by Caleb Wyeth

Created on: October 28, 2009

Ping.

Plunk.

Plunk, plunk.

PING! Plunk...ping.

PING!

PLUNK! Plunk-plunk, PING! PLUNK!

Ben was still, listening to the Cascade Mountain rain and staring from the loft window. The sound of each drop grew louder and louder, amplified from pelting the tin roof overhead. The simultaneously soft and crisp mountain air filled with an intense, wet energy as the drops steadily increased in number, intensity and speed. Soon the sounds of the storm had morphed into that familiar sort of rapturous applause, clapped wildly by Mother Nature against the tiny red roof of Grandma's old cabin. And Ben, standing alone in the loft, delighted in Her celebration.

For two whole days after his arrival at Grandma's Cabin, it had rained almost incessantly. The threat of lightening was constant, and so Ben and his family were relinquished to board games, book reading, and keeping warm by the fire. The precious daylight hours were spent indoors rather than on the lake, with Ben turning his gaze longingly his books and games down to the storm troubled shores.

The Thomas family had visited the Payette Lake-a roughly two hour drive from Boise up a winding mountain road-every year for nearly three whole generations. Although he grew up in Southern California, going to the lake somehow always felt like going home for Ben. He would always roll down the window as the family van lumbered up the scenic byway, the smell of pine and vibrant fresh air intoxicating and nostalgic as they entered the Payette National Forest.

"What are you reading, Ben?" His father's question startled him.

"Oh...uh, Hatchet. Found it up at the other cabin."

"Good?"

"Yeah, so far. Good for the lake."

And it was. It had every necessary element for a summer read on vacation at a mountain lake as a fourteen year-old boy. A plane crash, young male hero, wilderness survival, adventure and suspense, it had everything you need. Ben was enjoying it. He always read more at the lake than when at home, and always promised himself he would read more in the coming year. He liked it. Distractions back home, mainly in the form of TV and the basketball hoop in the driveway, usually derailed his good intentions though. At the lake, however, time seemed to stand still, and he felt free to lose himself in the stories. Whether reading to the rolling rhythm of the forest rain, or the metronome of the gently lapping lake shore, he loved it.

"Hm...well don't worry, we've still got a couple weeks. The rain will let up soon." He could sense

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