Writer Biography

Chloe Scheve is a hardworking freshman at Utah State University, currently studying English Literature. She’s the youngest in her family and is always looking forward to spending more time with them. Growing up, she learned to play the viola and piano, which she still thoroughly enjoys. Chloe has an undying love for reading and will give book recommendations any chance she gets.

This essay was composed in October 2022 and uses MLA documentation.

IN THE LITERAL SENSE OF THE WORD, WATER is the substance (most commonly encountered as a liquid) which is the principal constituent of seas, lakes, and rivers, and which falls as rain and other forms of precipitation (“Water,” Oxford English Dictionary). It is essential to all life on Earth. I consider water to be essential to my father’s identity. He reminds me of a rushing river: always traveling and never staying in the same place for long.

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The comforting warmth of the sun sprawls across my back as my dad carefully applies our last slab of bait to my hook. He works slowly, deliberately molding the nightcrawler around the steel. He’s mastered the art elegantly with a reverence I’ve witnessed on multiple fishing trips before this one. As he finishes the task, dying light from the sun dances upon the water. Entranced by the performance, part of me aches to drift into the water and submerge myself in the cool embrace of the lake. But instead, I focus on making my dad proud. I cast my line and wait for what feels like forever. Boisterous laughter breaks the silence and catches on the breeze from the opposite side of the lake. My eyes scan over to the lakeshore where I observe the other children constructing sandcastles with moats and tall spires. Some children attempt to skip rocks but, with each throw, their stones nosedive into the water and sink into the mossy jungle at the bottom of the lake.

My attention turns to my pole when my line gently tugs at my fingertips. It’s time. I stand up from the shoreline, feeling my anticipation develop like a tidal wave. My fish realizes he’s been tricked and swishes sporadically in the water, fighting against the unknown. He finds comfort within his aqueous home, and I sympathize with his defensiveness; still, I stand my ground and reel him in. Once pulled from the water, he shimmers in the last remaining light of the day. My dad exclaims, “Way to go, Kuna!” and gently unhooks the fish, releasing him back to where he emerged. After the release, my dad becomes overwhelmingly silent. He stares at the water long after the fish disappears. When the last rays of sun slip behind the mountain at last, I wonder what sea monsters my father’s battling with underneath the surface.

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Although tranquil waters may seemingly offer refuge and peace, tempestuous water may wreak havoc on communities all around the globe. In natural disasters—such as floods, hurricanes, and tsunamis—water acts as a destructive and devastating force, causing irreparable damage and death. According to United Nations, “Around 74% of all natural disasters between 2001 and 2018 were water-related and during the past 20 years, the total number of deaths caused only by floods and droughts exceeded 166,000, while floods and droughts affected over three billion people, and caused total economic damage of almost $700 billion” (“Water and Disasters”). When not prepared properly, these types of disasters appear with little to no warning; therefore, it’s difficult to truly comprehend the danger that water can impose until it’s too late.

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I find myself trudging along in frigid water, attempting to keep up with my dad in front of me. He glides through the water seamlessly, like a trout migrating upstream. He makes absolutely no sound. My father fishes like his life depends on it, thus his grip on his fishing rod tightens every time he feels a slight tug. I know he belongs here. Meanwhile, I’m fighting for my life against the current of the river. The river’s roar rages and echoes inside my head like a hurricane as I strain to hear myself think. My tennis shoes slip on the rock bed, leaving me unbalanced as the sting of the water melds into a numbing pain. My jeans are soaked, clinging to my body with an intense itch while my socks bunch around my ankles. But I will not let myself fall. I call after him. “Dad! Wait for me!” He slows. He casts a line. I hear him swear that this river should be swarming with trout, but we have caught nothing in the hours we’ve burned here. Mosquitos feast on my blood and zip around my face making it difficult to lumber along. I want to go home. But my dad continues on: casting lines, reeling them in, and catching nothing. So I follow him.

 A story from my mother comes to mind as I struggle upstream. In another time, she trembles in an unknown but equally dreadful river. Thigh deep in the piercing water, she is blinded by the snow as it collapses over her and my father. They’ve been subject to nature’s scorn for hours, but the snow doesn’t let up. Her hands ache as she reels in her line and casts it again, her movements rehearsed and precise. The fishing pole that Dad lovingly crafted for her freezes in her grasp. She too wants to go home. But my dad is addicted to this lifestyle and eagerly insists they fish for a while longer. She begrudgingly agrees and follows him farther up the river. I am her and she is me.

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In Greek mythology, water is most commonly associated with the Greek god, Poseidon and his wife, Amphitrite: the king and queen of the sea. These two are often depicted in intricate works of art, riding alongside each other in chariots pulled by fish-tailed horses. Poseidon, usually described as violent and ill-tempered, ruled over the sea with a firm and uncompromising grip along with his mighty trident, billowing cloak, and crown of wild celery. Contrastingly, Amphitrite is softer and more nurturing than her husband. Amphitrite also carries a trident, albeit one smaller than her husband’s, and is frequently depicted as “the most beautiful of all the water nymphs.” Being the god of the sea, Poseidon happily practiced the power of conjuring storms with colossal waves that sent sailors to their deaths in the deepest regions of the ocean (Guest). This tendency of destruction unsurprisingly christened Poseidon as moody and unpredictable. Coincidently, much like my own father.

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My dreams are jarringly interrupted as my dad shakes me awake. While I attempt to decipher what time it is, my brain fights to clear away the fog accumulated in my head since last night. I hear my dad whisper, “Come on, Kuna, let’s go for a scooter ride.” Spending extra time with him immediately wakes me up enough to climb off the bunk bed and slip on my tennis shoes. I ask no questions. While I tenderly rub the sleep from my eyes, Dad wraps my warmest jacket around me before zipping up his own. We tip-toe out the back door to avoid waking the rest of the house. Right before I close the door behind us, I glance at the clock on the microwave: 4:08 a.m.

I cherish scooter rides with my father immensely. Typically, his busy schedule prevents opportunities to enjoy excursions around town, so I frequently end up begging him for a ride whenever he gets a chance. This early morning, I suppose, happens to be one of those chances. After strapping on our helmets, my dad twists the Vespa’s key and the scooter hums to life. We amble along the quiet and deserted streets until making a quick stop at the gas station to stock up on our favorite candy and drinks. I greedily select a syrupy grape soda off the shelf. Peeking through the gas station windows, I notice the sun lingering behind the mountain, still refusing to make a full appearance.

Finally, we slowly make our way up the hill to our destination for the morning: the local reservoir. As we reach the peak of the hill, the monument of the decaying cross that overlooks the water comes into view. I find its presence comforting. When we begin our stroll around the lake, the uppermost tip of the cross lights up with gold from the rising sun. I smile up at my father, but his face looks weary. My mood shifts almost immediately. My dad’s movements become languid, and he isn’t acting like his normal self. He whispers, “I don’t feel so good, Kuna” and swiftly turns to vomit violently into the bushes. With the adventure ruined, we leave almost immediately. As he steers the scooter back down the hill, my dad swerves uncontrollably. Unpredictably. I pray to God he doesn’t crash and kill us both.

—

Salt Lake City, Utah is home to “the largest saltwater lake in the western hemisphere” which is more commonly known as the Great Salt Lake (“The Great Salt Lake,” Visit Salt Lake). The salinity of the lake ranges between 5 and 27 percent, making it the 9th saltiest lake in the world. The Salt Lake’s extremely high salinity levels are attributed to its absence of water outlets. For instance, water flows into the lake from the Jordan, Bear, and Weber Rivers, but then the water has absolutely no way of escaping the lake except through evaporation; thus, the salt content from these rivers remains in the lake. Unfortunately, because of these high salinity levels, the Great Salt Lake cannot sustain many life forms, except for its abundance of brine shrimp. The salt buildup may be detrimental to the lake’s ability to thrive.

—

I find myself surrounded by a world of ice and a sapphire sky as I snuggle in the sled being pulled by my father. My sister sprawls out next to me, wearing the goofiest yellow sunglasses I’ve ever seen. My mother walks beside my father, adjusting her pace to match his. At a moment’s glance, we imitate the perfect family, but the tension that’s been accumulating between my parents hides deep within my father’s frozen exterior. Without my knowledge, he’s been battling an addiction to narcotics for an extremely long time, and my mother’s resilience deteriorates more and more every single day.

The sun shines dazzlingly upon the frozen lake as my frosted breath puffs before my eyes and quickly dissipates. Despite the cold, I feel the warmth of my father’s love and anticipation radiating from his dominating figure. He loves nothing more in life than to take us fishing. We center ourselves in the middle of Strawberry Reservoir and set up our gear. My dad assembles the ice fishing shelter and starts drilling a couple of holes in the ice with our auger. Bone-chilling scraping resonates throughout the region as the auger cuts through the lake’s sheath of ice. I’m afraid my dad’s scared off all the fish, but he assures me they’re still there. I scoop out the slush from the cavities he’s created.

My sister and I position ourselves around one of the two openings in the ice and cast our lines. We watch our hooks disappear in the overwhelming blackness of the water. I imagine ancient fish with jagged teeth slithering through the ink waiting for something to bite. I realize I have no desire to pull a sea serpent out of this abyss. I glance back at my parents, fishing from the hole opposite us. They speak in murmuring voices. I voice my concerns about catching a wild sea creature, and my dad laughs. He says, “It’s okay, Kuna. Trust me, there’s nothing scary hiding at the bottom of the lake.” So I trust him, and after fishing for a couple of hours, we drink hot cocoa in the shelter, and my mother peels oranges for me. The sweet smell of oranges mixes with the sharp winter air, and I’m almost certain I’ve never felt more alive.

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In the figurative sense, the term water can also mean to nourish or satisfy (a person or group) spiritually; to educate (“Water,” Oxford English Dictionary).

—

It is April 9, 2016. When I hear the news, my body turns to water, and I’m drowning in an ocean I’m unable to swim out of. I learn that my father has succumbed to his addiction and will never again traverse the waters of the Earth. I find it all very secretive. My mother and stepfather tell me his death was by “unknown causes” which I know is code for “drug overdose.”

Throughout my childhood, my father nourished my sense of adventure and resilience by bringing me along on his fishing trips and teaching me to seek out the beauty the world has to offer. He taught me that water wields tremendous power and deserves my respect and admiration. Whenever I’m surrounded by water, such as a river or a lake, my heart aches for the man who used to fish them. But now through my father’s guidance, I know I hold the power to fish, and ultimately discover, life for myself.

 Works Cited

Editors of Encylopædia Britannica. “Great Salt Lake.” Encyclopædia Britannica, 20 July 1998, www.britannica.com/place/Great-Salt-Lake.

Editors of Encyclopædia Britannica. “Poseidon.” Encyclopædia Britannica, 20 July 1998, www.britannica.com/topic/Poseidon

“The Great Salt Lake.” Visit Salt Lake, www.visitsaltlake.com/things-to-do/attractions/the-great-salt-lake/.

Guest. “Poseidon: The Almighty Greek God of the Sea.” GreekReporter.com, 17 July 2022, greekreporter.com/2022/07/15/poseidon-greek-god-sea/.

“Water and Disasters: UN-Water.” United Nations, www.unwater.org/water-facts/water-and-disasters.

“Water.” Oxford English Dictionary, www.oed.com/view/Entry/226109?rskey=PhFxAo&result=1&isAdvanced=false#eid.