Three Turtles

Memorial Day was hot in the Twin Cities. Despite the heat, I decided to go for a bike ride at mid-day. Somehow, I knew a drenching sweat would do me good. If there is one thing I've learned in adulthood (but have had to learn again and again), it's that I'm happiest when I maintain a reasonable exercise schedule. "Time to get back into the habit," I thought.

My usual bike route starts immediately with a slow, punishing uphill which flattens out only after my legs are on fire. This day was no different except I narrowly avoided going "ass over teakettle" (can someone explain that expression) after swerving to avoid a softball-sized rock near the side of the road. I paused just long enough to shake my head at the sheer dumb luck of what almost happened and take a look back at my near-miss nemesis.

And then I noticed the rock was moving.

I doubled back. My rock was a turtle. "What's he doing in the road?" I wondered. Puzzled, I looked off in the direction the turtle was heading. Across 75 feet of an empty grass lot and a slender band of trees and undergrowth was a large pond. Smart little reptile. Apparently, he knew where he was going even if I didn't.

I have always had a soft spot for turtles. Maybe it's their slowness, or their seemingly gentle natures. Perhaps I just watched one too many episodes of Wild Kingdom in which a Galapagos turtle was flailing helplessly on its shell while I begged Marlon Perkins or Jim Fowler to come to its rescue (Jim did the dirty work, of course). Regardless, this time was no different. Besides, who wants to see a flattened turtle on the road? Me neither.

I grabbed the shell and brought the turtle over to the pond. I thought about waiting for it to wander into the water but quickly realized that that might take the rest of the day or longer. So, I considered my good deed for the day done and continued my bike ride without another thought about it.

Until later that same day when I saw a second turtle I couldn't help.

I had volunteered to bring my daughter and a couple of her friends to the mall. We were driving on the freeway when I saw another "rock" in the road. This time I knew exactly what it was.  Inwardly I groaned. This turtle had too far to go. I safely steered my car over him but the traffic behind me was thick. I kept one eye on my rearview mirror for as long as I could but feared the worst. Still - again - after a few minutes, my thoughts turned to other things, mostly mall-related.

Until today when I saw a third turtle that was beyond anyone's help.

This turtle had almost made it - just three feet further and it would have been off the pavement. But it was clearly . . . broken. I winced involuntarily and felt bad for the little guy. One of the slowest animals on the planet and it had risked everything to get somewhere it knew not - driven by an instinct it was compelled to act on but couldn't possibly comprehend.

I realize that sighting three turtles in various degrees of distress is coincidental, but that's not how my brain works. Years have passed without seeing one turtle and in a ten day span I spot three, and in increasingly precarious situations - what does it mean?

Those three turtles innately knew what they wanted. The risks were assessed. Once a decision was made and a plan formulated - they began and would not turn back. Certainly, vague doubts crept into their reptilian brains, but the turtles pushed on. They were determined.

Regardless of the outcomes, none of the three turtles failed. The first simply got lucky. While nearing the relative safety of the cool grass, it was lent a helping hand. The second turtle had done all of the hard work itself and, although the outcome was still in doubt, was approaching its goal. Its single-minded nature was its greatest asset. Despite tremendous, dangerous distractions it plodded doggedly along. The last - of course - paid the ultimate price. But if this third turtle had to do it all over again, it would have made the same choice. Life, it knew, was full of risks. Things could get messy. "So what," it muttered. "Did I think it would be otherwise?"

Failure for these three turtles would have been to never take that first, tentative step onto the concrete. Our lives are filled with choices and decisions that require such first steps. Most don't involve much risk, but occasionally our choices do. Some choices require asking ourselves what we really want, what are we willing to risk and how do we deal with our own doubts and demons?

So if three turtles can do it - why shouldn't we?