An Unexpected Visitor Karen Sturtevant

An Unexpected Visitor

Karen Sturtevant

Irecently had an encounter with an unexpected guest, similar to a colleague showing up without an appointment. As I wrote my thoughts, I wondered how this experience could be equated to the world of business on a professional level. What follows is the original writing with additions related to today’s workers.

Next door stands a slice of Vermont history. A-seen-better-days, however, a still charming barn built in the 1800s. With its foundation of rock and fixes from years past, it’s a landmark quickly disappearing from our rolling hills. The barn lives at the end of a so-far undeveloped open field. During COVID-19 and the governor’s stay at home orders, my little dog and I had ample opportunity to trespass. Trespass and explore we did. Under the barn, around the field, through the cemetery, and into the marshland. What a fascinating ecosystem we found. And later, as it would turn out, found us.

Our daily commune with nature gave me an appreciation for the continuous movement of workings typically unseen. Has the chipmunk population exploded this spring? They’re everywhere. Chirping their authority, I watch with awe as my curious canine strains at her leash. In the era of COVID-19, the daily scenery from traffic lights and stop signs have changed to sunrise viewing and watching the frantic maneuvers of gray squirrels. It’s hard to justify being late in signing in when the total travel is from up to downstairs.

Just this morning, we garnished the alert attention of a mother groundhog sounding the alarm to her four young to retreat and retreat quickly. Baby groundhogs are darn adorable rodents—really they are! You wouldn’t think they could move fast, but their stubby legs led them to the safety of a woodpile allowing both parties (human and animal) to pass without incident.

And the birds! My grandparents had a large bird feeder (build by my granddad) just outside their living room window. They would watch for hours. As a kid, I couldn’t understand the allure. Now, some 40+ years later, I do. With the birds’ distinctive chirps and spastic, ticking movements, bird watching is a new pastime. I may need to invest in a good set of binoculars. Dare I admit, I am turning into my grandmother? I should be so lucky.

Bird viewing has taken the place of people watching. As an expert introverted people-watcher, I admit I miss the interactions and awkwardness of my actions in my ‘former’ workplace. My coffee buddies, the guy in the warehouse, and the vendor who restocks the snack machine. Birds over people? Sometimes yes, other times, no way. There is a lot to be said for human-tohuman connection.

I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention the rabbits. Little brown, white-tailed-cute-as-a-button bunnies. Like chipmunks, there seems to be a surplus this year—just ask my dog who thinks she’s a master tracker and hunter. Rarely, we don’t encounter a few on our daily walks.

As I’ve been working from home since March, I take move-around breaks in

and out of the house. Recently during a glance out our back door, I spotted a monster thing leisurely sunbathing in the driveway. And you thought monsters didn’t exist. Not so! As my heart skipped a beat trying to catch up with what my brain was registering and my eyes seeing, all finally synced to determine this thing was a snapping turtle.

As I grabbed my camera and admonished my timid dog to stay inside, out I went to meet this fellow trespasser. She (he?) didn’t seem to mind the interruption. If you’ve not had the chance to see this reptile up close, it’s a sight unlike any other. Imagine a fierce looking prehistoric creature mixed with a really angry-looking uncle. After taking way too many pictures, I went back to my home office. During the course of the afternoon, she made her way back to the wetland behind our house. She’s been doing her turtle gig for 90 million years—no assistance needed from the work from homer. I wished her well and back to work I went.

As that faithful day wained on, my thoughts took me to a time where she had to survive in a land of dinosaurs and birds the size of 747s. Her durability has lasted longer than any of my fancy work shoes or trendy bracelets.

Fast forward to the next day, another look outside yielded another surprise. She was back. This time smack in the middle of our front lawn. Congratulating myself on my bravery, I approached. I noticed her right back leg was miss

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ing its foot and claws. Perhaps due to an encounter with another snapper or possibly a trap. As she lumbered, tilting a bit on the right side, she was impervious of the middle-aged woman watching her in wonder.

As a lover of all things animals, I appreciate the cuteness of a puppy, the innocence of a lamb, and wonder how in the heck the Monarch butterfly population knows how to navigate the thousands of miles during the time of migration. On the visual surface, this particular critter left a lot of wiggle room in the beauty department. Working within the same company for over

a decade, I’ve come to appreciate the uniqueness of our work family. As in any conglomerate of beings, diversity, thankfully, runs high.

“Miss Snapper” could not be described as remotely pretty, but she did have her own mystic. She was scaly with an algea-covered shell. Her thick legs were similar to that of a lizard with claws jutting out from stumpy feet. Her eyes: alert and intelligent. Her beak-like jaw was intact, her best survival tool. Her neck: snake-like and long. No, she wasn’t aesthetically pleasing. She was more than than. She was admirable for her longevity and fortitude, her survival instinct, and endurance. She was beautiful, in her own reptilian way.

Was this my spirit animal? Was she delivering a life-altering message to me? Or, was she simply doing what she does, maybe looking for a nesting spot, and it just happened to be while I was at home to witness? Most likely, the latter. I can live with that.

A litany of questions remain. Did she lay her eggs? How many will survive? How long has she been our quiet, stealthy neighbor? Will she come back to visit? In the corporate world, a subset of inquires: how has the company culture evolved over the past year? Are we leaning toward an environment of equality and forward-thinking individuals? Do our leadership teams welcome us worker bees with our ideas, concerns, and solutions?

Since our initial encounter we, my little dog and I continue to walk the field next door and explore the barn. Discovering new flora and appreciating the changing cloud formations, we are now on the look out for our enduring friend. Working from home has its advantages. One I never imagined was having the opportunity to be hurled back tens of millions of years to experience, up close and personal, this ancient and impressive, beautiful creature. Beauty, after all, is in the eye of the beholder.

Segueing from a reptile confrontation to a working-from-home conclusion is not easy. What I will end with is this: we humans are at our best when we’re challenged and determined, like our friend the snapper. Whether we’re settling into the muddy bottom of a pond or embracing on a new project, we both need to use our instincts and brain power. Life: personal, work, family is challenging. Snapper has proved her reliability. It is my hope that in our new, ever-changing world of covid-19, we will meet our new trials with the same determination and courage as our reptilian friend.