Pardon me, my local pride is showing

I live in a place where nothing ever happens.  Nothing bad happens, but nothing very exciting happens either.

On most days, the lack of excitement is welcome, especially considering there's always enough stuff going on in my house to keep me entertained.  Anyone would agree that  scaling world-record sized laundry piles and cleaning up after the humans and animals I share my space with are always engaging activities.  You can't find that kind of fun just anywhere.

But back to where I live...

It's a tinier-than-tiny town located in one of the suburban counties surrounding Philadelphia.  Its unique blend of rural and suburban areas means that we have frequent encounters with wildlife.  Just a few weeks ago, a bear was wandering around the area, following the creek and stopping to munch bird seed from back yard feeders along the way.  By all accounts, he was having a splendid time.  He was probably here on vacation from New Jersey. 

There are plenty of other animals, too.  We frequently have visits from deer, groundhogs, and coyotes, and every spring, Evan and I watch the fox babies play in the field behind our house.  Deer and groundhogs are so abundant that our dog Bailey is the only who still gets excited about seeing them. 

Since there are always so many animals around, it wasn't exactly a surprise to see a critter of some sort crossing the road in front of us as we drove home the other night.

Upon nearing the animal, we could see that it was a turtle.  More specifically, it was a huge snapping turtle, the size of a trash can lid, who'd decided to come to a complete stop in our lane of the road. 

Since the road that we were on is one of the main ones in the area, it was likely that this turtle wasn't going to make it all the way across the road without someone running it over.  But how do you move a huge turtle, especially one with as bad of an attitude as a snapping turtle?

My quick-thinking husband stopped the car a few feet from Turtlezilla and put on the hazard lights.  Dan jumped out of the car and began digging around in the back of it to find something to help him move the turtle off the road.  There wasn't anything in our car that could provide enough distance and survive the strong bite of a snapping turtle, though.

Just then, three other vehicles stopped around us.  A young man jumped out of a car across the road from us and grabbed a golf club from his back seat.  A man wearing a safety vest who looked like he'd just finished work on a road crew parked his truck behind us and ran past our car carrying a huge plank.  Another man and his three young children watched the turtle rescue operation from the safety of their car on the other side of the road.

The man with the plank placed it squarely under the bottom of the turtle, lifting its rear legs into the air.  He pushed the turtle forward so that it was walking solely on its front legs.  At the same time, the man with the golf club used it to guide the turtle on its path and to prevent the turtle from doing what it does best:  snapping.

I watched as they coaxed the turtle into the tall marshy grass on the side of the road, relieved that no one had been bitten and that we could finally get home.

The three young kids cheered once the turtle was safely off the road, and Dan and the other two men briefly exchanged thank-yous and high-fives.  And then, just as quickly as they'd all gathered, everyone was back in their vehicles and on their way to wherever they were going.

I like where I live for many reasons, but most days, I don't readily think of them.  I get so mired up in day to day life that I forget about the beauty and peacefulness that lured me here thirteen years ago.  

Now I have one more reason to love where I live:  any place that has the sort of people who'd stop to help a snapping turtle cross the road has to be one of the kindest places on earth. 

I'm so glad that it's also the place I call home.