “Would you like me to take your picture all together?”
    Brittany gives me a look like I’ve just asked them for a blood donation, but the lead Amanda says yes. They line up against the wall, their arms around each other’s waists, and flash their brilliant, bleached white teeth at me.
    â€œHow old is that thing?” Courtney says.
    â€œIt’s a
1952
Leica,” I say with pride as I turn the focus wheel, bringing the eight of them down to four.
    Courtney puts her hand behind Brittany’s head to give her horns. “Does it take color pictures?”
    â€œSure.” I take the picture. “I’ll have a copy made for each of you.”
    â€œWhatever,” the other Amanda says.
    The boy who wanted to see the moccasin eat the warbler takes a quarter from his pocket and throws it at a gator. It misses. He digs for another. Philip and two of the other boys root in their pockets for coins, wind up, and pitch them in unison so they rain down on one of the gators.
    Mr. Vickers sees them and explodes. “If I see one more thing like that, I’ll call your parents to come get you, and you
will
receive a failing grade for the semester. Is that clear? If you’re going to act like children, you should be home with your mommies and daddies.”
    Another tram arrives, this one full of tourists. Mr. Vickers, still plenty mad, herds us down the ramp. I lag behind, hoping he’ll notice that I’m not part of the group he’s mad at.
    I take a last look at the scene below in time to see the great blue heron strike and skewer a fish. I raise the camera as the bird turns and takes a step up onto the grass. I turn the focus wheel at the same instant the surface of the water erupts. An alligator, mouth open, launches itself out of the water, catches the heron by a leg, and drags it
    flapping, but unable to squawk because of the fish impaled on its beak, back into the water. Mud boils as the gator drags it under and spins beneath the surface.
    I guess I screamed, because the entire class charges back up the ramp, but by the time they reach the railing, it’s over. Muddy water rolls into the cattails, wave after wave, but there’s nothing else to see. Nature has taken its course.
    â€œWhat happened?” Philip asks.
    â€œA gator killed that beautiful heron.”
    â€œCool. Did you get a picture of it?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWell, look.”
    â€œThis is a film camera. I won’t know until I get it developed.”
    â€œBoy, that’s a bummer.”

3
    Our destination is the Loop Road Environmental Center. We pull in a little after one. I’m waiting for the others to gather their