Strange times on turtle island

The Better Half wanted to show me a turtle she noticed in the driveway yesterday. By the time she got the dogs back into the house and her spouse out into the heat and humidity, the turtle had disappeared. Where it went is unclear. I poked around the drive’s edges a little with no sign. I mean, how fast can a turtle move and why would one move very fast anyhow? Once again Nature has left me scratching my head especially since I think turtle nesting season is more in June and early July and the reported size was considerably larger than a hatchling. I’m also pondering why a turtle would have wandered onto the drive since the nearest real water, not counting the “wet spot" in the back yard, is about a quarter of a mile north of where s/he was observed.

where turtles belong in mid-Summer, sunning on a rock

Photo by J. Harrington

Also yesterday, during the evening, one of our dogs, I believe mine, made a puddle on the carpet. SiSi has lived with us for a decade and knows better. I don’t know what happened with her nor is it clear why her four-legged housemate would have thrown up several partially digested doggie treats midday today. If most things made sense, where would be the fun, right?

When I peeked at the forecast a bit ago, we’re supposed to be getting thunderstorms for about 24 hours, from 6 or 7 this evening through the same time tomorrow. I hope that’s inaccurate. My dog in particular, and the Better Half’s beagle less so, gets agitated by thunder and lightning. I don’t want to have to spend the night holding the paws of an aging yellow lab crossbreed instead of getting my much needed beauty rest.

May next month be filled with better news and activities.

The Little Turtle

By Vachel Lindsay

There was a little turtle.

He lived in a box.

He swam in a puddle.

He climbed on the rocks.

He snapped at a mosquito.

He snapped at a flea.

He snapped at a minnow.

And he snapped at me.

He caught the mosquito.

He caught the flea.

He caught the minnow.

But he didn't catch me.

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Welcome, May!

 So far, May 1 is shaping up as better than average. A book, Traditional Ecological Knowledge, I had requested through an interlibrary loan, is now sitting next to my chair. (I was getting eyestrain reading a pdf on my computer screen.) On my way home from the library, I had an opportunity to help an old turtle, Blanding’s, I think, cross the road. It’s the time of year when turtle’s look for just the right spot to nest and lay eggs. For some reason, that seems to require an inordinate number of road crossings.

why did the turtle cross the road?
to lay some eggs!

Photo by J. Harrington

While we’re on the topic of living dangerously and “enjoying” the excitement, I put my winter weight pjs into seasonal storage this morning. Feel free to blame me if we get a spring blizzard in the next few days. Then again, it probably won’t be long until we’re fussing about heat and humidity. Let’s focus on enjoying as much as we can of this wonderful transition season. It’s my favorite, after autumn.

The unidentified small, blue flowers recently mentioned on these pages are probably violets, at least most of them. Today there’s a long row of dandelions sunning themselves next to the road. Next to the front door, hanging baskets of pansies add a welcoming touch, untouched, so far, by frost. Just remember, where we live it’s turtles all the way down.

Turtle

by Mary Oliver

Now I see it--
it nudges with its bulldog head
the slippery stems of the lilies, making them tremble;
and now it noses along in the wake of the little brown teal

who is leading her soft children
from one side of the pond to the other; she keeps
close to the edge
and they follow closely, the good children--

the tender children,
the sweet children, dangling their pretty feet
into the darkness.
And now will come--I can count on it--the murky splash,

the certain victory
of that pink and gassy mouth, and the frantic
circling of the hen while the rest of the chicks
flare away over the water and into the reeds, and my heart

will be most mournful
on their account. But, listen,
what's important?
Nothing's important

except that the great and cruel mystery of the world,
of which this is a part,
not to be denied. Once,
I happened to see, on a city street, in summer,

a dusty, fouled turtle plodded along--
a snapper--
broken out I suppose from some backyard cage--
and I knew what I had to do--

I looked it right in the eyes, and I caught it--
I put it, like a small mountain range,
into a knapsack, and I took it out
of the city, and I let it

down into the dark pond, into
the cool water,
and the light of the lilies,
to live. 

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Enjoy turtle crossing season

An unexpected touch of autumn has arrived, or, perhaps, spring’s cooler temperatures have returned briefly. It’s a treat, but disconcerting to be enjoying mid-60’s plus a breeze. Summer returns tomorrow and hangs around for awhile. The brief duration of our cool spell will minimize the likelihood I’ll be overcome by a wave of ambition. Warmer temperatures enhance my justification for conserving my energy.

Perhaps it was just coincidence, or maybe insects anticipated the cooler interlude, because last night I caught and transported a cricket from the downstairs floor and this morning did the same with not one, not two, but three smallish spiders in the kitchen sink. Each was scooped into a clear plastic cup and deposited outside. (I don’t do that with ants or ticks, however.) Crickets are supposed to bring good luck and I hope spiders will spin webs that will capture mosquitos and deer flies.

slow down (for turtles)

Photo by J. Harrington

The lack of rain means the grass hasn’t been growing which means I haven’t been mowing. Maybe I’ll get around to doing something more than watering plants this week, maybe not. It’s really nice to not have a home owners’ association or city code fussing about the condition of our “lawn.” My ambition seems to be inversely proportional to my age. If I’m going to work up the energy to do much of anything, it’s going to be to go fishing.

There’s a number of stories in today’s Star Tribune about labor shortages, population growth, decline and shifts, vacant offices in the suburbs. I remember the days when Minnesota had an office of state planning that could provide a coherent overview of trends and discontinuities. Of course, I also remember when Minnesota was more liberal and forward-looking than it is these days. I’m still very disappointed that the DFL didn’t restore the citizen board to the Pollution Control Agency nor did our outdated mining laws get a hearing. Furthermore, the state seems committed to the increasingly misguided concept of perpetual growth. I wonder of any of our environmental organizations will take a lead in getting the state, or some large cities, to take a hard look at Doughnut Economics or something like the Donella Meadows’ Vermont New Economy program. Speaking as a recovering planner, I long ago learned that “more of the same never solved a problem.”

This Morning I Could Do/A Thousand Things

By Robert Hedin

I could fix the leaky pipe

Under the sink, or wander over

And bother Jerry who’s lost

In the bog of his crankcase.

I could drive the half-mile down

To the local mall and browse

Through the bright stables

Of mowers, or maybe catch

The power-walkers puffing away

On their last laps. I could clean

The garage, weed the garden,

Or get out the shears and

Prune the rose bushes back.

Yes, a thousand things

This beautiful April morning. 

But I’ve decided to just lie

Here in this old hammock,

Rocking like a lazy metronome,

And wait for the day lilies

To open. The sun is barely

Over the trees, and already

The sprinklers are out,

Raining their immaculate

Bands of light over the lawns.

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A different September song.

The holiday weekend is over. The furnace tech visited this morning and said we’re good to go for the winter. We have two family birthdays coming up this month, autumn Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] shares begin next week, the Equinox occurs on the 22nd and World Rivers Day is the 25th. Those are the current, known, high points this month for us. I’ll see what I can do to sneak in some pleasant surprises between now and month’s end.

Brake for Snakes

Photo by J. Harrington

Female ruby-throated hummingbirds are still coming to the sugar water feeder. Yesterday and the day before we say a “baby” snake about six inches long in the woods on the south side of the house. I think it was a hog-nose snake but wouldn’t want to have to swear to that in court. As I recall, that’s the only (live) snake we’ve seen all spring and summer, but we haven’t been walking the property much so that’s not surprising. Since the township paved the gravel road, it’s been more hazardous for reptiles to warm themselves on the roadway. We did see a couple of snake corpses last spring. It would be nice if the county and township would put up some snake crossing signs to go with the turtle crossing signs already in place, although we could use a few more of the latter, also. Isn’t this about the time of year when little turtles hatch and head for the ponds? It was the end of August a couple of years ago that I rescued a baby snapper from the road, parked him or her in the birdbath overnight and released the critter the next day in the pond up the road.

turtle crossing

Photo by J. Harrington

(Today's title refers to this.)

SEPTEMBER

by: Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

HE golden-rod is yellow;

The corn is turning brown;

The trees in apple orchards

With fruit are bending down.

 

The gentian's bluest fringes

Are curling in the sun;

In dusty pods the milkweed

Its hidden silk has spun.

 

The sedges flaunt their harvest,

In every meadow nook;

And asters by the brook-side

Make asters in the brook.

 

From dewy lanes at morning

The grapes' sweet odors rise;

At noon the roads all flutter

With yellow butterflies.

 

By all these lovely tokens

September days are here,

With summer's best of weather,

And autumn's best of cheer.

 

But none of all this beauty

Which floods the earth and air

Is unto me the secret

Which makes September fair.

 

'T is a thing which I remember;

To name it thrills me yet:

One day of one September

I never can forget.

"September" is reprinted from Poems. Helen Jackson. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1892.

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Why did the turtle cross the road?

I expect to see an occasional turtle crossing a road in May, June or early July. This morning I watched a medium size snapping turtle clamber from a gravel road onto the grassy shoulder. I have no idea what’s going on, unless the return of our drought dried up the turtle’s home pond. Then again, in looking at the drought report, I don’t understand how we can be almost half an inch above normal precipitation for the year and still be in a moderate drought in the southern half of the county. We’ll just add that to the long and growing list of things I don’t understand.

late May: painted turtle crossing road

Photo by J. Harrington

From the reports thus far, I’ve not noticed any real surprises or upsets in yesterday’s primary. We now get beleaguered for the next three months or so with stupid commercials and annoying duns to contribute to the cause. Meanwhile, we live in anxiety that, come November, the crazies may somehow prevail and, if they don’t, will spend the next two to four year election cycle screaming about “stolen” elections. There’s gotta be a better way to do politics.

Meanwhile, I’m delighted to see no 90℉ temperatures in the extended weather forecast. I may run out of excuses for avoiding doing outside chores, if I can get over feeling enervated. All of the craziness in the world is making it hard for me to get motivated. Are you having a similar problem? I think it may be a variant on solastalgia, with the term natural environment having the broadest possible applicability. Maybe that turtle this morning is as confused as many of us.

Turtle

By Kay Ryan

Who would be a turtle who could help it?

A barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared helmet,

she can ill afford the chances she must take

in rowing toward the grasses that she eats.

Her track is graceless, like dragging

a packing-case places, and almost any slope

defeats her modest hopes. Even being practical,

she's often stuck up to the axle on her way

to something edible. With everything optimal,

she skirts the ditch which would convert

her shell into a serving dish. She lives

below luck-level, never imagining some lottery

will change her load of pottery to wings.

Her only levity is patience,

the sport of truly chastened things.

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A lovely day here on Turtle Island

Why did the turtle cross the road?    To lay her eggs!

This may be the week that rewards us for living here the other 51. [I hope I haven’t jinxed us.] The weather is a delight. The air is full of dragonflies feeding on the swarms of mosquitos. Yesterday a painted turtle visited the front yard. We have no idea whether it’s still hunkered under the front stoop, where she was last seen disappearing.

This morning I noticed the beardtongue buds are beginning to turn into flowers. Also this morning I noticed a different painted turtle crossing a gravel road a couple of miles from the house. She hunkered at the road’s edge as I drove past slowly in the Jeep. Columbine flowers are blooming in scattered sites around the yard.

painted turtle crossing gravel road

Photo by J. Harrington

My presumption is that each of the turtles I saw is a female on an egg-laying mission. It is that time of year. As we noted the other day about whitetail fawns, it’s heartening to see reproductive success being sought or delivered as the countryside greens up.

local turtle crossing sign

Photo by J. Harrington

All of this reminds me of what’s probably my all time favorite origin story. It’s embedded in an essay by Robin Wall Kimmerer in emergence magazine. The title is Ancient Green: Moss, Climate, and Deep Time. It’s worth your time to read if you want to know about Turtle Island.

Ode to Langston

By Dawn Quigley

Langston, we too, sing  Turtle Island.

We are the 574 Nations.

They want to hide us

In the past tense,

Yet we love,

And dream,

And are still here.

Today, now,

We are at the oval table

As our women lead.

Nobody can ever

Say to us,

“Natives lived, Natives ate, drank, led.”

We are present tense.

Because,

They will know what we’ve always known

And be humbled—

We, too, sing  Turtle Island.

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Happy #WorldTurtleDay

It's almost cold enough today to send our local turtle populations back into hibernation instead of seeking mates and nesting sites. Please be careful and slow down as you drive local roads. Be sure to watch for crossing turtles whether or not they're in a designated turtle crossing.

turtle crossing sign

Photo by J. Harrington

In case you're unfamiliar with what some of our local turtles look like, here are some examples:

snapping turtle

Photo by J. Harrington

Blanding's turtle

Photo by J. Harrington

painted turtle

Photo by J. Harrington

If you look carefully, you may notice that snapping turtles think they can cross a road wherever the hell they want, while Blanding's and painted turtles are more discrete and cross on gravel roads. Often, but not always, true!

Turtle

By Kay Ryan

Who would be a turtle who could help it?

A barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared helmet,

she can ill afford the chances she must take

in rowing toward the grasses that she eats.

Her track is graceless, like dragging

a packing-case places, and almost any slope

defeats her modest hopes. Even being practical,

she's often stuck up to the axle on her way

to something edible. With everything optimal,

she skirts the ditch which would convert

her shell into a serving dish. She lives

below luck-level, never imagining some lottery

will change her load of pottery to wings.

Her only levity is patience,

the sport of truly chastened things.

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On Mother's Day

The pear tree is approaching full bloom. Many years this occurs just before one of the season's first thunder storms blows through and strips the petals from the flowers. This year may be different, or not. May is a month of flowers. Later this month we'll look for trillium and other woods wildflowers. Last week the marsh marigolds were still in fine shape. Wild plum bushes are blooming along a number of rural roadsides. Several farmer's fields hold lambs and calves, seeking moms or playing and pronking.

pear tree blossoms

Photo by J. Harrington

It's now time to watch out for snakes sunning themselves along the roads. (We noticed a very large gopher snake than had been run over last week just a little north of our property.) Soon it will be time to watch for turtle crossings as they head off to lay their eggs. Keep in mind that not all turtles cross at the crossings. We don't recall ever seeing little hatchlings headed for the "mother pond."

turtle crossing sign

Photo by J. Harrington

Speaking of mothers, both the Better Half and the Daughter Person seem to have had a good Mother's Day so far. It's the first real one for the granddaughter, daughter and mother, which makes it pretty special. My main gift is staying home this evening so I don't return the gift of a spring cold the granddaughter has shared. It's a real challenge to teach kids that "share and share alike" doesn't include colds, etc.

In honor of this year's Mother's Day, Wendell Berry's poem resonates strongly of times in my past.

To My Mother

by Wendell Berry

I was your rebellious son,
do you remember? Sometimes
I wonder if you do remember,
so complete has your forgiveness been.

So complete has your forgiveness been
I wonder sometimes if it did not
precede my wrong, and I erred,
safe found, within your love,

prepared ahead of me, the way home,
or my bed at night, so that almost
I should forgive you, who perhaps
foresaw the worst that I might do,

and forgave before I could act,
causing me to smile now, looking back,
to see how paltry was my worst,
compared to your forgiveness of it

already given. And this, then,
is the vision of that Heaven of which
we have heard, where those who love
each other have forgiven each other,

where, for that, the leaves are green,
the light a music in the air,
and all is unentangled,
and all is undismayed.

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A hatchling's adventure #phenology

Have you ever seen a snapping turtle the size of a quarter? I did this morning while walking my dog SiSi. At least I'm pretty sure it's a snapping turtle, based on the shell and general appearance. Why it was walking along the pavement of our township road, away from the nearest ponds will forever remain a puzzle. Since, for the past few days, we've had to walk past the corpse of a small snake that was run over, I promptly picked up the little turtle by the edges of its carapace and brought it back to the house along with SiSi.

snapping turtle hatchling placed in bird bath

Photo by J. Harrington

When I placed the little one on the deck railing for a mug shot, it promptly attempted to scurry (can turtles scurry?) off the railing into a one storey fall. I didn't want that to happen so, again grabbing carapace edges, I picked up our little snapper and placed it in the bird bath, where it quickly made itself right at home. Shortly thereafter, the hatchling was transported to the weedy edge of a nearby pond North of the house and released. We hope all goes well for it while doubting we'll ever see "hide nor hair" of it again. At least we didn't see it headed South on the tarmac as we drove past the release point a couple of hours later. I sort of understand how sea turtles all head down the beach to the sea but I can't begin to picture how a recently hatched turtle has any idea of which way to go.

There's still some ruby-throated hummingbirds at the feeder and, we think, some monarch butterflies in the vicinity. Whitetail fawns have grown remarkably over the Summer and the one we say yesterday evening under the pear tree still had its spots, as did another one we saw along a nearby roadside yesterday or the day before.

The Little Turtle

By Vachel Lindsay

There was a little turtle.

He lived in a box.

He swam in a puddle.

He climbed on the rocks.

He snapped at a mosquito.

He snapped at a flea.

He snapped at a minnow.

And he snapped at me.

He caught the mosquito.

He caught the flea.

He caught the minnow.

But he didn't catch me.

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Spring's gains and losses #phenology

[UPDATE: we tardily wish Happy Birthday! 🎂🎂🎂 to Minnesota's own Robert Zimmerman! 👏👏]

Between being retired and following the COVID-19 safety measures, we've not been driving as much as in former years. That might  account for our lack of turtle sightings this year. Or, perhaps the turtles egg-laying has been delayed? Anyway, we've missed the brief encounters this Spring that we've enjoyed most years by this time.

painted turtle crossing gravel road

Photo by J. Harrington

Hoary puccoon has started to come into flower. Several online sources mention Native American uses of this plant, but I've found no mention of it in Mary Siisip Geniusz Plants Have So Much to Give Us, All We Have to Do Is Ask | Anishinaabe Botanical Teachings.

hoary puccoon beginning to bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

The pear tree blossoms' petals, like last Winter's snowflakes, have been lost to seasonal changes. The breezes of this past week disbursed them into the taller and still growing grass stems. In fact, about all the trees around the neighborhood have reached a stage of full leafout. There are few, if any, open spaces left in the treeline, but many trees like crab apples are still in flower. If wildflowers and trees were in bloom year round, would we then come to take their beauty for granted?

Without much expectation of success, this morning I once again set traps for pocket gophers. There are fresh mounds in several widely separated locations on the back slope. If I could train gophers to eat buckthorn roots, I'd consider it a fair trade, but the gophers prefer the more open country of our fields where there are no buckthorns. As far as I know, gophers serve a very limited ecological role and have destroyed numerous fruit trees we've planted plus, they seem responsible for the disappearance of several prairie wildflowers we've planted, such as pasque flowers. Although the local deer have killed half of our chokeberry bushes, at least deer offer occasional aesthetic pleasures. Pocket gophers are ugly and out of sight underground most of the time.

Ellen Bass

GOPHERS

I’ve tried to kill the gophers. On stained

knees, up to my elbows in their earthen

tunnels, setting the green toothed trap, my human

scent masked with anise oil, then sweetened

with leaves of the sweet potato vine my neighbor maintains

they can’t resist, a rodent version of caviar and champagne.

But the dead must do some arcane

transmission of wisdom to the living. They’ve eaten

every fleck of leaf, sprung each trap with cool disdain.

They’re marvels, miniature Charlemagnes. Then

suddenly, I hear it—like a tiny microphone’s hidden

under the dirt. You couldn’t mistake this blazon

for anything else, like Louis Armstrong singing

It’s a Wonderful World. But when

the little fists of four leaf clover begin

to tremble, I’m confused not to feel the thrill of the hunt, the cocaine

rush in my veins. I pick up the shovel—I’ve slain

them like this—a hose down the hole, then bash their brains,

but my will wanes. It seems pointless to kill one denizen

when there must be dozens taking the A-train,

just trying to get to Sugar Hill. Listen.

It’s not an Elizabeth Bishop fish thing.

It’s not Galway’s bear or Stafford’s deer on the mountain,

not Kunitz’s whale or Donald Hall’s paean,

scratching the jowls of a cooked pig. I look into the grainy

hole the gopher’s dug with his skinny

incisors, this corridor between

worlds, and it’s the sound that stops me. That unseen

small tearing of the roots on such a serene

morning. I’m watching the grass shiver. I’m leaning

over, straining to hear it again.

—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010

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First week of July #phenology

There are a couple of blossoms developing on the swamp milkweed that's growing in the "wet spot" in the back yard. We hope to see a few more, actually, lots more, monarch butterflies soon. Whitetail deer are wandering out of the woods into the open areas where the breezes may hinder the mosquitos and deer flies that have become major annoyances. Meanwhile, the population of dragonflies has diminished from the numbers visible a month ago.

swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata)

Photo by J. Harrington

We find ourselves wishing that our location was much more boreal than it is. Today we read, for the first time that we remember, that pine martens, creatures of the boreal forest, are predators of red squirrels, of which we have an overabundance. They're harassing the birds at the feeders, or at least scaring them away, When red, or gray, squirrels aren't around, we're watching, in no particular order:

• cardinals
• rose-breasted grosbeaks
• goldfinches
• ruby-throated hummingbirds
• red-winged blackbirds
• downy woodpeckers
• hairy woodpeckers
• red-bellied woodpeckers

Yesterday we helped a little old lady Blanding's turtle cross the road. At least we presume it was a lady on her way back from laying eggs. She made reasonably speedy progress for a turtle so all we had to do was stand over her to make sure any traffic arriving couldn't inadvertently drive over her. The whole episode took little more than 30 seconds or so and no traffic appeared until a minute or so after she was in the roadside grasses and we were back in the Jeep.

Blanding's turtle on a road

Photo by J. Harrington

All-in-all, we're pleased to report that this first week of July has been close to normal, or at least as close to what used to be normal as things seem to get these days. Hot, humid, buggy, thunderstormy--pretty typical July conditions.

The Turtle

-Mary Oliver

breaks from the blue-black
skin of the water...
to dig with her ungainly feet
a nest...
and you think
of her patience, her fortitude,
her determination to complete
what she was born to do-
and then you realize a greater thing-
she doesn't consider
what she was born to do.
She's only filled
with an old blind wish.
It isn't even hers but came to her
in the rain or the soft wind,
which is a gate through which her life keeps walking.
she can't see
herself apart from the rest of the world
or the world from what she must do
every spring.
Crawling up the high hill,
luminous under the sand that has packed against her skin.
she doesn't dream
she knows
she is a part of the pond she lives in,
the tall trees are her children,
the birds that swim above her
are tied to her by an unbreakable string.

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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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Where are Turtle Island's turtles this May? #phenology?

our township probably needs more signs like this

Photo by J. Harrington

To many Native Americans and First Nations people North America is known as Turtle Island. We live in an area, once inhabited by the Dakota and the Anishinaabe, that has many wetlands and water bodies. Many years during May we see, at various times, a number of turtles crossing local roads as they go to lay their eggs. This year we've seen none.

Blanding's turtle crossing our formerly gravel road

Photo by J. Harrington

In part, we're wondering if some part of the turtles' life cycle is occurring later this month, along with many other Spring events. Or, is the lack of sightings due, in part, to our recently blacktopped township road?

snapping turtle crossing a paved road

Photo by J. Harrington

Blanding's turtles, which we've seen nearby a number of times in years past, typically nests in June, according to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. A similar pattern is followed by snapping turtles. Blanding's, snapping and painted are the three turtle species we've seen crossing roads, but there are many more species native to Minnesota.

painted turtle crossing our formerly gravel road

Photo by J. Harrington

Turtle Island is also the title of Gary Snyder's Pulitzer Prize-winning book of poems but, as far as we can recall, there's no poem in it mentioning a turtle. Snyder's homage to Turtle Island in a poem comes in a different volume (Axe Handles) with the poem:

For All

Gary Snyder

Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.

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Please be kind to each other while you can.

Beltane? May Day? or mayday?

Happy May Day from the North Country. We can tell it's May 1st by the mid-day temperature of 41℉. Some of us believe that makes it more than one kind of Mayday! It would most likely be even more frustrating and disheartening if we were celebrating the feast of Beltane, the start of druid Summer. For that matter, with the local temperatures we're enjoying, celebrating today with a fire festival has lots of appeal. Unfortunately, about half of Minnesota is under burning restrictions, so no Beltane fires for us.

in May, the yaks come back

Photo by J. Harrington

That's probably just as well for one of the neighbors. They've a small herd of yaks that they pasture nearby during the warmer months. We noticed them this morning as we drove past. Given the length of yak hair(?) - fur(?), it might be dangerous for the animals to drive them between Beltane fires to purify them.

May is the month for turtle travel

Photo by J. Harrington

If the weather isn't too far out of whack, May should be the month for wild flowers and turtles. At least, May is the month when we have the most pictures of wild flowers and turtles. Another contender this May might be sandhill cranes. Several just flew, trumpeting, over the house. We were standing on the deck with both dogs, surveying the status of things in our domain, when crane calls from directly overhead, and not very high, startled the dickens out of all three of us. May could turn out to be more exciting than we've been anticipating. Stay tuned!

Turtle

By Kay Ryan

Who would be a turtle who could help it?

A barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared helmet,

she can ill afford the chances she must take

in rowing toward the grasses that she eats.

Her track is graceless, like dragging

a packing-case places, and almost any slope

defeats her modest hopes. Even being practical,

she's often stuck up to the axle on her way

to something edible. With everything optimal,

she skirts the ditch which would convert

her shell into a serving dish. She lives

below luck-level, never imagining some lottery

will change her load of pottery to wings.

Her only levity is patience,

the sport of truly chastened things.

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It's Summer, or not, - depends on who you ask #phenology

Meteorological Summer began almost a week ago, on Friday, June 1. Astronomical Summer won't begin until Thursday, June 21. If you're confused, here's the difference. Since we haven't yet burned our Winter's brush pile (too dry since the snow melted), maybe we'll hold off until the Solstice and invite our Celtic and pagan friends. First, of course, we'll need to secure a MNDNR Burn Permit.

celebrating a Summer Solstice

Photo by J. Harrington

Of late we've not been out and about as much as we'd like which may explain our lack of observations, so far this year, of snakes or turtles on our roadsides. Yesterday we did notice a swallowtail butterfly that had landed about ten or twelve feet off the ground among the leaves of a maple tree. We're not used to looking up in the trees for butterflies and have no idea if this is unusual or normal. There's something to research come our next rainy day.

a painted turtle crossing a country road

Photo by J. Harrington

Actually, we're looking forward(?) to getting back to some outdoor work now that we've finished the oil change on the tractor. There's still plenty more buckthorn to be pulled, which leads to another brush pile that we can torch come Autumnal equinox. One of the nice things about outdoor chores is they keep us away from news and social media which, these days, does wonders to improve our blood pressure and our general outlook on life. We've started to threaten, more and more, to become a Luddite, as the technology on which we've become dependent has become less reliable and secure. Since nature abhors a vacuum, we're exploring Druidry and Taoism, along with Zen, to help us adjust to whatever passes for a new "normal" these days. Each has a much longer and more reliable history than contemporary technology does.

Summer

By John Clare

Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come, 

For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom, 

And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest, 

And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast; 

She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair, 

And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair; 

I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest, 

And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast. 

The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May, 

The merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day, 

And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy nest 

In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast; 

I'll lean upon her breast and I'll whisper in her ear 

That I cannot get a wink o'sleep for thinking of my dear; 

I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away 

Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Spring blues and riotous others #phenology

As we drove past the marshes North of county Highway 36 today we spotted a great blue heron quietly keeping an eye on things. Some sort of small, blue butterfly has been flitting about the local fields the past few days. We're hopeful it could be a Karner Blue, but haven't got a close enough look to be sure. One of these days we'll see if the bluebirds have nested in their house.

did you know grosbeaks like grape jelly?

Photo by J. Harrington

A male Baltimore oriole (and maybe a female) has been seen at the grape jelly feeder. Most of the prior tasters had been male rose-breasted grosbeaks. Ruby-throated hummingbirds are regularly stopping at the feeders in front and behind the house. A male turkey was strutting and displaying this morning in the field about 150 yards West of the house. Neighborhood fruit trees and lilac bushes have developed magnificent flowering. More and more dandelion blossoms are appearing daily, sometimes, it seems, hourly.

bull snake sunning, mid-May 2014

Photo by J. Harrington

So far we haven't seen any reptiles warming themselves on local roads, but we did notice a number of barn swallows nesting under the eaves of a local Family Pathways store when we swung by to make  a donation this morning. They were almost as thick as Minnesota's state bird, the mosquito, which, thankfully, haven't yet hatched in numbers. All in all, Spring is getting more and more colorful by the day.

Colors passing through us

By Marge Piercy

Purple as tulips in May, mauve

into lush velvet, purple

as the stain blackberries leave

on the lips, on the hands,

the purple of ripe grapes

sunlit and warm as flesh.

Every day I will give you a color,

like a new flower in a bud vase

on your desk. Every day

I will paint you, as women

color each other with henna

on hands and on feet.

Red as henna, as cinnamon,

as coals after the fire is banked,

the cardinal in the feeder,

the roses tumbling on the arbor

their weight bending the wood

the red of the syrup I make from petals.

Orange as the perfumed fruit

hanging their globes on the glossy tree,

orange as pumpkins in the field,

orange as butterflyweed and the monarchs

who come to eat it, orange as my

cat running lithe through the high grass.

Yellow as a goat’s wise and wicked eyes,

yellow as a hill of daffodils,

yellow as dandelions by the highway,

yellow as butter and egg yolks,

yellow as a school bus stopping you,

yellow as a slicker in a downpour.

Here is my bouquet, here is a sing

song of all the things you make

me think of, here is oblique

praise for the height and depth

of you and the width too.

Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.

Green as mint jelly, green

as a frog on a lily pad twanging,

the green of cos lettuce upright

about to bolt into opulent towers,

green as Grand Chartreuse in a clear

glass, green as wine bottles.

Blue as cornflowers, delphiniums,

bachelors’ buttons. Blue as Roquefort,

blue as Saga. Blue as still water.

Blue as the eyes of a Siamese cat.

Blue as shadows on new snow, as a spring

azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop.

Cobalt as the midnight sky

when day has gone without a trace

and we lie in each other’s arms

eyes shut and fingers open

and all the colors of the world

pass through our bodies like strings of fire.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.