Turtles of My Past

From early on, I’ve loved turtles. The first turtle in my life I remember is the turtle purse (above, center) that my mom bought me for carrying my milk money to school.

It was bought in the early sixties and had my name spelled out on it in gold letters which made me feel quite special.

At the time, my mom packed our lunches. As she got ready to hand out the lunches, she’d ask us what kind of milk we wanted.

I always said I wanted chocolate–it was three cents.

She’d give me three pennies and off to school I’d go.

At lunch time, I’d order white milk. It was only two cents.

At the end of the week, I’d have five cents to spend at Hubbs’ store on penny candy.

That little turtle held my sweet secret for many years.

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On my fortieth birthday, my husband and sons gave me Max. He has kept me company in my office for years and has been a very good companion.

He knows everything about me, but he’s not talking either.

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I have so many turtles (and tortoises-but I call them all turtles) that friends and family have given me over the years and I’m grateful for every one of them.

I have a real turtle shell I found on my in-law’s property when I was in my 20’s, a turtle my grandson Gabe made for me in an art class he and his brother went to a few summers ago, and a turtle bookend from the pair my son bought me just because he thought I’d like them (he was right) along with so many others.

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My mother had these two turtles on the dining room table. In her last years of life–when she wasn’t getting around too well–she’d ask anyone going by to straighten them up for her.

Her chair was in the kitchen in front of the fireplace, and she could see into the dining room from where she sat.

If someone moved them for any reason, they never seemed to get put back in just the right spot.

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The year she died, I saw her in one dream–just one. I was in Vermont a few months after she died visiting my sister. In the dream, my mother swooped down out of the sky in a convertible and landed in the driveway of the house we grew up in (and that my parents still lived in until they died.)

She was young, like she was when I was a child. It was so good to see her.

She basically told me to take care of myself and flew off as quickly as she came.

This was so heartwarming and disappointing.

While it had been good to see her, I always thought after she died that she’d somehow communicate with me and let me know how she was.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.

I waited and waited for some kind of sign that didn’t come.

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The next year, my oldest grandson graduated from Kindergarten. It was May–his birth month. My mother’s birth month. And her death month. She had died on my grandson’s birthday the year before.

The day of graduation I had errands to run. I drove here and there and saw several turtles in or near the road.

When my sister and I drove to school-another turtle.

On the way home-another turtle.

It was already an emotional month, and again I complained to my sister about mom not contacting me. She’d been gone a whole year and nothing but that one weird dream.

My sister said that maybe the flush of turtles was her saying everything was ok. After all, she did love turtles. (The one on the far right was also one of hers!)

I considered it a possibility.

The crazy thing is, it kept happening. All that summer.

Two or three turtles almost every week.

Before that year, I hadn’t experienced a summer where turtles were so abundant.

And I haven’t since.

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Some years later, my younger son and his family and I went to Jekyll Island for the hatching of the baby sea turtles.

It was a record year.

I have no pictures of the hatchlings as the ones we saw were at night and cameras weren’t allowed.

But the sweet baby turtles broke free of their eggs, climbed out of their nests, and headed for the sea.

It was a sight to behold.

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Thanks mom. I love you.