Early Bird Catches the Worm
Allow me to begin with some paraphrasing from E.B. White’s book Charlotte’s Web.
The Arable family is enjoying breakfast. Young Fern has just convinced her father, John Arable, to allow her to raise the runt from a just birthed litter of pigs — instead of slaughtering it. Fern’s brother Avery comes downstairs late to join the family at the table.
Avery asks, “Can I have a pig too, Pop?”
Mr. Arable responds with, “I only distribute pigs to early risers, and Fern was up at daylight trying to rid the world of injustice.”
Today, like Fern — I was up at daylight, and although I was not trying to rid the world of injustice, I did witness an age old natural occurrence tied to the creation of life. Guess what? I was not carrying my phone, which doubles as my tool to pixelate any image that captures my curiosity, imagination or interest. If only I could kick myself, I would — gently, of course.
I do not usually walk at the Vernon marsh this time of year for several reasons. First and foremost, there is a posted sign requiring dogs be walked on leash from April fifteenth through July thirty-first. The marsh serves as valuable nesting real estate for all types of wildlife. It is understandable that during this timeframe, potential exists for carnivorous canines to wipe out nests of baby geese, ducks and cranes. Second, swarms of biting deer flies ceaselessly harass me and my Labrador Retriever, Mara. Those buggers are out for blood. Finally, it’s hot. Along the dike, there are no trees to offer shade from the beating sun.
Since Mara and I were ready to head out at the crack of dawn, the sun was low on the horizon. There was a strong steady breeze to keep the flies down and because we’d be the only ones there, I was comfortable letting Mara walk free from the constraints of her leash. I can say with ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine percent certainty she would never raid a nest.
When we came upon the first one, it took my brain a moment to digest what my eyes were seeing. Honestly, I thought it was a moss covered statue. It turns out I was looking at a living prehistoric reptile. It’s shell was speckled with tiny bits of the bright green duckweed that blankets the marsh waters in summer. A Common Snapping Turtle had climbed onto the dike, dug a hole, laid her eggs, and was using her hind legs and feet to cover her unhatched offspring with sandy soil.
Once my mind had sorted all of that out, I looked up and saw another turtle less than five feet away involved in her own efforts to carry on the family name. Mara and I walked for about a mile and a half along the dike. In total, I counted twelve female snapping turtles burying their treasure on the banks. I am certain there were more mommy turtles I missed among the grasses. In one instance, I was able to see a white shelled egg resting in the hole near a turtle’s tail.
Like Fern Arable, I was granted a gift for being an early riser. On our mile and a half walk back to the parking lot, all but one turtle had finished her work and had retreated back into the shallow waters. What if I’d slept or dawdled even thirty minutes longer this morning? I might have missed the show entirely.
I regret not carrying my camera.
I would have liked to share a piece of nature’s majesty with all those who slept in.
I was able to find this video captured by another early bird back in 2012. Check it out! Experience a piece of my world.
