The little turtle

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

Greg took the dogs for a walk and I stayed at the cabin table writing a brief. The windows were wide open. The sunshine and the warm spring air tried to lure me outside, but I knew what I had to do.

I could hear the creek running high and I was sure that Greg and the dogs were having a good walk, but I sat firm with my resolution.

I would look up every now and then as a heavy footed chicken walked across the porch, or the particularly loud song of a spring bird spilled in the open window, but I was resolute. I held my ground at the keyboard ... until Greg returned.

Not even the dogs wanted to come inside after the walk. The day was just too beautiful. One lay in the grass at the foot of the front steps. The other curled up in the shade of the picnic table.

Greg opened the door with a smile and held out a clenched fist. "I think this must have fallen out of your car."

I knew right away what he meant. I have a plastic turtle that rides on my dash to remind me that there is no rush worth a speeding ticket, even when running late.

With the warm spring weather, I started to drive along the creek with my windows down so I can enjoy the creek sounds and smells as I head up and down the road. My dashboard turtle must have tumbled out.

I held out my hand, hardly looking up from my typing.

Greg opened his hand over mine. Something cold and slightly scratchy fell into my palm, and I pulled my hand back in surprise. This was not what I had expected. I looked down and saw the littlest turtle I had ever seen. It was not even as big as a quarter and was so perfectly formed.

It had yellow eyes and brown skin. It's brown shell was slightly fluted around the edges, and it was moving its legs incessantly. It was trying to make its way to the swollen creek.

It looked to me that it was a just-hatched map turtle and I quickly punched it into my computer. It was. I then looked up "care of baby turtles" and learned that only one out of every 100 will survive.

I could walk this little turtle back down where Greg had found him and send him on his march to certain doom, or I could try to buck the odds and keep him through the summer and let him go in the fall with a bit of a head start. I decided to do the latter.

So, where my husband, the dogs, the sunshine, chickens, and spring bird songs had all failed, this little turtle had triumphed and lured me away from my brief writing. He is basking now on a creek rock in a glass aquarium.

I placed some baby lettuce floating on the water. I have placed my smallest red wigglers in front of his face and watched as he craned his neck around to look at the worm as it wiggled away, but I have not yet seen him take a bite.

We shall see. Perhaps we can beat the odds, but no matter what, it will be an adventure to try, and share.

A 5-year-old friend stopped by yesterday evening and we sat together watched the little turtle swim. We went up to the worm bin together and easily picked out a small worm to take back to the turtle.

My friend proudly dropped the worm into the aquarium right by the turtle. We sat and watched the little turtle, talking of going for a walk along the creek and looking for more turtles. But this would have to wait for another time, when the day was not so late and the creek was not so high.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.