Large, domed, with a look that says "Don't mess with me!". The design is prehistoric. But the combination of heavy hard shell, sharp beak-like mouth and cantankerous personality has been a wild success for millions of years.
Thats the common snapping turtle that's found throughout Massachusetts. Soggy Burlington beckons with its wetlands, streams, mud and all the other elements that encourage these creatures to call it home.
My neighborhood is a spa-like offering to these turtles. They share the surrounding wet woods, ponds, and bogs on the sides of many country roads that encircle the various clusters of homes.
Through the years, motorists, runners, walkers and bicyclists have come across these stubborn obstacles inching their way from one location to another. For these animals, that perfect spot to wallow in mud, or lay its eggs, always seems to be on the other side of the street.
My first roadside encounter was quite a few years ago. My car was moving along, and I noticed another another car had pulled onto the road's shoulder. I called out, "Everything okay?". The motorist replied that he was trying to get a turtle off the road. It was then that I saw that telltale dome shape, as the snapper lay at the edge of road meets dirt.
Thinking, "I love animals, I can help", I retrieved cardboard, paper towels and a walking cane from the back of the car. Cautiously approaching from the rear, I tried nudging the turtle with the rubber tip of the cane. Whipping his long tail like an alligator and arching his equally long neck in my direction, he opened his mouth in silent growl and didn't budge. Finally after, what seemed like hours, the cane urged him onto the flat piece of cardboard. With the kind of courage that's born out of ignorance, hands covered in paper towels, I gamely tried to lift the back half of the turtle, cardboard and all.
Brain and lower back simultaneously screamed "No!". The snapping turtle was surprisingly heavy. Giving up on that plan, I pulled out my cellphone. Should I call the police, fire department, dog officer? Unsure, I decided on the town clerk for guidance. When I explained my plight, she cheerfully announced " Oh, that's Yertle! He's always on the move in that area. He'll be just fine. I'll have a police car check on him at some point."
Finishing the conversation, I felt somewhat calmed by the thought of police assistance. At that moment, a large SUV stopped to survey the scene. The driver was big and strong, just what I needed. "Sure, I'll help" he replied. Awkwardly, but successfully lifting the animal, man and turtle quickly crossed the street and ventured 20 feet more into the brush. "That should do the trick" we all thought.
Now it has been four or five years. The narrow country road still has its winding curves. But much of the charming woods have been cleared. No more native bushes, trees or wildness. Developers have built and continue to build apartments, condominiums and cluster housing.
Wildlife must move on in order to survive. And they do as best they are able. But what of ancient highways, travelled, not by man made machines, but by the simple creatures of Burlington, of my neighborhood? These roads have been busier longer than this town has been incorporated. How do they safely migrate from the mud hole to the bush?
And what has happened to Yertle?
