To Be a Turtle

I waved “good morning” to a man I passed on a walk. It was earlier this year, nearly spring, and one of the first times I left the house without winter boots; well, confidently anyway. A frosty chill lingered, but the sun was shining and the pavement was dry; both a welcome change of pace.

The man returned my “good morning” and then I realized he had stopped walking and was saying something else. I fumbled to pause my audiobook and took out an earbud.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “Whawazat?”

I always mean this to be a sentence, “What was that?”, but it usually comes out as one word. Thankfully, he understood me.

“The turtles are out,” he repeated. He was beaming.

You’d think I’d be better at asking follow-up questions, but the truth is: when I’m caught off guard, my brain defaults to the rules of improv comedy: “Yes…and.” I just get on board with the conversation even if I have no idea what’s going on. So, when he told me about the turtles, I replied, without hesitation, “Oh, that’s excellent news! Great day for sunbathing!”

He smiled and I smiled and we went our separate ways. I would have scolded myself for not at least asking, “What turtles?”, but I obviously didn’t have time for any deep self-reflection on account of the fact that I now had to find those turtles.

It didn’t take long. A few more steps and, sure enough, there were several small turtles doing their best rock impressions by the pond nearby. A few appeared to have their heads out of their shells, faces turned toward the warmth of the sun.

This day marked a turning point in my year thus far: the time before I knew about the turtles and the time after. I routinely keep an eye out for them now. Sometimes I see them, sometimes I don’t, but I know they’re there and that’s all that matters. Well, that and their welfare, which is something I find myself worrying about more often.

I should acknowledge that I do recognize, as far as wildlife goes, turtles are about as armored as they come. I also don’t mean to be an elitist in terms of species. I have to assume they know what they’re doing. Still, I feel a tug of concern when I see someone show up with a fishing pole. I don’t want anyone to harass them, and I get annoyed when I find trash around the pond. Imagine if someone just walked into your house and threw a cigarette butt on the floor. Imagine if your kid ate it.

These are things that occupy my mind, and somehow I still manage to find nature relaxing.

On a recent sun-drenched day, I spotted one of the turtles catching some rays pond-side in the grass and decided to join him after my walk. I kept my distance, sitting on a bench on the opposite shore. I watched him for a long while, and it seemed like he was watching me too.

Something interesting happens when you sit quietly and just observe your surroundings. The world comes alive in a way you wouldn’t otherwise notice, a whole interconnected universe that only reveals itself when we choose to be still.

My eyes drifted from the turtle to the pond to the grass, noticing how the breeze made the blades ripple like the water. A dragonfly was zipping in and out of view when something else caught my eye: motion in the pond. Before long, a small head broke through the surface, headed for the water’s edge.

With a combination of brute strength and innate grace, what turned out to be a much larger turtle hoisted itself into position near the first one. It didn’t take long for the wet, shiny shell to dry in the heat of the afternoon. Before long, more movement in the water. This time, another turtle swam closer to my side of the pond and poked his head up, as if to say, “What’s your story?”, before doubling back and joining the rest of the squad.

“To be a turtle,” I thought to myself.

Three turtles at the pond

I realize now that, with the exception of the swim, the turtles and I were having roughly the same afternoon. The same can be said for the goldfinches I noticed flitting through Linwood Gardens days later, the bumblebees I see buzzing lazily around Letchworth, even the chipmunks my husband is convinced are currently plotting a hostile takeover of the garage.

“They told me you can’t prove it,” I tease him.

There is something comforting to be among the beasts, free in the breeze, heads turned toward the warmth of the sun. Of all the places we could be, here we are…together.

This essay originally appeared in my column in the June 18, 2026 edition of the Perry Herald in Perry, NY.