It was of those Kodak moments. Walking down the driveway, I heard a quiet peeping and stopped. The sound was answered with more peeping. Looking down, I saw two ruffed grouse emerge from the underbrush.
I remained motionless as two more birds crossed before me and began plucking at the jewelweeds growing profusely alongside the road. A final partridge duo appeared a few steps ahead, and the family darted here and there, staying loosely together as they ate.
The rich brown of the birds’ feathers, their peaceful cheeping as they delicately feasted on the orange-yellow blossoms— the entire scene—was so serene, I stayed in place, watching.
I looked down the road at the cabin and realized Dick was sitting on the screen porch. I wanted to warn him not to upset the tableaux and send the birds scattering but realized any noise or motion from me would do just that.
I needn’t have worried. He remained still, and I understood that he too, had spotted the partridge family. The scene remained as the birds quietly went about their business. When the final one disappeared, I continued walking, the spell broken, but reflected as I called to Dick, “Wasn’t that something?”
Tucked in the back of my mind there now resides an image of six partridge quietly feeding, a memory to store and use when serenity is needed; that stressful moment during a trip to the dentist or caught in traffic.
Later that afternoon another visitor crossed my path, this one not as amicable as our earlier ones. Dick was the discoverer, calling to the cabin’s door, asking if that “dark blob” had been in our driveway earlier. I thought he might be seeing another grouse, but a quick glance assured me it was not.
“It wasn’t there earlier,” I called as he got closer to the blob, “It’s a turtle!” He yelled. I ran to look.
There it was, a small snapping turtle; crusty ridged shell, approximately five inches long and four across with prehistoric looking clawed legs, a long neck built to reach enemies and a rather dangerous looking mouth.
Two hundred some yards from Lac des Mille Lac, the turtle was heading away from water, which didn’t make much sense, at least to us humans. Since neighbors sometimes drove their vehicles down our driveway, we decided this wasn’t a safe place for the turtle.
We were meddlesome enough to think we knew what was best for our small snapping friend. Dick ran for a cardboard box while I watched over the grayish, green/brown ancient looking creature. It eyed me with what I can only describe as complete mistrust. “Sorry little guy,” I told him. “But you shouldn’t really be up here. It isn’t safe.”
The turtle retracted his snake-like neck and ignored me, hoping I’d go away. But Dick returned with a cardboard box and setting it on the ground, herded the turtle in. Once captured, the creature began struggling to escape. As we carried it down to the lakeshore, it doggedly tried to scrabble out and almost succeeded once when it grabbed the upper edge of the box and nearly jumped to freedom.
When we reached the lake and overturned the box, it streaked into the water, and I felt a sigh of relief. We’d done the best we could for the little guy.
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