Salamanders

and how to hold my world.

I want to hold my life, my entire tiny existence, the way Margo holds salamanders. (Red efts are their real names, technically, and I know this. Don’t get me started on their life stages).

All you must realllly know is that they aren’t slimy at all, but curious little red friends that emerge on well-worn trails after North Carolina thunderstorms. The best time to find ‘em is on a family walk after dinner. The kind where rain is still trickling through the rhododendron leaves and the frogs are singing. Still the prospect of another storm in the distance. Bright raincoats bouncing along the trail ahead. Dogs gone. Run off, nearly every time. 

And they must be terrified, the salamanders, I'm sure, to be so high above the ground and scooped so swiftly up into my 6 year old’s cupped hands. How could they know (for sure) that she would never, ever drop them? I rest easy, because I know she never would. She’s too careful. She doesn't blink when she holds them. She treasures them fully. Been watching for them since she put her soggy shoes on. Their delicate red and spotted body is certainly safe with her. I watch their fast breaths and wide eyes.

Margo holds the salamanders so tenderly, so absorbed by their beauty it’s as if she has caught a miracle. She doesn’t grasp them, just keeps her hands steady. Soaks them up. Tiny wonders.

It’s all a brief moment, she’ll let them go soon without any reminders on my part. No need to force them on our path or into a jar. Let them head back on their own way home. But before she says goodbye, she brings her beaming face even closer to theirs and adjusts her hands again to let them walk around. Eye to eye, so close she could whisper a secret (that is no secret) of how much she loves them. 

Then, just like that, her dirty trail hands and bruised-summer-kid-shins lower down onto the muddy trail to let our new friend go. And after seeing him climb on his way, she hops back up, eyes shining, and playfully dusts her hands off to tuck hers into mine. 

“This is the best, Mom.”

“Yep, it sure is.”

“Can we do this again tomorrow?”

“You bet, my love.” 

… 

(It’s good to be back on the east coast)

Since I wrote last (months ago, sorry!) we moved from Germany back to the east coast. Virginia, specifically. Which is closer to family and mountains and red efts in NC and our backyard here has a glorious amount of flowers and fireflies too. It’s all an adjustment, rich in blessings and lots of growth. We have painted rooms, visited family and hosted family, too. Joined the pool, made friends and I start work as a midwife again in a few weeks. We are all taking a big thankful breath. And I’m trying to enjoy the wonder of it all. Salamander walks always help.

More to come. 

With love from Virginia.