River Weasels:
A Winter Discovery

So far I have carved a bear cub, a beluga whale and a snow goose, and I am getting better at it. I have one more piece to carve before spring, when Lindy comes back to visit my family. I am excited to show him my carvings. I am open to signs so I can learn what is waiting for me inside the very last piece of soapstone.

Right now it is wintertime. We have lots of wintertime where I live. The ice on the river gets thick enough to skate on safely. Sometimes the wind clears off the snow and we can skate for just about forever. And around here, if it’s winter, it’s also hockey season.

Mom is a hockey nut, and she comes out to practice with us. She has this move she calls the “ol’ dipsy-doodle,” where she pretends to pass but keeps the puck on her stick. She laughs every time she does it, and when we get tricked, we laugh too. But I am getting wise to it and even try it on my brother sometimes.

My brother and I play in the kids’ league at the arena on Saturday mornings. This is our first year. We are rookies together.

Between shifts on the ice, the players sit on a long bench. Everyone comes in one door, sits on the bench and slides down toward the other door. That’s how you know it’s getting close to your turn on the ice again.

My brother and I stick together so we can be on the ice at the same time. We are almost the whole way down the bench when these two other bigger brothers come and push us. Then they take our turns. Some other kids on the bench laugh, and one says that river weasels like us don’t belong there.

The coach doesn’t notice right away. Then we get our turns again. My brother is so upset that he smashes his stick on the ice, and he gets put in the penalty box for doing it. When I am back on the bench without him, the same kids tease me, saying, “Aww, do you miss your big brother?”

I do miss him. But I will not show it. I try not to let the teasing take all the fun out of the hockey. I am learning that not all signs feel good—some are signs of danger.

We still have our hockey stuff on when we Ski-Doo home, so we head right out onto the river rink for more. We pass the puck back and forth. I’m not sure if I want to go back to the arena. I think my brother feels the same way, because his passes are too hard and he keeps staring down at the ice. Trouble is, I really like hockey. And my brother is getting really good at it.

Mom and Dad are out skating with us. Dad has a stick, and he gets the puck and carries it way down the ice. We race after him in a mad scramble. Dad fires the puck and it goes whipping around the bend of the shore and out of sight.

We hustle around the bend and then come to a screeching halt. A romp of otters has made a slide on the snowy riverbank. When they see us come around the corner, they stop and look startled, just like we did. Then they start right back up with their fun.

The otters slide on their bellies, head first with their legs tucked under their bodies. They go whooshing out onto the ice, where they roll and wrestle. Their squeaky chitter-chatter noises sound like laughter. When they stop, they untangle themselves and race back up the bank.

Mom and Dad catch up to us and watch. Even when you’re sad, it’s hard to watch otters and not smile and laugh along. There are four of them in their family too.

The otters push their way into a spot near the bottom of the snow slide and disappear under the ice. I guess it must be their suppertime, like it is for us.

My brother and I skate up closer to where the otters were. There is a mess of crayfish shells on the ice and lots of otter footprints. There’s also an icy line down the snow hill that their bodies made when sliding.

Our hockey puck is nowhere to be found.

At dinner, we talk about the otters and the teasing.

Mom tells us that the thing she likes most about otters is that they see all other living creatures as likeable and friendly. She says an otter will never be the first to start a fight and only fights back if really pushed. Some might think this is a sign of weakness, but Mom says it’s a sign of real smarts.

When it is Saturday again, Mom and Dad take us back to hockey. I’m kind of scared but keep the otters’ example in my heart. When my brother and I are out on the ice together, I stop a shot that is getting close to our own goalie. We both start skating as fast as we can toward the other team’s net. We even get to do the passing-back-and-forth thing Mom taught us—but in the real arena! We get all the way to the other team’s blue line, and a defense player skates toward me. I decide I’ll try the “ol’ dipsy-doodle” trick on him. I pretend to pass but keep the puck and deke past him. I pass it over to where I know my brother is going to be. He takes the pass and tries a snap shot, and it flies right over the stretched-out goalie and gets mesh! We put our sticks in the air, then tear off to the bench. All the hands are out for high fives, even the teasers!

After the game, we head back to our river rink. We still haven’t had enough hockey. My brother can’t stop smiling. It’s another one of those days where you can skate forever. Mom and Dad join us, and we all decide to go check on the romp of otters. We find the spot, but they are not out playing today.

We do find something though. Right at the spot where the otters swooshed out onto the ice, we find the missing puck from last week. My brother picks it up and tosses it to me. I put it in my pocket.

I am ready to start carving the last piece of soapstone that Lindy gave me. My signs have shown me that there is a river otter inside. Tonight when I am warm by the fire, I will begin. My otter will be sliding on the hockey puck, having fun. But he will have a brave face too.