Anyone with kids knows from experience that kids have a slightly different take on life than adults. As anyone who has read The World According to Garp knows if you don’t watch out the “Under Toad” will get you. Mr. Irving only scratched the surface on that one. He never met the “Box Turtle”.
Living out in the country as we do (in Virginia we would have called it ‘the boonies’, but I don’t want to confuse my Michigan readers) we have to drive about twenty miles to get to the nearest Wal-Mart (The pain! The pain!!) Part of our drive entails playing “spot the wildlife” that makes a habit of crossing in front of the car whenever we pass through a particular section of twisty, winding road between two small farm ponds. (Believe it or not, I had the pleasure of pulling a 30-pound beaver out of the road one morning – one of my bigger road kill acts of mercy. If you’ve never seen a beaver’s tail close up you don’t know what you are missing.) It’s also along this section of road that we spotted a baby black bear peering out of the long grass along the side of the road…never did find out where mommy and daddy were hanging out.
Dave’s favorite story about this road concerns my second daughter Alexandra (the world’s smallest six year old). She was about 20 months old at the time and just learning to speak in two to three word sentences; most of it having to do with food (cookies is still high on the list), and pooping. (News flash – things don’t change much when they get older.) She must have been in the back seat the first time Dave stopped to remove a box turtle from the center of the road, because it made quite an impression on her. Annelise (daughter #1) a budding rocket scientist even at the age of three, began the longest running discussion of box turtles ever recorded (still ongoing), including their feeding habits, housing, how they make babies and why they cross the road.
About a month later, with turtle breeding season in full swing, Dave was fast approaching the same area again with the two girls in the car. The music was going, Annelise was slumped over in her car seat dreaming of strawberries, and out of nowhere Dave heard a clear, bell like voice saying “Box Tur-tle”. Not being too religious he didn’t automatically think it was God thumping him on the head for running one over. He eventually realized that Alexandra, ever eagle-eyed, sitting in her throne-style car seat (the type that puts them 18 inches above everyone else in the car - as prescribed by law) had seen what Dave had missed. Another (the same one?) big, ugly box turtle was hunkered down in the middle of the road (Dave said it was head-defalalting), waiting for cars to go buy so it could continue on to lunch. Ever sensitive to the gore factor (and married to Road Kill Warrior Woman) he pulled over, got out and moved the box turtle to the other side of the road. Alexandra giggled all the way home. One for Daddy!
Now whenever we pass that particular place in the road, no matter how many deer I seem to be seeing in the shadows just waiting to commit Hare Kari on my car antennae, we always pause to pay homage to the little guy that made such an impression on our young daughter. (To this day I’m still not sure why the dang thing didn’t pee on him. The only time I picked a box turtle of the road it peed a gallon and a half of turtle wax all over my pants. Must be a male bonding issue.)
Still saving the wild life in Buckley,
Mary (where the kids successfully passed the 100th day of school, the turtles are all in boxes, and I still have my driver's license)
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