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

More flowerings of summer daze

On this penultimate day of July 2024, the weather forecast is changing by the moment. Thunderstorms come and go in the hourly forecast without, so far, arriving at our door. We’ve reached a time of year when fawns, wearing rapidly fading spots, stand in the road and stare quizzically at oncoming vehicles thinking “Who are you and what are you doing on my road?” We slowed to a crawl twice last evening, thanks to our policy of sharing the road with fawns.

milkweed plants with seed pods

Photo by J. Harrington

I’ll have to look more carefully because the milkweed growing along the road in front of the house doesn’t look anywhere near close to having developed seed pods. Perhaps the difference is that those in the picture are part of a rain garden at a local library and not subject to mowing as our roadside milkweed is. The photo above was taken early August several years ago. We saw Joe Pye weed in bloom recently, and that’s about on time. That was growing along a township road that’s generally not supposed to be mown before August 1. As with many things these days, it gets complicated.

Out in the fields behind the house, mullein are in flower. I couldn’t see any milkweed behind the house but will check on the far side of the rise one day soon, probably while doing some yard chores once the temperatures cool down a little. One of the nicer things about August is that October then is but two months or less away.

Milkweed

Helen Hunt Jackson

O patient creature with a peasant face, 
Burnt by the summer sun, begrimed with stains, 
And standing humbly in the dingy lanes! 
There seems a mystery in thy work and place, 
Which crowns thee with significance and grace; 
Whose is the milk that fills thy faithful veins? 
What royal nursling comes at night and drains 
Unscorned the food of the plebeian race? 
By day I mark no living thing which rests 
On thee, save butterflies of gold and brown, 
Who turn from flowers that are more fair, more sweet, 
And, crowding eagerly, sink fluttering down, 
And hang, like jewels flashing in the heat, 
Upon thy splendid rounded purple breasts.

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