“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 for over 25 years as a Systems Analyst building out the internet of things before returning to letters. In 2017, Kim won the Treefort Wild West Prize for Creative Nonfiction and was named a finalist in both Proximity Magazine's Essay Prize competition and the Barry Lopez Creative Nonfiction Contest. Recently, her work was selected as runner up for Cutbank Literary Magazine's Big Sky, Short Prose contest. Kim lives in Eugene, Oregon, where she wrangles her Labrador in the rain and scouts for Great Blue Herons.

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