A couple of weeks ago, still a bit jet-lagged and drowsy, I woke up early and looked out the bedroom window. I didn’t have my glasses on and hadn’t had my coffee yet, so when I saw what looked like a turtle on top of the fence at 5:00 a.m., I shouted, “We have a turtle!”
“What? Where?”
“On top of the fence.”
“If it’s on top of the fence, it’s not a turtle.”
He was right. It wasn’t even alive. Two rocks sat side by side on the six-inch-wide surface (The Scientist measured the top for me because I’m short and he’s tall, but we both like to get the facts right.) The larger rock was a round river cobble; the smaller, a broken chunk of granite. Dr. Science handed me my glasses.
“Oh, I see. But what are they doing there?”
“Who?”
“The rocks.”
“Reminding me to set the live-trap to catch the packrat.” Of course.
We’ve had similar conversations before. Like the time (years ago) I told him I’d seen a mountain lion on my morning walk from our house (in the foothills) up toward the wilderness area.
“A mountain lion? Are you sure, Andi? Don’t you mean a bobcat?”
As if on cue, a beautiful bobcat with spotted fur and a stubby tail padded across the boulders in our then-back yard (different house) in full view of the kitchen window where we stood discussing the distinct characteristics of mountain lions visible in the split-second one bounds across the road in front of you: sleek, powerful beauty followed by a long tail that leaves a trail across your retinae.
“That,” I pointed, “is a bobcat.”
We have rattlesnake and toad stories, too, but I want to get back to the turtle and this morning’s coffee. I woke up restless, as I have for several mornings in a row, because I’m revising a manuscript, getting ready for a big overseas trip, and probably drinking too much coffee and overthinking my life. I was at my desk, cup of coffee in hand, when Dr. Science came around the corner (I’ve intalled a rearview mirror near my computer so he can no longer sneak up on me when I’m writing).
“Andi, come quick. You have to see this!”
I followed him into the kitchen where he pointed out the window. “Look what’s crossing Don’s driveway!” Given his heightened excitement, I thought perhaps it was a parade of peacocks (now that would be something!) or a sauntering bear cub. [The last time I called him to look out the window onto Don’s driveway, it was a dark winter morning after a heavy snowfall. The dead body turned out to be a buried tumbleweed.]
But today there was nothing. Just a small rock… that moved! A tiny tortoise! We ran next door, hoping Don wouldn’t choose that moment to back his red truck out of his garage. Dr. Science snapped this photo.
I picked it up and brought it to our just-watered back garden where it explored the wet patio and took cover under vinca leaves. Because of its brown (not red) eyes, we’re pretty sure this one is female. Maybe I’ll name her Van Morrison.
We’re hoping she’ll make herself at home, feasting on insects to her heart’s content. In fact, this may have been her home all along. When we first moved here almost three years ago, the realtor told us that the owner’s turtle had gone missing. At that time, the house had been vacant for months, and the yard neglected. We’ve since filled the house with life and been nurturing the yard back to life. I’d forgotten all about the turtle, but I’m glad she hadn’t given up on us.
Glad your resident turtle returned! And I love your references to "Dr. Science." Also, that mirror in your office is very good feng shui.
This is so beautiful -- I love the serendipity of the turtle appearing after you'd thought you'd seen one. Like magic.