Wondering what lurks in the murk of those worm-filled puddles
When I was five years old, I believed spring to be the greatest season.
Large, black, fierce-looking clouds seemed to bring rain every day.
But then the sun would poke its head, bathing my mountains and helping bring hues of green back to the grasses and tips of every tree branch.
I enjoyed these brief moments of sun and would take the opportunity to explore the world around me.
I would poke around the dormant plants and rich muddy woods at the edge of our home on Limekiln Lake, marveling at their revival.
My favorite things to explore were mud puddles. They were plentiful due to the spring rains. Some of the best ones could be found in our own driveway.
I would squat and peer into the rich blackness of those miniature lakes, swishing the murky water with a stick. Sometimes I would stir up blackened leaves and worms.
The worms were a curiosity. How did they get there, and where did they come from?
One day I decided to count the worms in one of the large puddles.
With my bare hands and a little help from a stick, I pulled each worm from the water.
When I finished I had counted more than thirty.
I picked up each of their limp-as-noodle bodies, examining them before laying them in a row to dry.
Some were tiny and some were quite long. For the most part they were maroon in color and seemed dead.
The puddle was still a little cloudy from my having disrupted it. I wanted to see if I could find more worms, but the center was too deep, even for my swish stick.
I ventured out toward the center of the puddle, careful not to get my sneakers wet. I dug into the dark water.
All of a sudden I had a scary thought. What if there was no bottom to the puddle and some monstrous creature lived there, sheltered by the leaves and feeding on worms?
The thought quickly passed as my stick hit bottom and I was able to pull layers of leaves and about 50 lifeless worms to shore.
I created some pretty big waves when I pulled up the debris. Cold water seeped through my sneakers.
The sky began to darken. I decided to go inside and give my wet feet a break.
“You should have seen them worms out there,” I said to my mother as I peeled off my blackened and soaked socks. Just an hour before they had been dry and white. just one hour previously.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Big Moose Lake.ltmitch3rdny@aol.com
