Susan Sink

Turtles are a major part of our ecosystem out here. I’ve always been a big fan of turtles. Back when I lived in Chicago, I’d often walk the few blocks to Rosehill Cemetery and the pond there to see the turtles. They don’t do much, but they’re peaceful and prehistoric and it was lovely to regularly see such a display of nature in the city– along with a blue heron that frequented the large pond, which was otherwise quite funereal with its lovely weeping willows.

We have four actual ponds on the farm; two were dug for irrigation purposes, the biggest and deepest of these to irrigate Steve’s tree nursery. That is also our “swimming hole,” with a new dock so you don’t have to climb through the steep, mucky shore to get in and out. The other is where we do our ice skating in winter and sometimes take a little duck boat in the summer. It’s the most scenic of the three.

The fourth is a small pond behind our house (seen here today in photo taken from front door). It is a hundred feet or so higher than the large pond. It also has a dock, and a gorgeous large oak next to it. In years past I’ve used it to water my garden, which is to the west, until it gets overgrown with weeds midsummer. That pond is where we have the log that is usually lined with turtles, though they sometimes have to share the space with teals or ducks.

All summer long the turtles move back and forth from the upper pond to the lower pond. I have no idea why they do that, but at any time you can find them in the grass, moving rapidly and purposefully to one pond or another.

Today when Steve went out to mow the lawn, he came across two large, old turtles in the lawn. They had dug out mucky holes and were laying eggs in them. The mower, of course, startled them off the “nests” and they high-tailed it back to the pond. I don’t know if they got the eggs laid or not, or if they’ll come back. I hope so, as having lots of turtles is part of the beauty of this place.

The first time you shovel dirt in over the new leafy potato plants, it just feels SO wrong. The second time, it feels even worse. I mean, they worked so hard to come up through that hard dirt, the newly dug trench in the clay bed. It seemed like they would never come up, and then suddenlly there they were.  And I knew what I had to do.

So I filled in with a mix of compost and peat, feeling sorry for the poor dears, until they were two inches under the ground again. And within three days, they pushed through and were again sending out vigorous, leafy stems.

So yesterday I did it again, filling the trench almost level. I piled on, straight manure-laden compost this time, covering them another few inches. The last layer will be the soil I dug up to make the trench, and then I’ll put straw around the plants to mulch them and hopefully control some of the weeds that are sure to encroach.

Yesterday I looked over the bed once I’d put my shovel away– what a terrible thing, the worst thing I can imagine, to be buried alive.

I was tempted to claw through and expose each little plant again. But I resisted. It’s the potatoes I want, not the leaves. Hilling them up means more action underground. They’re strong; they can take it. I watered them instead.

It’s that time of year when it seems like things are growing before your very eyes. The pea plants are clinging to each other and I have to pry them away, train the little tendrils toward the rungs of their trellis. The lettuce that seemed to so sparsely germinate is crowded and full. The tomato plants, even the smallest ones I planted two weeks ago, have pushed their way through the Wall-o-Waters and require cages to keep them from being to compressed by the plastic walls. The garlic has such thick stalks– I can’t wait for the scapes to appear!

It’s Mother’s Day, that day we celebrate fruitfulness and fertility. And it is everywhere!

Sand Hill Cranes tend to return each year to the same spot to breed. They are also, like swans, monogamous pairs. We’ve had a pair in our wetlands for four years now. Each year they have one or two babies. All spring they are out walking around eating bugs and/or plants in the parts of the prairie that are being restored. So far, it’s been easy to see them. When the prairie comes in it will be more difficult.

Two years I’ve seen them on their “mating” day, when the male walks behind the female squawking loudly until she relents. They cover the large farm field behind our house and go all across our property. Later in the summer they will be out as a family with one or two young birds, if we’re lucky.

Today they were hanging out very near my garden. They made noise– a lot of noise, actually, and the squawks echoed off the windbreak of trees to the east of the property– but they didn’t fly off when I came closer. I got my camera and walked out quite close to take this photo. It’s as if they know me and that I, too, belong here.

Every year there’s a story of someone shooting a sand hill crane somewhere in Minnesota. It’s against the law and quite tragic. Each year I wait with great expectation for them to return, our largest birds.