Why didn't the turtle cross the road?

Yesterday, as we were headed off to retrieve our tractor from the Daughter Person and Son-In-Law, we noticed an new and different "lump" on our gravel drive. Since the Better Half [BH] was standing next to the Jeep so she could check the trailer taillights as we pulled out, we said: "Is that a turtle in the drive?" and pointed. BH took the hint, walked over, looked at it, and said "Yep." It was a good sized painted turtle. (No photos of that one.) It's our first turtle sighting of the year. We feel almost like the mountain must have felt when Muhammad went to it.

painted turtle crossing gravel road

Photo by J. Harrington

We suspect the turtle was looking for a friendly location to lay some eggs and had clambered several hundred yards through the woods in search of one. The BH didn't watch to see where the turtle went. It could have headed back for the pond North of the property; to the wet spot behind the house, or off into the sandy field to excavate a nest. We were pleased we didn't see a squashed, or squished, turtle shell on our township road yesterday or today. It's possible a local coyote might have grabbed it, or it now might be ensconced back where it came from. One of life's mysteries we'll never resolve, and that's probably as it should be. Past years we've had the honor of helping turtles across our once gravel road. This year none have been seen trying to cross the new and improved paved road.

Summer Solstice brush pile burn

Photo by J. Harrington

We got some grass cut today, before the next rainy spell descends on us. There's a little buckthorn pulling still to be done on the one area we want to replant with native bushes, and the BH has finished rescuing her day lily bed from the grass invaders. It's about time to order up another MNDNR born permit so we'll be legal to celebrate either the Summer Solstice this Friday or Independence Day in a couple of weeks by burning last Winter's brush pile. After that, we can start on next year's. The rabbits and snakes and some songbirds seem to appreciate having a brush pile on, in or under which to rest and relax from predators. Maybe that's where the turtle headed for. We'll be sure to make a big commotion and watch carefully when we finally get around to igniting the pile.

Painted Turtle

By Gretchen Marquette

Summer road the ring around the lake, we drove mostly in silence.

Why aren’t I your wife?

You swerved around a turtle sunning itself.

I wanted to go back. To hold the hot disc of it and place it in the grass.

We were late for dinner.

One twentieth of a mile an hour, I said. Claws in tar. You turned the car around.

Traffic from the direction of the turtle, and you saw before I did, the fifty bones of the carapace,

crushed roman dome, the surprise of red blood.

I couldn’t help crying, couldn’t keep anything from harm.

I’m sorry, you said, and let it hurt.

The relief, always, of you in the seat beside me, you’ll never know.

Driving that road next winter, you remembered that place in the road. Your turtle.

During hibernation, a turtle’s heart beats once for every ten minutes.

It cannot voluntarily open its eyes.

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