On the pool deck, cooled black coffee with heavy cream riding shotgun beside me, I sit and watch. Evelyn, age five, swims with a level of skill that would make any parent feel confident stepping away for a quick bathroom break. Overhead, a black swallowtail butterfly flits above, then lands nearby, flexing its mighty wings up and down.
I absolutely love swallowtails. Instead of the typical gently curved wing bottoms, theirs look like long teardrops—like a drip of dried, melted wax, or the kind of curve you get when cutting out the thin legs of a paper doll.
I’m here to do progress notes. But Dave is talking about how the Kraken won 5–0, and Evelyn, freshly out of the pool, is bundled in a huge beach towel, chilled from the now-thick and cloudy sky.
That butterfly again—it’s back, flexing itself on the pool deck. Not wanting it disturbed, I intercept Archie’s curious path with a quick, “Archie, come!” Ever obedient, he pivots like a well-trained soldier responding to drill commands.
His mouth hangs open, tongue pinned between his teeth as he pants. This started yesterday—the sudden shift to high 70s and 80s is already taking its toll on him. I’ll need to find a big bucket for an outdoor water station soon.
Earlier, on my way back from letting the chickens out, I noticed the yellow and green squash stretching their leafy arms from the dirt. One plant, weighed down by something heavy on top, caught Evelyn’s attention. She gently pinched the dirt away, easing the squash’s journey.
In my ongoing quest to domesticate the wild birds to our property, I tossed handfuls of nut-and-fruit birdseed out across the yard. It reminded me of my dad, who used to lure trout with canned corn when he took me fishing as a kid. And like him, I felt a small thrill in seeing a tree full of life—tufted titmouse, Carolina wren, Northern cardinal, blue jay, and yellow-rumped warbler. I know their names because my Merlin app told me so.
Speaking of which… can you imagine if we identified people by their rumps? Like Old Saggy-Rump Sarah or Flatty-Rump Phil?
It’s a miracle—a blue jay is perched calmly, pecking at the feeder. After months of waiting, today’s finally the day. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket too.
Random thought, but did I ever tell you 14 is my lucky and favorite number? It’s the day my dad, two cousins, and I were all born—and the only jersey number I ever wore during basketball and fastpitch all those years.
Well, I keep meaning to write in my book, but haven’t prioritized actually doing it. Perhaps after strawberry picking tomorrow.
See you then.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 