Tuesday, June 26, 2007
 
This morning when we went to our garden, Myrtle was laying her eggs in the Dahlia bed. The end of June is the beginning of summer, a time when the days are gloriously long and the season heats up, producing festive sizzlers. Predictably enough the weather lady has reported, with undisguised gloating, that the mercury will soar above 90° today. With this in mind my husband and I trundled off to “Never, Never Land”, otherwise known as the Fenway Victory Gardens, to water our garden.

Just so you know, my husband Leo and I have been shacking up for the last thirty years and although Equal Marriage has been in place for three years, we just got around to tying the knot on May 10th 2007. Now that our tails are firmly tied in a tight square knot, we are apt to trundle in the same direction with a whole bunch of glee.
 
The two questions I get most about our marriage are, “Why, after being together for so long, did you bother to get married?” To which the simple answer is, “Because I love him with all my heart.” The second question is, “Do you feel any different?” I assume this is a rhetorical question meaning to imply that being married doesn’t feel any different, however, nothing could be farther from the truth. I feel altogether different! I am a Husband not a “partner” any more. My love can finally speak its name loudly and proudly! I feel that our marriage has dignified our union and we are now fully part of the community at large. That is, until the purveyors of hate start stoking the fires beneath their cauldron of witch’s brew again. At that point we will all need to do battle again, big time.

Which brings me back to Myrtle and her eggs, the little darling musta had some rough times of her own because she carries her armor around with her and on a hot day like today, 80° at 7:30am, that’s gotta be a caution. How Mother Myrtle got into our garden is anyone’s guess considering the joint, lovely as it may be, has a four foot fence around its charming flowered border. But those of us who have found ourselves on the outside of arbitrary boundaries know that urgency is the key in these situations and Myrtle apparently had a load to drop, consequently my spindly wire fence was but a trifle to her.

 
So as I mentioned, I found  Myrtle in the dalhia bed where she was digging with detremination a smallish whole using  her hind feet, which indecently have a set of sharp claws that you don’t wanna mess with. So what was Myrtle up to? No sooner had I posed this question and before I could scratch my head thoughtfully, out she came with a whole bunch of little eggs!

Did I tell you Myrtle is a painted turtle from the Muddy River? Cute little beggar too, about six inches along her hard shell. Myrtle the turtle lumbered up to our garden some time during the short summer night obeying the call to motherhood, searching for a proper place to deposit her clutch. I know I’m biased when I say Myrtle chose wisely, but Leo’s dahlia bed is sorta like a Sealy Posturepedic mattress in comfort and accommodation. My Honey’s flower beds are admired by a whole bunch of folks, all of whom heap praise in his direction and justly so. He has immaculately weeded rich loamy beds chock full of absolutely charming flowers and his well turned earth is practically waiting for a special planting like Myrtle’s. While we are waiting for the Dahlias and the incubating baby Myrtles to do their thing—some time in mid July (?)—there are, amongst other colorful flora, pretty pink petunias to tickle a turtle’s fancy and yours too if you care to come by and take a peek.

So there you have it, a view from our garden across the verdant Fenway where in the midst of the city wildness thrives. The trees are dancing in the morning breezes and the sun shines brightly on all the creatures of the Fenway.

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PS The baby Myrtle turtles did miraculously hatch and one morning at the end of  July I found a wee one, about one inch accross the shell, maddly scrambling accross the dallia bed. I scooped up the little darling into the palm of my hand and went down by the Muddy river and launched the Myrtlette into the river. Let's hope some hungry blue herron did't snap up my adopted babby for lunch.

Some of them must survive because periodicly durning the summer  I see adult turtles of various sizes sunning themselves on an old tree trunk that sticks out of the river over by the Museum of Fine Arts.