I saw my first leech yesterday at Wasilla Lake, Alaska, and I may never be the same. I can’t “unsee” that. At first, I noticed a long thin, pencil like anomaly along the clear pebbles of the shoreline, slowly wriggling in the water. It was dark grey, and I couldn’t tell if it was alive or if my eyes were playing tricks on me from the water gently lapping. A nearby stick confirmed my reality. After some prodding and lifting it closer, my Alaskan husband determined that yes, it was in fact a leech. Wide-eyed, fascinated and repulsed, my three children and I talked about what that meant. Why yes, it has a little suction cup mouth and will suck the blood of any creature it latches onto. So many questions. An idyllic setting for an impromptu science lesson.
As all five of us studied the specimen (and I recalled the two swimming trips to local lakes in the past week and how ignorance can be blissful), a screaming match broke out between two groups of teenagers at the park. Racial slurs, fists flying, and kids rushing over to hold back their friends and take sides. About 15 or more kids in a heated frenzy. With that fight immediately on our radar, I dropped the leech back into the lake water and quietly summoned the kids that it was time to leave. Wasilla Lake was no longer our serene homeschooling space. Cy started crying and screaming he didn’t want to go. Ruby and Rose dragged their feet, but realized that a sense of panic was going on nearby.
It was hard to leave the leech behind. How ironic.
Little Maui Family 