Good Morning

Because daytime heat mounts quickly now, I hike the woods and meadows in the early morning, thinking I'm alone and apart from society, like Thoreau, but the fact is that company is everywhere. I politely said "Good morning" to this young and beautiful Three-toed Box Turtle at the woods' edge. Young, I guessed, because of its moist shiny shell, clear markings, and the fact that it wasn't scared of me.

On a Mission

Every morning this week I have said "Good morning" to this Three-Toed Box Turtle (Terrapene carolina triunguis) hangin' out beneath the bird feeder enjoying scattered birdseed. They prefer juicy food, like flies and cantaloupes, but our month-long drought left her world devoid of fruits and flying bugs, so she ate what was available. Early one morning I saw her crossing the lane toward the deep woods that cover the south-facing slope, her color matching some of the leaves already fallen, and I understood that she was fattening herself for a long sleep through the cold weather in a south-facing burrow she's now selecting or decorating. We humans do much the same, calling it football season, or good baking weather, or Oktoberfest. In case we aren't fat enough, we crawl out again in late November and call it Thanksgiving.

Courage

Usually it's young male turtles who travel away from their birthplaces to seek their own territories, so I'll call this one "he." The road is the two-lane, 40 mph Highway F on a Saturday morning, and I calculated this box turtle just starting his crossing had about a 50 percent chance of being crushed or maimed by monster turtles with wheels. He looked so brave and alone that I was moved to pick him up, take him across the road, and carry him well into the Divine property hoping that in its 100 acres he will find, as I did, the acre of his dreams.

Looks Like My Old Roommate Eileen

This Three-Toed Box Turtle I met today reminded me of my former roommate Eileen, who woke every morning at 4:30, went right to the kitchen and ground her coffee beans in an electric grinder, shocking me awake five days a week. It sounded like Guadalcanal.

With blue-ringed eyes and great tact I asked Eileen to grind her coffee beans the night before and explained why. She said, "The coffee wouldn't be fresh then," and continued her daily grinding. Lurch (our other roommate) and I had a problem. We lost two hours' sleep because the hag had to have freshly-ground coffee beans or else she was gonna die, I guess. Lurch wasn't going to do anything, so it was up to me.

While Eileen was out one day, I got a screwdriver, crept into the kitchen, and unplugged the coffee grinder. I removed its base plate, stuck the screwdriver inside the mechanism, jammed it in there real good, and scraped its insides around and bent whatever I could. Then I replaced the base plate, wiped off my fingerprints and left it as I found it. Later that day while I was at work it occurred to me that whatever I had done might cause Eileen to be electrocuted. I shrugged. I'd find out in the morning.

Meet Wendy, the Turtle Saver

This area's wildlife includes box turtles and painted turtles, and in seeking territories they cross the roads without looking. This Jeep wagon's back window had spelled out on it "I Rescue Turtles," and its owner happened by. Wendy loves all animals, but she is the turtle-rescuing squad around here. She will pick up turtles with cracked shells, who have been run over by cars, and take them to the animal hospital where she says the shells can often be fixed and the turtles made well again. That was news to me. She will stop and get a turtle out of the road or turn it around if it's headed for danger. She has 15 acres, room to bring turtles home and feed them melon rinds and corn on the cob until they're ready for the wild again. She said her mother raised turtles on Long Island, but what made her a turtle rescuer here in Missouri was witnessing a driver deliberately swerving his truck to crush a turtle that was in the road shoulder. (I myself have heard a crass person say about turtles, "I like to hear 'em pop.") She furiously followed the driver, pulled alongside and gave him the finger. "I don't do things like that," she said, "but I was so mad."

God bless Wendy the turtle savior! She is the answer to all turtle prayers.

End of the Cicadas

Dying by the dozens already, they banzai and smear windshields, or lie on my doorstep writhing like gangster James Cagney on the church steps in The Roaring Twenties (1939). Or the cicadas simply lie in the road and expire. Last night at the community center I heard that somebody's dog eats them. (Eeeww!) And in my own lane this morning this Three-Toed Box Turtle (Terrapine carolina triunguis) sat on the asphalt munching away, the crisp cicada wings saved for last.

The turtle is likely a male, judging by the red eyes. Generally, females box turtles have yellow eyes. Surprised to see it has a pink soft fleshy mouth like the rest of us. I hope the cicada was a memorable meal because won't taste it again for 13 years. How'd I get this photo? Bend way over; place camera, set for macro, on the asphalt upside-down except for a finger on the shutter, as close as possible. (Macro can focus at 1.8 inches.) Risk annoying the subject while he munches. Keep snapping blindly and hope to catch an image like this.