The Turtle Knows the Way

On my trip back from the gym today, I saw a bump not too far from the house and slowed down. It was a turtle. I remembered how this time last year, a mama turtle had visited our back yard and spent a half-day digging up a place in the mud to deposit her eggs. This was that same time of the year. Slowing down, I gave the turtle enough margin and pulled around into the garage. But I was curious, looked out the window to see how my friend was doing only to spot another car speeding down the street oblivious to the fact that this was a designated turtle crossing. Now the road where I live swings around one of the more than 400 bayous in Louisiana; there’s usually not much traffic, but there are construction trucks and SUVs rushing around in the late morning. So I got worried about the turtle and went outside carrying a kitchen towel, figured I’d give my friend a lift across the street so it wouldn’t become turtle soup. When I got there, the turtle was actually high-tailing it rather swiftly, I thought, long legs pulling itself past a pool of water left by a recent downpour. Still, I wanted to be helpful. Who knows when the next vehicle was about to race down the street filled with saw horses, poles, and metal of various twists and turns, streaking towards its destination? I bent down with my towel and attempted to lift the turtle out of the road by either side of its shell. It almost jumped at me, opened a reptilian yellow mouth that was rather nasty looking. My feelings were hurt. After all, I had gone out of my way. I tried again. The turtle was enraged and spun around pushing itself with a longish tail letting me know in no uncertain terms that my help was not needed nor requested. For a moment, I thought of people in my life whom I had tried to give an assist. “Leave me alone. I’m fine. I don’t need your help,” and got very snappy. Let the turtle cross by itself. It knows where it’s going.
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