The tortoise and the groundhog

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

We went to visit with some friends for dinner the other evening, but as we left the creek, we knew that we would not be able to linger for long. The chickens were still out.

We happily sat in their warm living room, plates piled high with good food, and talked of the coming spring. Then, with hugs, and thanks for the friendship and meal, we headed back down to the creek.

It was quite dark out as we turned off onto the creek road, and with the setting sun, it had grown quite chilly.

When Greg pulled up beside the mail box, I let the window down and reached over to gather up the mail. I felt the cold air on my gloveless hand and was glad to put the window back up as we headed on down the road. I looked forward to the toasty warmth of my chair beside the wood-burning stove.

I sat dreamily, lulled by the road's familiar dips and turns, as the car's headlights beamed down the road ahead of us, when out of the corner of my mind's eye I saw a curious round rock by the side of the road.

The thought flickered across my mind as to how the rock could have gotten there. It was certainly not there on our way out to dinner And then, just as realization occurred to me, Greg stopped the car and put it into reverse. Mind cleared, I blurted out, "A tortoise!"

Greg carefully backed up along the far side of the road and stopped with the headlights shining on the rock-like tortoise. I quickly got out and ran to the creature and picked her up. She was a young, honey and orange colored tortoise with red eyes. Her tail was short and she had a flat belly, sure signs that she was, in fact, a female. As I carried her over to the side of the road, I saw that she was barely moving her chilled limbs. She felt cold in my hands.

I put her down and turned, to return to the warmth of the car, thinking that she must have crawled out of hibernation during the warmth of the day, and been caught off guard by the freezing evening. She had cooled to the point where she could barely move.

I turned again and went over to where I had set her down. I picked her up and carried her a bit farther off the road to the base of an old stone wall. The fall leaves had blown up against its side and were piled quite deep. I cleared an area down to the ground, but before I set the tortoise down, I tucked her stiff limbs back inside her shell.

I pushed gently on her nose so her eyes were barely visible, and then I cupped my hands around her and closed her shell like an ancient book. I set her down and piled the leaves thickly on top of her.

She was young by tortoise standards. I did not count her ringed scales in the cold dark, but I figured that perhaps she was 8 years old. Now, you may wonder how a city born and raised lawyer lady would happen to know about tortoises. Well, you see, my brother was terribly allergic to any creature with fur, so the only pets that we were allowed to have were reptiles – lizards, turtles, snakes, and tortoises. And so I learned.

Now you may also wonder what this story has to do with groundhogs.

Later that evening, as I settled into my chair beside the wood stove, it occurred to me that both the tortoise and the groundhog had erred.

Only two weeks before, the groundhog had not seen his shadow, and had clearly predicted an early spring. Perhaps the two of them should get their heads together and better figure out this matter of forecasting.

In the meantime, I think that I will simply put another log on the fire.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.