RUBBER DUCKIES

Dozens of little rubber duckies float down the South Fork of the Gunnison River as S.B. and I watch them go by from the bridge on the north side of town.

Lake City, Colorado. July 27, 2013.  We have taken an hour off of work at the Texan Resort (his family’s business, which we are in our second summer season of managing) to watch the annual spectacle known as the “Ducky Derby,” a highlight event of the summer tourist season in this pea-size Rocky Mountain town.

I watch swaths of yellow ride the rapids of the Gunnison in clumps of 3 and 4, perma-grins on their chubby faces, the tops of their heads adorned with tiny sailor hats. On top of those painted-on hats, numbers had been painted on as well in thick black ink to indicate tickets individuals had bought earlier that week. It is a race to the finish and prizes will be handed out for the first, second and third place winners as well as the fortunate ducky who came in last. Lone floaters race by as well, their rubber sailors caps and bright orange beaks like light beacons amidst the glum, grey afternoon. Further upstream a few of them have gotten caught in the debris along the riverbank. Their tiny bodies come alive as they helplessly thrash about in the river reeds wrapped around them like octopus tentacles.

There is a message here, I think to myself. Duckies by the dozens come around the bend, more in clumps, more lone rangers, even more getting caught in the weeds as the crowd above them looking down from the bridge in the rain hoop and holler, moan and cheer.

Meanwhile, the duckies continue to smile.