The New Year arrived and my body felt cumbersome as I entered my eighth month of pregnancy. I stood by the stream, exhausted from my fourth trip to fetch water. Each day started with cutting a hole in the ice. It was getting harder for me to swing an axe and to haul water from the stream.
Feathers sat on a tree branch, watching me. “Hey blackbird, wish you could help me pull these buckets out of the water. My back sure hurts.” I could only fill the pails half-full, which forced me to make more trips. Although it was only a matter of minutes between each trip, a thin layer of ice always formed over the hole, and I needed to break through again. My bulky frame slowed me down—a fact I found frustrating. The bucket handles were tethered with long strands of rope used to lower them into the wa
