The Longest Days

Sun-warmed strawberries, easy shortcakes and a very special turtle

The longest days of the year have this kind of magical feel that comes back to me every June. I wake up full of energy at around 5:45, often catching the sunrise. Morning is my favourite time to write, listen to birds and, if I’m at the cottage, maybe have a swim. Two afternoons this past week, I took myself berry picking at a local farm, and this seasonal ritual is another practice that makes me feel grounded and sane in the chaos of the world.

The other thing about seasonal rhythms: They remind you that you’re part of a system — one tiny piece of a vast and intricate universe that thrums with life and purpose. During the long, cold winter, I might huddle indoors, glued to my computer and my phone, cut off from the comforts of nature, but when I emerge into the warmth of June and turn down the familiar road that leads to our log cabin, I know I’m going to feel better. Especially if I see the turtle.

The first time was June 21, 2020, in the little garden at the bottom of the staircase that leads from the driveway to the house. One of the kids said, “Look!” and there she was, her shell so pretty it seemed like it might be carved out of stone.

It was a busy visit. My dad — at that time ninety — was with us, and we were all a little manic as we emerged from a winter of quarantine. We marvelled at a turtle finding its way to our garden, took a few pictures and found that when we checked again, she was gone. A fluky, amazing brush with a parallel world we didn't examine too closely.

The next time I found myself at the cottage around summer solstice was in 2023, when Michael and I came up on our own for a mini-getaway. We were in the kitchen making coffee, he on a work call, me rushing to get back to my computer to finish the edits on How to Share an Egg: A True Story of Hunger, Love and Plenty, when we heard a loud clattering. I looked out the window and there, at the bottom of the stairs, was a turtle about the size of a dinner plate. It had clearly fallen from above and was now lying on its back, spinning helplessly. The date was June 21.

Wanting to help, not wanting to get snapped, knowing nothing about turtles, we searched the internet, called wildlife protection for advice and in the end used a shovel to scoop the turtle and gently flip her onto her feet. She immediately started to move, and could not have been clearer about her desire to get to the lake.

Michael was by now on a long distance work call so, mustering all my courage, I scooped her up again with the shovel and gently placed her in the garden, where I hoped she would be able to continue whatever journey she was on. When I looked for her a few hours later, I was happy to find she was gone.

A couple of days ago, we arrived back at the cottage, mindful of the date and thinking of the turtle. It had been two years since we’d last seen her. Would she find her way? When June 21 came and went and “our” turtle did not appear, I felt a stab of guilt. We’d renovated our outdoor stairs and perhaps disturbed whatever nesting pattern we’d once supported.

Yesterday, June 22. Driving into town for an ice-cream cone, we slowed to navigate the spot where part of the dirt road washed away during the spring thaw. And that was when we saw her — a turtle the size of a dinner plate, in the cool green by the side of the road, maybe half a kilometre from our place.

She seemed to look up at us in greeting as we passed and I, for one, feel certain it is the same turtle, repeating her seasonal ritual, a little older and maybe a little slower than the last time we saw her, but pulled by instinct and an innate understanding of her purpose, nevertheless.

As for those strawberries… yesterday we celebrated our anniversary, another seasonal ritual. For the occasion, I decided to whip up some simple little shortcakes that I served with potted creme fraiche. We took our plates out to the deck, close to where the turtle had stood on her hind legs with her head between the spindles, pining for the lake. I hope she got where she needed to go, and I hope she’ll be back again, next June 21, or 22, or even 23.

Easiest Strawberry Shortcakes

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/4 cup + 2 tbsp sugar

1 3/4 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

10 tbsp cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes

1 1/4 cups sour cream or high fat plain yogurt

1 pint ripe strawberries

2-120 gram pots creme fraiche

Preheat oven to 425 F. In a work bowl, combine flour, 1/4 cup sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt, and mix well. Add cold butter and blend into dry ingredients with cool fingertips, just until mixture resembles coarse meal. Little chunks of butter are good.

Making a well in the centre of the bowl, add sour cream or yogurt and mix with a fork until just combined into a craggy dough. Turn dough out onto a floured surface and knead ever so slightly until it comes together into a thick disc. Using a Mason jar lid, cut eight circles in the dough. Gather up scrap and cut another one or two, if possible.

Place “cakes” on a baking sheet covered in parchment paper or a Silpat, spacing them widely as they will grow in the oven. Bake 18-20 minutes.

Meanwhile, wash, hull and slice strawberries, and sprinkle with 2 tbsp sugar. Mix well and set aside. When biscuit are puffy and lightly browned, remove from oven and serve with sliced strawberries, their juices and a dollop of creme fraiche.

Makes 8-10 shortcakes.