The End

I recently published my first edited book,  Labor of Love: A Literary Mama Staff Anthology ,  with  Small Harbor Publishing . It's an anthology of writing from  Literary Mama  staff over the past 20 years. It's a beautiful collection and I am proud of the writers and proud to share the book.  It seems a fitting moment, as I pondered sharing about the book here on the blog, to reflect on my life as a blogger, and acknowledge that it is time to officially end this blog.   I started blogging in about 2007, when my baby was learning to toddle, when I was learning how to be a mother and stepmother, when I was just starting to see my way as a writer. I needed it back then. I craved it. I had a variety of blog iterations--family, art, creativity, writing things I delved into. There's a freedom in blogging, a casualness, an easy familiarity that's lacking (for me anyway) in other kinds of writing. I loved blogging and the words came pouring out.  Over the years since then, some

On Punks and Snakes

5/4/15 at 12:30pm
At the Stewart Park Promontory

  • Temperature: 79 degrees
  • Wind: 2 - 11 MPH
  • Clouds: Few clouds

Animalia:
  • Canada geese
  • Chickadees
  • Gulls
  • Mallards
  • Robins
  • Goldfinches
  • Red-winged blackbirds
  • Cormorants
  • Northern water snake
  • Ants

Humanity:
  • Walkers and runners
  • Moms and kids at the playground
  • Taxi driver looking around with binoculars
  • Skinny white guy looking for something by a secluded bench
  • Show-off Harley bikers
  • Sunbathers

For the first time this year, I wore shorts and a t-shirt. I strolled through the sun along the Promontory loop and stopped by the first bench. What to photograph today? Water at the edge of the mossy bank. The spiraling tree trunk of an old fallen willow. A skinny young man twisting the cap of a bottle he held. His arrival at the bench where I stood was unexpected. He seemed equally surprised to see me. He sauntered past, and I covertly noted the piercings and white tank top t-shirt. I got the feeling that he wanted to be right where I was standing, and that I was in the way. His eyes scanned the ground all around, clearly looking for something. I took a few more pictures as he wandered away, then came back to the bench.

"What you takin' pictures of?" He asked.
"Oh just birds, the water. Whatever." I replied. This skinny punk was so out of place in this little naturey place, his presence didn't quite compute. I didn't know what to say. I scanned the ground too, thinking he was looking for a drug drop-off. Was it fear I felt of such a man? Was it concern for his perhaps misguided youth?

He shrugged. I kept my eyes down and slowly walked away, while he stepped toward the bench. A couple of minutes later, I saw the back of him, leaving the Promontory, off to the rest of his life.

About thirty feet past the bench, I saw another movement. A gray tail sliding into the leaves next to the trail. This time it was definitely a thrill of fear zipping through me. I watched him, curious about his plan. His uniformly gray body had faint lighter rings around it. I knew he was not poisonous, but also not someone I really wanted to tangle with. But I stepped into the bushes to get a better look.

He moved right to the mossy bank, and stuck his head down to the water. I figured he was getting a drink.



Then he turned toward me, and I leap backward. I was, again, right where someone else wanted to be. When I backed away, he slid past and toward a lower bank. Then without another glance, he dropped into the water and sped away, surprising me with his speed, off to the rest of his life.

What a strange juxtaposition of human and animal at the Promontory. In winter there was just me and the ice, the gulls, the geese. Now, the warmth and light had drawn out everything from punks to snakes. Mrs. Goose was still on her nest, eyeing me warily. Songbirds jumped from branch to branch in the trees. The cormorants were back. As were the sunbathers. And the tourists. People with binoculars moved around, looking up at the skies, and the insects followed them. 
There is not one without the other. I don't mean punks and snakes. I mean human and wild. We are here, together. This little Stewart Park is just a microcosm of the rest of the world. A jumble of creatures living their lives, basking in the sun, wanting to enjoy a warm day.

Comments

Andrea said…
This is lovely. I have to admit, I begrudge other people encroaching on my time in wild places. But seeing that snake is pretty cool. Water snake?
Amanda K. Jaros said…
Yes, a water snake. Very cool too! Thanks for commenting Andrea!