On My Way - Eve Langlais Page 0,26
gaze brightened. “Didn’t I already tell you to do that?”
“Maybe.” At my age, I couldn’t always remember stuff. “Do you really think it would be popular?” For a second I brightened. Then one key fact poked my bubble. “I don’t know how.”
“Let’s find out.” Which led to an evening of articles and videos, all explaining how to do it. Everyone had their own trick or technique.
By the time I went to bed, my mind whirled with all the information. It daunted me. It excited me. While I’d never been artistically inclined, I wanted to try.
Which was why I got up early the next morning. If I wanted to use the lake’s mud as a base for my pottery, I’d better do it soon before ice covered it over. It almost physically hurt to roll out of my comfy bed. Seriously, my mattress beckoned. My warm nest of blankets promised some excellent snuggling.
Responsible business owners didn’t loll about in bed. I bundled up into some ugly but warm gear before heading down to the lake armed with a bucket, shovel, gloves, and the knowledge I’d gleaned from the internet. Which was a dangerous thing. It led to me making that buffalo crack dip, which was low carb and delicious with celery. It also had me online shopping overseas stores, not to buy but to gape at the really, and I mean really, weird shit you could find. Panties you could plug in to warm your girly parts. A unicorn bridle, because you know, everyone keeps one in their backyard.
In my case the internet got me out of a perfectly nice bed to tromp down to the lake. The wind coming off the choppy surface bit my skin. Nipped me and reminded that winter was coming. I’ll be honest, this far into December, I was kind of surprised it held off. Not that I would complain. Canadian winters were long and dreary affairs, especially for those who didn’t like the cold. Like me.
The days were short, with the sun rising well after seven a.m. and setting before five. Closer to four, actually, until we hit the winter solstice. At slightly past eight, dawn had only just crested, and yet it remained gloomy with the cloud cover overhead.
The ominous waves, agitated by the frigid wind, threatened with their dark crests and white peaks. The water splashed against the shore and sprayed, a few droplets striking my skin like cold, wet bullets. Definitely not swimming temperature. Once the surface froze over, I’d see ice huts as the fishermen dragged out their colorful shacks and set up spots on the surface.
Or would they? The land around the lake belonged to the mill. I was the only one with legal access. Maybe I’d be a brat and let them through my property and see what happened to them on the lake. A company, even a person, couldn’t actually own a lake. The lake belonged to the province. Even the shore where I dug technically belonged to them. If someone caught me, I could be in trouble for changing the landscape without permission.
Ask me if I cared. If the mill could have secret mining machines and plans to sell the mud around the country—probably even the world—then I could darned well have a bucket of it.
It didn’t take too long to dig up some of the soft stuff from under the grainy layer that had pebbles running through it. I shoved my spade at the harder clay hiding underneath, scooping it in big moist chunks into my bucket. I filled it to the brim before carrying it back to the house two-handed because it was bloody heavy. It thunked when I heaved it into the trunk of my car.
Since I managed to get mud all over me, I showered quickly, mostly to warm myself up, then got dressed. I eschewed my heavy rubber galoshes, sloppy with lake mud, and chose slip-on boots, the kind with fake suede on the outside and even faker wool batting on the inside. I’d found them on sale for under twenty dollars at the grocery store. Winnie assured me they were trendy. I thought they made my feet look huge, but they were darned comfortable. Like wearing slippers, but I could actually wear them in public.
As I put on my coat, Grisou let out an impatient yowl. He’d parked his furry butt in front of the door.
“What’s wrong, Grisou?” A stupid question. I knew what was wrong. I’d been leaving him alone