It was a cold and blustery afternoon, not the typical day for a beach walk. The floods had come and shifted the sands again. I was down along Long Island Sound, rounding the bend up the Connecticut River, walking past bits of detritus washed up from the storms — plastic golf balls, bottles, cans, coffee cups, random parts to things I don’t know. I tried to collect what I could and wished I had brought a bag with me; my pockets felt woefully too small.

Truly remarkable was the massive pile of leaves along the shore. Where we might expect to see seaweed piled up along the jetty, there were piles upon piles of deciduous tree leaves ­— oaks, maples, birch. They must have been licked clean from the river’s edge and washed down into the sound and back up to shore again. The longest river in New England…I wonder how far the furthest leaf traveled. What did it witness along the way, now this far from its mother tree?

Walking along the mouth of the river, eyes scanning the texture of sand, stones, driftwood, and the occasional crab shell, I came across an usual looking rock. It was oval and black. Closer inspection revealed a distinct pattern with ridges down its back, a perfection that was almost otherworldly. Is that…a turtle? I bent down to move it a bit. I wasn’t sure if anyone was home, if anyone was dead or alive. I picked it up and could feel the weight of a body inside. This was not another shell washed up on shore, this was full of turtle. I gently reached in to touch the nose and it responded with a tighter inward scrunch. It was alive and this was no ordinary turtle. This was a diamondback terrapin­ — a species of special concern under Connecticut’s Endangered Species Act — a female juvenile about two years old that fit perfectly in the palm of my hand.

Too cold to move, I had a feeling she wouldn’t live for long if I left her here overnight. She must have been flushed out of the mud in the floods and landed here, no longer overwintering in the river bank. I quickly hopped on my phone to find a turtle rehabilitation center. Turtle Haven. Angelina asked me to bring the turtle in and confirmed she wouldn’t make it through the night with the cold coming in.

I carried her back to the car, trying to warm her up between my hands, which was difficult to do given the winds and cold that day. I took turns with my 11-year-old son, sharing in the care of this wondrous creature.

We hopped in the car and my husband drove us to the turtle hospital.

On the way, I made a small shelf inside my coat, next to my heart, and rested her there, placing my right hand over top for warmth.

Can I tell you she felt like a cold stone, the kind that sucks the warmth out of your hand faster than you can make it? I wasn’t sure I could get on the other side of cold. My finger followed along the smooth scalloped edge of the shell, hoping to offer comfort, and also pleasantly surprised by the frilly shape. After a while, I could feel a small leg stretch here or there, the way a baby might when it stretches.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, I pulled her out from under my coat and all four limbs, tail and head, were extended from her shell, alert and looking around, content to remain in my hand.

This is a feel-good moment. As I handed her off to Angelina, she confirmed there were no injuries and it looked like the turtle was in good shape, all things considered.

I looked again at her, patiently resting in Angelina’s hand — no hurry, no trouble. She looked back at me with a perfectly round dark eye, and in that moment, I fell into an abyss of deep time and wisdom beyond anything I would ever know. Some say they get that feeling when they look into the eye of a whale and it changes them forever.

What I know from that moment, is that I know nothing. I am of a young species on the planet, given the 230 million years turtles have on homo sapiens. For the next week, all I wanted to do was hold her again. I felt like something was missing, or maybe that’s the way it feels when you touch into that ineffable dimension that crosses species and time, the remains of that moment where, for a moment, you feel full and complete.

Angelina will care for her over the winter and release her in spring at that same location. I’m hoping I’ll be able to join her. I can feel the joy in my heart already.

***

If you’d like to learn more about the Northern diamondback terrapin turtle, the only species of turtle in North America that spends its life in brackish water, please visit the DEEP page here. The turtle has a remarkable history of resilience, given all it has endured.

Update: See below for the turtle release story! May 2024

TURTLE UPDATE + RELEASE!

On Mother’s Day, I met Angelina of Turtle Haven with the juvenile Northern diamondback terrapin turtle I had rescued back in January off the coast of Griswold Point, where Long Island Sound meets the Connecticut River.

We walked the Long Island Sound shoreline and turned up towards the Connecticut River, hoping to return her near where she was found. When we got to that place along the shore, Angelina was not convinced this was where she came from. They prefer marshy areas where they can tuck away, not open areas of water. She consulted an aerial map and found that further up was an inlet to a tidal marsh. So we walked on, past the blocked off areas for nesting birds, rounding another corner and finding home.

Angelina opened the small tub and lifted the turtle into the light. When she handed me the turtle, it was a fast reunion as her legs started moving with excitement. I can only imagine what it was like for her to be near frozen, taken by car to a turtle hospital, cared for in an aquarium warmed under artificial light, and now to have the sun on her face and shell, the smell of the water drifting in on her little inhales, and the feel of the shore breeze against her skin. She was ready to go (literally) and slippery to hold!  

I had the honor of taking her to the water’s edge for the best good-bye ever. Wishing her well, she scooted quickly into the warm, protected waters of the marsh, dove down into the submerged plant life and stretched her legs to swim with abandon. As I was wishing her a beautiful life, she came up one last time, and we exchanged a glance, just like in the movies, before she dove deep and disappeared. Heart. Full.

You can see the release video here or click on the image below. 

While walking the beach back, Angelina shared with me all kinds of turtle wisdom, some that I’ll pass along here.

            A hibernaculum, Latin for “tent for winter quarters,” is a place where an animal seeks refuge. In the case of turtles, they overwinter in their hibernacula (plural), down in the mud of marshy or muddy areas. This term can also be used for plants when referring to protective buds, especially overwintering aquatic plants like bladderwort.

            Turtle eggs need to breathe. Angelina participated in research on an island off the coast of Georgia. Her task was to count the number of sea turtle eggs per nest. With climate change, researchers are finding that the high tides lines are rising faster than the turtles can respond. During a storm surge on the island, the near-hatchlings 75 – 100% developed, drowned in their eggs in the tidal surge. There are typically about 100 eggs per nest. 

            Don’t take them in as pets. Angelina gets a high number of “pet surrenders” every year. If you find a baby turtle, the kindest thing you can do is to escort it to the nearest water area, like a stream or pond.

You can find out much more about turtles and Angelina’s heart-work at Turtle Haven here. She relies solely on the kindness and generosity of others to keep her turtle hospital going. If you feel so moved, you can find out how to help here.