Momentitos

A crash of thunder set me straight up, in time to see the lightening fill my little cabin bedroom. That was close. What time is it, anyway? The blackened sky hid the usual sunrise. The clock was in the other room. I sunk back down under my covers, shut my eyes, and listened.

Hail? Or, just very loud rain pelting down on the aluminum roofed carport? I scooted up to my knees, pulled back the curtain and watched, as a deluge of water dumped itself from the clouds.

“Oh, dear God, please don’t let the road wash out.”

“Really, Janet? You are praying to God for protection from the rain when. . .” and thus began my litany of all the woes being suffered around the world. There are the big ones. Gaza, Iran, Ukraine, Sudan. There are medium ones. Heat wave in the mid-west. There are crazy ones. Cutting funding to Medicaid, PBS, science research and . . . “Janet!” I reprimanded myself, using my mother’s voice with the name she gave me.

I slid out of bed into my slippers and headed to the kitchen clock. Another flash of lightening. “Oh God,” I find myself invoking another request, “Please don’t let the electricity go off.”

It is 5:30 a.m., light enough to see across the lawn to the pump. Was that a chunk of wood blown down? No. It was moving. Slow-motion crawling. One ancient leg after another, clawing its way over the rock wall into sight. A thick neck, dating to the dinosaurs, stretched out. A snapping turtle!

The next hour and a half, I moved from window to door, back to bed, and then to the porch, watching her progress (movement) and progress (job completion). She was perfectly dressed in her quart-sized shell, not a bit put-off by the beating rain. She went right up a small rock wall, into the forest, and then returned to the gravel incline where, just last week, two painted turtles had come for the same task.

Into the gravel and rocks she dug, circled, squatted, and raised up her head to keep track of her surroundings. I began to wonder if the rain and the turtle would finish in time for me to meet Ana to walk the Sam Campbell Trail at 9:00. I dressed, finished off some toast, and returned to the back door for another peek.

Oh no! I didn’t want to look. She was sliding straight down over the rock wall, head first. “Dear God, (there I go again), don’t let her fall and be stuck on her back! What would I do?” When snappers used to lay eggs at the culvert, impeding our entry to the cabin lane, Dad used to take a big stick and tease the turtle until it took a snap, then lift it up and off of the road. This momma wasn’t as big as a bushel basket, but large enough I didn’t want to pick her up with my bare hands to flip her over. I looked away and squeezed my eyes shut. Then, one eye open and “whew” – she made it.

And, so did I. She methodically scooted away from my car and down to the lake. The rain stopped. Ana and I got to hike. We mused over what we think will happen in any given day and what really happens. We know what part attitude plays in these detours.

We returned to our separate lives, she to her children and planning birthday party memories, me to my thoughts.

Through the Snapper Momma, I witnessed determination, perseverance, resilience, faith, and hope – through my human eyes. I covered her eggs with a screen and anchor, interjecting another human trait to interfere.

When I return home, will I remember to savor the moments? There is a lot out there trying to get our attention. I so want us to hold a space for awe, for gratitude and for sharing the light.

We are light-workers. Darkness cannot survive even one little candle.

Keep noticing the “momentitos” that bring light and appreciation together.

Amen.

Sharing some cabin momentitos

A perfect day for a snapper to lay her eggs