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.

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.

Wounded

Walking on steep Timberstone Trail I saw a yellow item in the road. It was a turtle, about six inches long, on its back, squirming but unable to turn over. As I approached it pulled itself inward, scared. I saw the wound to its plastron. I turned it over. Scarlet blood flowed from a deep crack in its shell; it had been run over but not killed. I took a photo too sickening to show you, and deleted it. I lifted the turtle from the asphalt and placed it among some roadside plants. Thought it might prefer to die there instead of in the hot August road. Hope I didn't hurt it worse. Felt very bad that there wasn't any hope for its survival.

This is not the usual Three-Toed Box Turtle one sees around here; this turtle unquestionably has four toes. It does not have the brown streaks on its plastron which would firmly identify it as an Ornate Box Turtle, Terrapene ornata ornata, but in Missouri it must be either one or the other, and it is probably an Ornate. Its normal lifespan is 32 to 37 years. Every summer I see a couple of dozen turtle bodies, all sizes, littering the roads.On our narrow, steep, curving or shoulderless roads it is not always possible to swerve to avoid them. I would grieve except that I know there are many more turtles who survive in this area, where there is abundant conservation land. Whoever is responsible for that, I thank fervently.

Nearly a Murder

Yesterday when mowing fairly deep grass in the meadow the mower struck an immovable object. I pushed and pushed but the mower balked and would not go over. Finally saw what the obstacle was: a turtle with shell about five inches across, all pulled in of course. Was upset and concerned I might have decapitated or maimed it...but by the time I got the mower to level ground and shut it off the turtle had walked off and was nowhere in sight. Smart turtle.

It's turtle-crossing-the-highway season here and I keep an eye out as I drive and do all in my power to help them, including -- when to get out of the car and nab the turtle out of the road would be foolish -- pray that the turtle will make it across. Young males migrate looking for their own territory. They can be teensy, adorable things not three inches across, or more valiant and mature.

Snapper

Had no idea after 8 years living here that a snapper resided in LaBarque Creek shallows. Only because he or she stirred a little did he break up his perfect algae-coated camouflage and show himself. He was approximately 14 inches at the widest point, and I gave him lots of personal space. Small bluegill darted near him but not quite within reach. Watched for a while to see if the snapper would try to grab them. No; he/she was patient, very patient, waiting for one of the fish to be stupid.

The Ungrateful Turtle

Route 66 State Park -- formerly a toxic dump once known as Times Beach, Missouri -- isn't far from here. The EPA incinerated the toxins, fixed it all up with bike and horse paths, and I figure it isn't any more toxic than anything else, so I went walking there this fine June morning. Several people were on the same road, jogging, biking, rollerblading.

A common sight in spring and summer here is turtles crossing the roads and highways. People (and me too) often stop to pick 'em up and put 'em in the roadside so they won't be killed. A few drivers like to run turtles over to hear 'em pop. That type will roast for eternity. But this lean white-haired bicyclist wearing a bike suit stopped and laid down his bike when he saw the big turtle in the road, just about the time I saw it.

The turtle was black and the size of a dinner plate. It immediately pulled in its head and legs as the kind man approached. Using both hands, he picked up the turtle -- and darned if it didn't shoot out two quarts of pee in a stream thick as a racehorse's, all over the poor Good Samaritan.

A mother and daughter out walking saw this too, and we all had a good laugh at the old guy's expense.

Moral: When you pick up a turtle, make sure it is facing you.

Meet Bugs and Amphibians Online!

Meet the friends that came by one morning during this warm dry week. Mister "Walking Stick" (Diaphomera femorata, related to the grasshopper) had applied himself to the screen on the eastern window, and stuck there a good long time. I've seen him, other years, in green and yellow, but this year he was armored in bronze. And, same morning, this baby turtle got caught up in a corner between walls and had to be picked up by her still-translucent three-inch shell, and set face forward. And then -- she (or he) ran! I do mean she high-tailed it! She fled! I barely got the photo!