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his morning I drove the car over to my genius mechanic for the annual inspection. I love my mechanic, his family, and the way they run the business. His daughter, who is my son’s age, is just amazing: I wish I could adopt her on a part-time basis. She just became engaged; I felt happy all day at the news. And I’m no way a crazy-into-weddings/marriage person, for sure.
On the way back, coming out of a turn down a hill on a rural access road, I spotted the turtle: a pretty big one, on the left side of the road about to cross. It actually looked like a nap was in progress, about three feet into the eastbound lane (though these roads are all basically one big lane). A long way to go from the looks of it. A bad spot and one that may have ended in certain turtle death: the downhill, the curve, none of it bode well.
No-brainer: very slow moving, amazingly prehistoric looking creature aims to cross a thoroughfare, however infrequently traveled, with multi-ton vehicles going to and fro. Help.
Once a few years ago, just south of Stockbridge, I saw a smallish turtle, turned out to be boxing, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD!!! It was July, I was picking the son up from somewhere. For those not in the know, July in the Berkshires, while still somehow pastoral, is like Grand freakin’ Central for traffic volume, mostly on two-lane roads not built for the stuff.
Of course I screeched over to the side of the road, fortunately not causing a pileup in the process.
“What are you doing???” My son was, like, oh no, what’s she doing now??
What do you think, don’t you see that turtle??!!! This, from someone who also sees two-inch Woolly bear caterpillars crossing the road ahead.
I jumped out. Miraculously there was enough of a break in the traffic that I could run out into the middle of Rt. 7 and pick up the shelled guy and run back to the wooded side of the road.
I was kind of breathless by this point but remember very cool markings (artwork, those shells!) and that this turtle seemed about 3000 years old. Wow, that shell had some nicks and dings, and the little head that poked out, barely, seemed to hold the wisdom of the ages. Went well into the woods (how I may have avoided Lyme thus far, that’s another story) and set turtle down facing the safe way. Hoped for the best and ran back.
Fast forward three years.
Much bigger snapping (discovered firsthand) turtle covered with what looked and smelled like the sludge of the black lagoon. I grabbed the very thick dog blanket from the car, picked up what was probably about 30 lbs. of turtle, head snapping back toward me, incredible clawed appendages now blanketed, and heaved to the far side of the road, toward the tiny pond just beyond. Plop, down went turtle in the soft new-mowed grasses.
My mechanic’s daughter said they’ve seen a similar turtle in years past, but further up the road. Hmmm. Could be the same, may be 50 years old for all we know.
Check out the star flower confetti on his shell. Given the WOW length of the front claws, probably male: the snapping male’s, funnily enough, are longer than the female’s. And you can see the great ancient reptilian eye, because snappers can’t pull their head all the way in the shell: hence their snapping defense…
Slow down for turtles. Slow down, you’re movin’ too fast…