Down on the Farm: Tending the wild

“Snapping turtle on the lane” comes the text on my phone. Mom and Steve had just headed out for a delivery of veggies and eggs from our farm. Deliveries can come any day, the big trucks speeding down the old gravel lane to the farm much faster than I like to drive, and it is terribly unlikely they would swerve or stop.

Kara heads down with a stick and a shovel, hoping to convince the egg-laying prehistoric-looking momma reptile off the road and into the safety of the ditch. The cantankerous beast is totally unwilling but eventually, begrudgingly convinced, digging her egg pit with a keen look of wanting revenge on her pointed face.

Less than an hour later, a truck whizzes into Farmstead’s parking lot. Without the intervention, surely madam turtle would have been toast.

It takes time. It takes paying attention. And it takes compassion for the lives around us, even the ones that are not the domestic animals that we feed and water every day. But we are all connected in this sacred web that is life on earth, and as stewards of that, these lives are a part of that calling, too.

The killdeer — which look like a type of sand piper — bob and squeak in the garden. Every year, they nest there on the ground, the “nest” mostly a divot in the soil, the four speckled eggs looking remarkably like gravel. When the pair of black, white and brown birds return, we always keep a lookout for where they stake their claim, being careful to garden around them. The first clutch has long since hatched, the teenagers nearly as large as their parents now as they dart out from the safety of the garden to run about the farm and lane, then dip back in for cover, stretching their new wings.

Weeks earlier, Mom and I were planting potatoes. She was the role of “Doug,” wielding her shovel, while I was playing the role of “Chuck” by tossing the spuds into the waiting hole. We both shared being “Phil” to cover them up — a fun running joke we haul out each year at potato planting season. Along the row we went, when suddenly I cried out for her to stop. There in the soil, where the very next spade thrust would have landed, was a new nest full of eggs. They were having a second clutch! No wonder the parents had been screaming so much at us!

Very carefully, we left a gap, picking up with our potato shenanigans on the other side. For days and days that momma sat on her nest, chirping at us as we planted and weeded about her, guarding her future children. Then, just two days ago, they hatched.

Last night, Mom and I were transplanting winter squashes we had started in our basement early in the spring, the parents and wee killdeer children scuttling about the zucchinis and tomatoes. They were so insanely adorable; their fuzz was colored just like their parents’ feathers. These are bug eaters, and we are more than happy to have them as pest and mosquito allies. Mom and I laughed as we worked, watching their scuttling antics.

The other day, Kara was mowing the fence line of the pasture to keep the weed load off the electric wires. She had her head down, watching the line to keep the mower deck at just the right place. Thankfully, she was paying attention and noticed it. There, right before her, was an infant fawn, laying down in a curl, enacting its only natural defense against predators.

Instantly, Kara stopped and backed up, and the little one achieved enough breather space to scuttle further away so Kara could safely proceed. If her attention had been elsewhere, the results could have been disastrous!

Lately, I have been hatching baby turkeys from our incubators, cycling back and forth from Farmstead Creamery to our house to check and assist the tiny fuzz balls into this world. Butterflies scared up from the gravel before me like a fairy escort, so thankfully I was watching the ground to try to avoid them when a small, round object caught my eye. Quite easily, I could have cut the corner and run it right over.

There, at the side of the lane was an itsy bitsy tiny little newborn snapping turtle, face just as pointed and eyes just as wild as the mother from days earlier. I pulled to a stop, admiring the little lad or lassie. The baby turtle stood perfectly still, likely hoping I thought it might be a stone.

I whipped out my phone and took its picture instead, smiling at how cute something so fierce is when it is small.

This week, take time to watch carefully for wildlife, choosing to be compassionate and share this beautiful world together. I hope I get to see those fuzzy little baby birds bobbing about in the garden today. See you down on the farm sometime.