A Walk with Turtles

Several days ago while Frances and I watered and weeded our flower and vegetable gardens Frances cautioned me to avoid a small hole, “There may be a frog or toad in there.” Sure enough, when I looked down the hole, a small toad peered back up at me.

Late in the day we walked along Emil Road, a nearby dirt road into the wild. There we see daily changes: trees and plants leaf out and blossom, wild flowers bloom, and animal tracks remain, etched into sand and dried mud.

Recently we witnessed two painted turtles laying their eggs in holes they’d dug in the sand by the edge of the road. Their nests were close to a river and both mamas were within three to four feet of each other, one faced into the grass, rear extending out into the road; the other faced toward the road, rear pointing toward the grass.

We watched them for several minutes. Then, feeling like interlopers, we moved to the other side of the road to look closely at some beautiful white Canadian anemones. When we turned back, the turtle who faced toward us was gone; the other remained, resolute, over her hole.

We continued walking. Further along we found numerous sets of bear and deer footprints. Several bear of different sizes inhabited the area; a mama deer, too, with her young fawn. The fawn’s hoof print was less than one inch long from front to back … tiny.

I’ve seen a newborn fawn once. Several years ago a mother deer crossed Hwy. 13 in front of our car and her baby, following close behind, slipped and slid, falling splay-legged in the middle of the pavement. Frances leapt out of the car to encourage the fawn’s quick get-away as I turned on blinkers and pulled into the middle of the road to slow approaching traffic. Terrifying as it was for several minutes, everything turned out fine….

Every time we walk Emil Road … a new adventure. Last night’s walk revealed another painted turtle laying eggs along the other side of the road. This time, I actually saw several eggs beneath mama’s tail and between her rear feet.

Several mornings ago I found a baby Eastern phoebe out of its nest, sprawled on the concrete step outside our front door. It was still alive, its eyes closed, its beak opening and shutting, opening and shutting. I pulled a plastic bag over my hand and deposited the baby back in the nest. I’m not sure whether it survived; I can only see one head or tail at various times of the day. We’ll find out soon when our fledglings take flight.