Certain colors mean a lot to me. Like the special blue gray that was the color of mother’s eyes, that is a good one. But I don’t like pink. It’s all because of a strange episode involving a snapping turtle.
Where I grew up in the foothills of the Catskill mountains, the ponds were filled with creatures. Some were rainbow-beautiful, like the iridescent blue gill fish and others dull and prehistoric looking, like the brown-gray bull frogs. As a child I haunted the pond at the bottom of our valley, and loved observing both the tiniest of creatures beneath the water and the larger animals that came by to drink. My father would say I was going to be a biologist one day, but I didn’t know what the word meant at the time, it sounded like a disease. Continue reading “Why I Don’t Like Pink”