“The Island” Excerpt

The shelter of any island, for the maverick and mutineer, tempts Huck Finnian day dreams. There’s nothing prosaic about the Island, as I name it now, a proper noun, as it is referred to by family and familiars in conversation. Sometimes, it is called The Big Island, to distinguish it from The Little Island nearby, when duck hunters plan to float the river and stalk birds. At one time, the level center portion was cleared and plowed to be planted with grain or alfalfa. It has been years since a hoe or harrow worked the earth there. On the upstream side, the land slopes down to a bed of river rock lapped by the river; downstream a high bank comes to a point like the prow of a ship. River banks are thick with willow trees and brush. It is rough, unruly and overgrown, home to magpies and foxes. Over the years, visitors learn about the Island and are eager to go there and explore a curiosity. I don’t know what they imagine before they step out of the boat onto the bank, as though the Island would somehow be quixotic rather than starkly feral.

Author: Kim K. McCrea

Kim K. McCrea worked as a Systems Analyst in IT for over 25 years before returning to literature and letters. Kim recently won the Silver Creek Writers Residency/Treefort Wild West Prize for Creative Nonfiction and is a finalist in Proximity Magazine's 2017 Essay Prize competition. Kim attended the Robert D. Clark Honors College and received her BA in English from the University of Oregon. She lives in Eugene, Oregon, where she wrangles her Labrador and scouts for Great Blue Herons.

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