Almost summer (solstice, two-thousand-eighteen)

And you thought I was never coming back. So I took a brief two-year hiatus. So sue me. (If you even remember who I am.)

I began this blog four years ago to tell the story of Eric’s and my transition to the Clearing—but in truth, what I needed was to reverse the deterioration of my flabby writing muscles, grown flaccid from too many years of creating invoices, rosters, and reconciliations. Don’t get me wrong—I love helping Eric educate wastewater treatment plant operators, and I deeply appreciate the miracle of wastewater treatment, all thanks to my beloved  “Turd-Herder” Swami Extraordinaire—but running reports and checking bank balances wasn’t doing a whole lot for the creative spirit in me. In fact, I think Quickbooks was on a mission to strangle my muse by the neck until dead. As blogging began to breathe some creative life back into me, I got the idea to apply to a BFA in Writing program at Goddard College. I had built up enough credits over the last 40-some-(very)-odd years that I only needed three semesters to complete my degree. I’ll be done at the end of July, and will graduate in September. I turned in the first draft of my Senior Study project (kind of like a thesis) last week and it was approved this week by both my advisor and my second reader. After rattling around the house for a few days wondering what on earth to do with myself (all I have done for the past year-and-half is read, write, sleep, eat, read, write, read, write, sleep, eat—did I mention read, write, eat, sleep?) And today I thought, HEY! I know! I should write a post on my blog!

Today seems particularly apropos for my first day back after two years, since Mama Snapper made her way up to the same area I referenced in a post called “A Summer Solstice event at the Clearing” from almost three years ago to the day, to lay her eggs. That first year, Ms. S laid her eggs on June 21, the exact day of Summer Solstice. When she did the same on June 21 the next year, we thought, “Hmmmm…is there a pattern here?” (Nothing gets by us.) But this year she was two days early which means—I am certain—that she knows more about seasons, time, the rotation of the earth and probably the entire universe, than we dumb humans do. Yesterday we caught her scouting around the yard—she did the same thing last year—probably ticking off choice spots to consider for the big, annual egg-laying event, while “ponding in the mud” overnight. When we got home from errands she was hanging out on our new rock driveway in back of the house. We almost backed over her until at the last second I noticed her in the sideview mirror. We left her alone as we unpacked our groceries and took them inside. Within a short time Eric saw her tooling across the upper level of our front yard toward the garden rock wall. We both yelled, “No! Stop! Danger!” but she refused to heed our warnings and proceeded to topple over the edge. I ran out to see if she was okay, but she had not only righted herself, she was already flipping over the next rock wall, tail over tea kettle—and probably flipping me off for ever doubting her rock-wall climbing prowess. After executing these acrobatics with the ease of a prima ballerina, a puma or a gazelle (kidding), she was soon bee-lining it to the pond. Okay, as much as a turtle can bee-line.

When Eric awoke this morning Ms. S was back on the upper level right near the same spot where she laid her eggs in 2015, slowly, painstakingly digging a hole with her hind feet, one foot, then the other foot, one foot, then the other, for a couple of hours straight. After determining the hole deep enough, and depositing and burying her eggs, rather than heading for the rock wall, she took the stairs. Smart lady. After all, that’s what stairs are for. Much more civilized and way less traumatic than leaping from tall rock walls in a single bound like Super Snapper.