Swimming with a Snapping Turtle

I was swimming in the pond at Wisteria this morning. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the air was still. The surface of the pond was a perfect mirror of the sky and trees above me. So clear I could identify the trees by their leaves in the reflection.

Now this pond holds many secrets but one piece of knowledge about it is widely known. The swimming hole is also home to a large and aged snapping turtle.

I hear tell of this snapper often. Although I've never seen him, I've swam with many who say they have. These accounts are often accompanied with the reassurance that he never comes over to the designated swimming area. My pagan friends seem sure that the floating blue line in the water represent a truce honored by both human and reptilian occupants of the pond. Living proof that a soft-toed and civilized human need not fear swimming in unchlorinated water.

This knowledge comforted me greatly until another swimmer spoke up to disagree on my last visit. A woman swimming with our group knew someone who swore they'd been nipped at the far end of the swimming hole. Further away from the beach than we usually swim, but definitely on the human side of the line.

I was alone in the water on this quiet and clear morning. Perhaps because I was alone, the thought of this turtle was never far from my mind. A splash landed in the water behind me. I jumped with fear and turned before realizing it was a frog. I noticed bubbles coming up from near the center of the pond. Was that a dark shape in the water underneath?

Dismayed by the anxious thoughts interrupting my normally relaxing swim, I examined the water around me. Would I be able to see a giant snapping turtle approach? Looking at the water around me, all I could see was sky and trees. I held my hand up under the water. Now I could see a blurry outline of a hand under the trees, and the brown green color of the water as the reflection was disturbed by my movement. More information but none of it helpful.

It occurred to me that this is how I've spent so much of my time on earth. Looking at a reflection that's blocking me from seeing the depths in which I'm currently immersed. Nervously watching out for the danger I've heard is in here with me, trying to make sense of the colors and shapes moving under the surface.

How can I stop this feeling? Should I get out my phone and look up snapping turtle behavior? Find the times that turtle feeds so I can avoid them? Give up my solitude so I have safety in numbers when I swim?

In the end all I could do was choose. I could spend my time in the water staring at reflections and bracing for a bite, or I could immerse myself in the swim and try to ignore what I couldn't see or change.

I can't have the pond without the snapping turtle and I can't have life without pain. I never did see that turtle. But I did make sure that the swim was worth it.