The Curious Turtle

Nearly six years ago, I was kayaking on the Rancocas River; it was a "family" outing -- "" because it was when I was still married and "family" kayaking meant me, him and my mother-in-law. In this case, it also meant the sister-in-law and her girls.

It's probably an exaggeration, but I never felt more alone in New Jersey than when I was with his family. Not that I didn't like, enjoy or get along with them. The connections between them let alone between them and me were as delicate as spider's webs. Obviously intricate and sturdy when used in a conventional way, say trapping flies. Unavoidably fragile when intruded upon by the unexpected other, say a culturally different (maybe opposite) not conventionally pretty or demurely behaved daughter-in-law clumsily tramping through a web.

So in our flotilla we started down the river. Late spring or early summer, maybe Memorial Day weekend, I can't remember. The trees were thick around us, but there was plenty of sun. As I glanced around me, I saw little tiny turtles sunning themselves. So tiny their sunning spots were lily pads.

Can I keep one if I catch one?

I had wanted a turtle for a very long time, maybe as far back as Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, but not the kind you buy in a pet store. That clearly would be cheating. My mom and dad found one on the bank of the canal during a walk on one of their visits to New Jersey. They brought it home to me, but it wasn't the kind of thing you would keep as a pet. Prehistoric-looking and not at all interested in beings other than itself.

Why I felt the need to ask permission is another story altogether. Though his disbelieving answer that I could certainly keep it, if I could catch it is important as just the tone of voice provided motivation.

My first attempts appeared fruitless but, in fact, they provided important data that could help in my capture of a small, unsuspecting baby turtle.

Keep in mind two things:

1) these turtles were the size of quarters;

2) I had to use the oar to catch one or risk tipping right out of the kayak.

I tried to be faster than the turtles, dipping my oar into the lily pads to score the prize. Before I could get to them, they dove. And then they were gone. I had to continue on to the next patch of sunning baby turtles.

Eventually, I realized they were alerted by the shadow of the oar. Pondering how to make a shadow disappear, I noticed one of the baby turtles had returned. She was peeking at me from beneath the lily pad. Surely she believed herself hidden. Not sure why her curiosity was piqued, but you know what they say about the cat and his curiosity, it occurred to me that I could use it to my advantage.

I positioned my oar beneath her and as she tried to figure me out, I carefully lifted her into my kayak.

She proceeded to walk the length of the kayak, investigating, as she is wont to do even now. In the time it took to get back to where we had put in, I constructed a story (plausible enough, I think) about her likelihood to survive in the wild given her intense and seemingly insatiable curiosity.

She was hawk snack for sure.

I saved her life.

Or so I like to think. Not sure what she would say if she could tell the story from her perspective. It's probably a good thing she can't talk.