Big John
It was no surprise that she spotted him first. Being closer to the ground and still experiencing life with the wonderment of a 7 year old, she could not have possibly passed him by.
“Momma, look.” She tugged at my hand and pointed.
There by a puddle along the trail was a small colorful turtle. She edged closer and squatted down to look, her stringy hair falling into her face.
“Why Big John, “she addressed him, “what are you doing here all alone?”
“Big John?” I asked.
She rocked back on her heels and looked up at me. “Yeah, this is Big John and he shouldn’t be here all by himself.”
“He shouldn’t?”
She stood up, brushing the dirt from her hands on her shorts. She prodded at the turtle with the toe of her sneaker. He didn’t move, or maybe he did, just real slow.
“We have to take him with us.” She declared matter-of-fact. “We can’t leave him here.”
“But honey, he belongs here. He lives here in the woods. What will we do with him?” I don’t know why I was trying to reason with her.
She planted her fists on her hips and squinted up at me. “Let’s take him home. He needs me.”
I can still see that little dirty face, so serious. There was not much we agreed on then. She was asserting her independence, leaving me behind a little more day by day while I grasped at her childhood. Everyone said they grow up so fast, but this one was born grown. It wasn’t fair. Just about the time I figured out what to do for her, she needed it less and less.
As for this turtle, yuck. I mean yuckity yuck yuck. It was smelly and germy and in my head I wanted no part of Big John. Luckily my heart took over. In this one moment my Mommy heartache and confusion were resolved. If you can’t make her stay little, you better love turtles, or grandaddy long legs, or horses, or anything she loves at the moment.
“Do you want to carry him?” I asked her.
She shook her head at me without a second thought. She had managed to squat down, crawl around and look at him from every angle. She nudged him with a stick and yelled at him. She jumped up and down and rattled the change in her pocket. She provoked that poor turtle in every way she could scientifically. But she wasn’t touching him. Nope no way.
I sighed and picked up a nearby stick. Slowly I turned Big John over on his back. He withdrew to his privacy like a good turtle. She watched me as I picked him up. I was sure she was looking for signs of what was going on in my head, so I bluffed. I cradled that turtle in my tee shirt like I was a professional turtle toter.
My mind raced. Ew. He is gross. I can NOT believe I am doing this. What in the world will we do with a turtle when we get home? Meanwhile I kept poor Big John on his back to encourage him to stay private. Knowing nothing of real value about turtles I figured it might just be my luck that he was a snapper.
Once we made it home, I found a small box for Big John. We put him on the porch under the wind chimes. After a few minutes he got used to his new home and came out of his shell. He poked around, looking for a way out I suspected. We supplied him with lettuce and grass and some old rags to soften the box. She was faithful, checking on him hour after hour, reporting he ate a little, he moved around and so on.
After two days we woke up to find Big John gone. I don’t know how he got out of that box but he did. She was not upset to find him gone. Her attention had moved on to something different. Maybe he sensed that and decided to move along himself.
He came back to visit us a handful of times. Just out of the blue he would show up under those wind chimes on the porch. We never tried to box him in again, we just enjoyed his visits.
When I see a turtle sometimes I think of Big John. I remember most a small dirty face beaming at me as we walked home with him. I remember she said, “See Momma, I knew we could save him.” And I remember that just for a day or two I was a great turtle toting Mom.
Thanks Big John, wherever you are.
