After naming the turtles from the day’s catch,
the boys worked together meticiculously, building a safe haven to keep all the turtles safe overnight.
They were all safe, including the big one, for the night. Wooden planks on top of the washtub would keep them “contained.”
The “turtle pen” took hours to build.
All were safe and content….
The next morning, after tea, I heard this awful scraping noise — metal against metal — growing with increasing ferocity. I checked the boats — none of them seemed to be loose, or caught on something. Then, I spied the metal wash tub
and saw a turtle head poking out. With all his might, he scraped his claws against the washtub, and fell back down again. I was torn. Do I wake the boys up — or grab my camera? I grabbed my camera, and stayed quiet.
These turtles worked just as hard to get free, as the boys did to keep them captive. I came back just in time to see her make it to the top,
and fell straight onto her back.
The poor thing is exhausted. She sits there a few seconds, on her back, before she remembers the boy, and how tenacious and fast he is. She gets moving. OUT.
Soon, now that the way is made clear, another turtle makes his way out.
By then, the boys were up, wondering “what in the world happened to their turtles.”