"I see you Arctic Puffin"

Part 1 - Nine Days in July - A journey of epic (and poetic) proportions

Nine Days in July

you know not where
your days may lead
your fears—
shall they rest softly, quietly
as you go forth

oh, my dear
how your days would prove
like no other

ascend
descend,
it mattered not

pausing, stilling
to recapture your breath
amid such inexplicable
resplendence

fluorescent scapes and fjords of green,
lupine fields of purple blooms,
volcanic blacks and glacial blues

a mere smidgen of the whole

how can this be
that which lie before my eyes?

yet though, my dear
your days would prove long,
and challenging
your resolve, often tested

it mattered not

for you had, no doubt
come alive.

—Me and my Nine Days in July

Several years back, a friend had asked me if I thought I could swing a trip to Iceland. My eyes grew large and my heart swelled imagining the experience and opportunity, yet I knew it was not even a remote possibility at that time. My answer, a pouty-faced “no.”

“But Iceland, Charlene.” My own voice ringing inside my head.

“It’s Iceland!”

Other than the traditional travels to my happy place in North Carolina each year and a few short trips sprinkled here or there, I have not ventured outside of Florida over the past fifteen or so years. Mainly and quite frankly, it simply wasn’t in the budget. Now hear me out. I was (and am) way ok with this—North Carolina has become a place to lower my shoulders and fill my soul’s cup.

It is like going home for me.

But Iceland, Charlene!

Well, after several years have come and gone, and life circumstances having changed, I made things happen for this soon to be sixty year old. Happy early birthday to me!

Today marks two weeks to the day that I returned to earth—err—Florida from my ridiculously magical Iceland adventure.

I am still processing.

It has been difficult to recapitulate the nine days I spent there, and I know I have done so deficiently and devoid of the entirety of that magic when asked how my experience was.

And so I will do so here, on the page, after proper time and reflection. It only seems fitting that I should give it the credit it so deserves. Truly.

This is Part 1 of my Iceland story. It is a fun one to begin with (and holds a special place in my heart). Enjoy.

Thank you for being here!

xo Char

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It is no secret that my son and I have a pretty special bond. We have a similar sense of humor, appreciation for food, a home cooked meal and the Game of Thrones (so much so that in 2019, my son’s last year of college, I made the six hour drive from Jupiter to Tallahassee (Go Noles) to spend the weekend with him and watch The Long Night episode together). But truth be told, it is our affinity (and proficiency) for reciting our favorite movie quotes that keeps this mother and son game solid.

And it never gets old. Ever.

“Ma, the meatloaf.”

“I never know what she’s doing back there.”

“Good. Good. More for me and you.”

“So, good news - I saw a dog today. Have you seen a dog? You probably have.”

“I just like to smile. Smiling’s my favorite.”

And, of course, “Not now Arctic Puffin.”

We are silly and goofy. And love the movie, “Elf.”

And so began our fondness for the Arctic Puffin.

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The evening before “The Long Day,” (Day 7 of our adventure), we ran into a local Icelandic guide in the lobby of our hotel. We were discussing our itinerary for the next day and what he thought our chances were that we might see the puffins. He hemmed and hawed a bit, but suggested our chances may be better later in the day. We opted to first try in the morning and if we came up short, a return visit at day’s end.

With all twenty fingers and toes crossed and my high hopes in tact, we herded the cats gathered our group of thirteen women and set off to see some puffins.

When, what to our wondering eyes should appear, but the Arctic puffins! A gazillion of them!

I will let the photographs do the talking.

As a side note, we met a gentleman that morning (with his fancy shmancy camera equipment in tow) who had been visiting this particular location each day for a week to see the puffins, yet without any luck.

Sometimes, timing is everything. I’m thinking maybe those crossed fingers and toes and just the right amount of hope might have had a little something to do with it as well. But that’s just me.

This was only the beginning of Day 7 and “The Long Day.” Just when you thought it could not get any better, it does.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of my Nine Days in July - A journey of epic (and poetic) proportions.