Sometimes we may want to help out, but don't always know the best way. That's what happened on Sunday at dinner when I spotted this large turtle struggling in the heat by the pasture fence.
Her leathery big dark-brown shell laid like a large dusty dried-out platter baking in the sun. Her back was sprinkled with tiny sun-dried water vegetation just like nature naturally provides in the small garden tadpole pond by the garage. Hmmm...
It didn't seem likely she'd been swimming in the garden pool. But something was up... Her snorkel nose and webbed feet were signs that she was out of her element.
Filled with compassion for her plight, what was the best way to help? Too cumbersome to carry down the driveway and across the lane to the reservoir pond, an angel idea suggested a garden hose spray would cool her down. Then let nature take its course.
When I turned on the outdoor spigot, steamy hot water shot out of the hose. After waiting for the temperature to cool, I approached, gradually spraying the driveway and slowly letting rain splash down upon her hot dusty shell. Softly I spoke encouraging words to her. That's when beautiful ancient eyes blinked at me.
Following inner advice, I went indoors and let her be. Research revealed this is nesting season. And, that's the only time the soft-shelled turtle comes out of the water on a mission to lay her eggs. What a mistake if I relocated her on my own, thinking I knew what's best.
Was she here to lay her eggs? And, why did she choose such a precarious spot--near the strip of sandy grass by the driveway. Our usual Sunday afternoon had become a time of excitement as I waited for it to unfold. Watching from the living room window, I stood ready with my camera.
Soon the sand began to swirl about her. Kicking it up, stirring the air like a mini dust storm. Her massive legs and feet were moving the earth. After digging a large oblong hole just her size, she settled down upon it. Slowly her whole body moved back and forth in a steady rhythm on the nest. A beautiful glimpse of creation was this ancient symbol of Mother Earth. Her elongated neck stretched skyward as she lifted her face to bask in the golden afternoon sun. A holy moment so sacred, I humbly turned away from the window and prayed for divine order.
When I read this turtle lays four to 38 eggs that will hatch in two to three months, again, I wondered how can I help. It would be a long vigil to protect her from the many critters that come and go.
But it seemed I needn't worry. Nature already had it covered. Once the mother buries her eggs, her work is finished. And, back to the water she will return to the place where she belongs. Innately she knows that when the hatchlings arrive, they are equipped for survival on their own.
I was so thankful for the glorious lesson on letting go and letting God.
This ancient visitor is naturally associated with water--and when one appears it may indicate a spiritual renewal. (In this case, the promise of new birth.) A time to stay flexible and adaptable--accept change and adapt easily. When we do, we will be more resilient, patient, and calm inside. The slow steady movement of the soft- shelled turtle encourages us to listen to our inner voice. Trust our natural rhythms to stay in balance, and go with the flow then you'll become more aware and can turn your problems into opportunities for growth.
When I looked out the window again, the mother turtle had gone ... as quickly as she appeared. The large indentation in the earth where she nested held the promise of new life.
Remember you are never alone. God has given his angels charge over you. God loves you. The best is yet to be.
Love and peace,
Rae Karen
I'd been so busy co-creating a butterfly garden out back that it wasn't until yesterday, I caught sight of a wonderful surprise waiting to be noticed. A patch of wild buttercups had naturally sprung up in the mulch bed out front. Their cheerful blooms shaded the heavyweight garden tortoise. Elliot stopped backing down the driveway so I could get a closer look at nature's handiwork.
