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Remember when owls were everywhere in popular media a few years ago? Now it seems to be turtles who are having a moment, and that’s great. Public awareness is invaluable for building investment in the future of these imperiled creatures, and social media, by all accounts, should be the ideal tool for that. Why, then, am I abandoning my TTB Facebook and Instagram accounts?

There was a time when Facebook served my purpose of building awareness for turtle rehabilitation and the species with which I work. As a small, self-sustaining nonprofit, my social media mission has always been one of public service, not brand engagement. I engage with the public online because my objective is to save lives and conserve these disappearing animals, and I am convinced that an informed populace is key to that mission. I have nothing to ask, nothing to sell, and nothing to prove. I am here in the service of turtles, not people—myself included.

Unfortunately, the Meta algorithm works against the ability to share important information with those who don’t have it. By steering users to content which mirrors their knowledge, interests and beliefs, it effectively creates echo chambers which have us preaching to the proverbial choir. So much for educational outreach!

It also demands compulsory posting. Quantity, not quality, is the currency that determines the reach any post has. Of course, social media was never designed for those of us not given to reducing nuanced concepts to sound bites, since scrolling and reading are often mutually exclusive. But Facebook and Instagram have become noise-filled, commercially driven spaces that increasingly seem to drown out and even subvert voices based on their posting frequency as opposed to their merit. Longer, less frequent content is often lost in the void, with everyone madly striving to meet the indeterminate quota of posts that will keep them on the radar screen…within their bubble, that is.

And for what? In terms of public engagement, Facebook has arguably become a mosh pit of unregulated input that empowers—emboldens—the least informed with the loudest voices, often at the expense of truth, meaningful dialogue or learning. It encourages subjective assumption and discourages respect and objectivity.  And whether caused by the apps or a symptom of broader social dynamics, audience entitlement is on the rise. I have seen and felt it, both in my own interactions and in those of my colleagues.

I’ve also heard echoed the frustrations of working with Messenger. A communications app that actually makes it difficult to be aware of, find and access messages does not sit will with users on either side of the dialogue, but it’s especially damaging to the page owner who is always held responsible.

None of that makes for a worthwhile account holder experience. And now, capitulating to the new zeitgeist of disregulation and social/political darwinism, Zuckerberg has chosen to eliminate fact-checking and embrace the supposedly self-governing free speech frontier. What can we expect but further erosion of those qualities that once made our existence on this platform tolerable?

If the cost-benefit analysis of continued engagement with the platform was already clear, there’s one overarching reason to disengage that trumps them all. Meta’s support of an administration hell-bent on trashing what’s left of our natural environment must not go unanswered. It is the straw that has broken this turtle’s back. I’ve been staunchly politically neutral as a nonprofit, and my accounts are certainly a drop in the bucket but, as a conservationist, I would be complicit if I did not stand publicly against the irreversible decimation being inflicted on this country’s natural heritage—and the world, writ large—by the current rogue administration.  And as the daughter of generation after generation of proud Republican naturalists who cherished this country and its Constitution, it is incumbent upon me to carry their torch. We are in the midst of the Sixth Great Extinction—it is happening—and I will not support self-serving oligarchs greasing the skids for its acceleration.

Out of respect for those who rely on them to find me or who need to reference any educational content within them, The Turtle’s Back Facebook and Instagram accounts will remain in place for now. But they will be inactive. All content creation and communication will take place here and via email and text. Many thanks to those who have supported my social media work over the years, and welcome back to the source!

A day in the life of a New England turtle rehabilitator looks a lot like this…in June, when nesting season is in full swing and turtles are being hit left and right on their way to the nesting habitats. But these three turtles all arrived this weekend, within hours of each other. One was full of eggs, and two are male.

2023 has been anything but a normal year for any of us, and turtles are clearly feeling the climate crisis, too. Hatchlings that overwintered in their nests, usually emerging in early spring, were being found well into May. The mass migration of egg-bearing turtles that always begins around Memorial Day, inundating our clinics for a few weeks as females are hit crossing roads to their nesting habitats, didn’t really kick in until late June. We assumed that the late start was due to the cool, drought-ridden spring. But it hasn’t let up yet. And males, which usually show up more in the fall as they’re out looking for mates and generally dispersing, are coming in now. Some of us have fewer chelonian patients than usual, some have far more. But one thing is certain: the slowdown that we look forward to in July is nowhere in sight.

Turtles are canaries in our coal mines. They observe a strict and predictable phenology that relies on climate consistency. Temperature, humidity, soil consistency and, yes, water levels, are critical factors in their lives. It may be hard to believe, but aquatic animals are just as devastated by flooding as we are. A caller during yesterday’s storm had found not one, but three painted turtles crossing the road at the same spot. He managed to save one. When asked if their pond was flooded by all the rain, he said that the outflow, normally a trickle, had become a raging torrent.

When you listen to news stories about the number of deaths caused by heat, flooding, fire or other climate catastrophes, think about the lives the media never covers. How great is that statistic, and who is paying attention? Turtles have walked the treadmill of climatic change on earth for over 200 million years, and adapted and survived. But we have cranked up the speed, and they are in no way equipped to adapt to this pace of change. Neither are we.

Please do whatever you can to fight the climate crisis. All lives depend on it.

This young male was picked up yesterday evening by a driver who noticed him injured on the road. She did exactly the right things:  called us, immediately drove him here (halfway across the state), and even made a donation towards his care. Her only mistake was the same one nearly every finder makes when they call about an injured turtle—they misidentify it.

The first question we ask when people call with a turtle issue is “what species is it?” Like most people who come upon a small, smooth, blackish turtle, the finder assumed that it was “a common pond turtle, the kind you see everywhere piled up on rocks and logs.” That would be the Eastern painted turtle, currently the most common turtle species in Connecticut.

This, however, is a Spotted turtle, once the most common turtle species in Connecticut but now, thanks to human activity, a Species of Special Concern. A semi-aquatic denizen of vernal pools and marshy woodland wetlands, not open ponds. A turtle with spots.

Yes, it’s important to get appropriate help for any injured turtle. But it’s critical for those on the Endangered Species list. The loss of just one individual can spell disaster for their declining populations. And unlike most other animals, it takes at least a decade for most turtles to reach maturity and be able to breed. That’s ten years or more of surviving in a landscape full of roads, cars, dogs, construction equipment and captors before being able to make more turtles–a tall order in a crowded state. This turtle is on the cusp of adulthood.

So there’s no time to waste or room for error when one of these lives hangs in the balance. Learn to recognize the turtle species in your state, and if you find a listed animal in distress, get it to the most qualified turtle rehabilitator you can find as quickly as you can. Thanks to the quick and generous actions of the woman who rescued this turtle, he should be good to go in a few months, and have a good shot at perpetuating his species.

Nesting season began yesterday. Triggered by a good rain followed by high temperatures, female turtles full of eggs started their annual mass exodus from wetland to nesting sites…and crossing roads in the process.

The two that arrived yesterday illustrate the danger of making assumptions when you find a turtle in the road. Neither one had any visible injury, viewed from the top. Both finders thought their turtles seemed fine. No shell fractures, no massive pools of blood around the animals. The painted turtle had its head pulled in, with a little blood visible on its nose. The box turtle was alert…just not moving. Both were gravely injured, and one didn’t make it.

A head that is firmly retracted, bulging eyes, a split beak and blood around the nose or mouth are classic signs of head trauma, and possibly a crushed skull. Although a turtle can move its legs for a long time while dying, a crushed skull is a death sentence. That was the case with this painted turtle.

And hiding beneath the perfectly healthy-looking box turtle was a plastron (bottom shell) with multiple fractures which had severed her hind leg. She’s in stable but guarded condition.

Both these turtles are carrying a full clutch of eggs. The painted turtle’s eggs can be extracted and incubated, but the box turtle’s will be difficult to manage, given her injury. So please, as you are out driving now:

1. Stop to check every turtle in the road for possible injuries anywhere on its body. Help the uninjured cross to the side they’re headed toward, but always take the injured with you.
2. Text clear photos to an experienced turtle rehabilitator, who can assess the situation and instruct you accordingly.
3. Remember that even a dying or recently deceased turtle may be carrying eggs that can be saved; take it to a turtle rehabilitator.

The question of the week has definitely been “What do I do with the baby turtle I found?” The common answer is “Take it to the nearest water.” Unfortunately, that response is a woefully inadequate simplification—one that omits a lot of really important details that can make the difference between life and death. And with hatchling survival rates in the single digits, we can’t afford to get it wrong.

Eastern painted turtles are the most common species of hatchling found high and dry at this time of year as they emerge after overwintering in their nests. Fall-hatched common snapping turtles and diamondback terrapins also occasionally remain underground until spring. This year reports of baby snapper encounters have increased, possibly because the drought is making it tough for them to find enough water.

Helping these newly-minted beings get to where they’re going is a great way to increase their chances of survival. But each species has specific needs when it comes to safe, secure and appropriate release locations. All the following criteria need to be considered in helping a baby turtle get off to the right start:

1. BABIES ARE NOT ALL THE SAME.
   It is critical to identify which species of hatchling you have before you can determine where it needs to go. For help identifying hatchling species, go to www.theturtlesback.org/species/
   • Snapping turtles are very adaptable and tolerate almost any kind of wetland, including salt marshes.
   • Painted turtles need freshwater ponds or lakes with marshy edges.
   • Terrapins live in brackish water estuaries—marshes near or along the coast where the water is a combination of salt and fresh.
     
     
2. BABIES ARE NOT GOOD SWIMMERS.
   Believe it or not, turtles can drown! All hatchlings need shallow water—a few inches at first—with lots of things to hang onto, like emergent or aquatic plants or plant debris. Avoid steep embankments, and the water should have little to no current that could sweep them away, so no open rivers or fast-moving streams.
   
   
3. BABIES ARE A TASTY TREAT FOR OTHER WILDLIFE.
   When you’re the size of a quarter, survival depends on having a good place to hide! Hatchlings typically bury themselves immediately into the soft bottom at the edge of the wetland, so mud, muck and algae, as well as living or dead plants and lily pads are all good…the more things to protect hatchlings from view, the better. There’s also a lot more to eat there.
   
   
4. BABIES NEED PERMANENT WETLANDS.
   Painted and snapping turtles and diamondback terrapins are fully aquatic species. That means they need water year-round. Placing a hatchling in a seasonal wetland like a vernal pool, which dries up in the summer, would require it to move almost immediately and risk its life in the process. The shallow area you choose has to be part of a stable body of water like a pond, lake or estuary. Google maps is a good resource to use in finding a wetland; set it to satellite mode and look for pond with thick, green edges (indicating plant life) as close to where you found the turtle as possible. Bear in mind that, for snappers, this may be as much as a mile away.
   
   
5. BABIES NEED A COMMUNITY.
   Turtles need to be part of a breeding population. Hatchlings naturally head back to the wetland where their mothers came from. While snappers are more solitary and can migrate to find mates, painted turtles and terrapins are social and do not migrate long distances. Try to place that hatchling where you know others of its kind already live—ideally the one mom came from.
   
   
6. BABIES DON’T NEED RESCUING.
   They may seem fragile and helpless, but newly emerged baby turtles are fully equipped to survive and fully acclimated to current temperatures. Unless you’re waiting to confirm a good release location or the turtle seems sick or injured, there is no need to take that hatchling home. Don’t wait for warmer weather or for it to grow larger and stronger before releasing it. Take it to a wetland that meets all of the above criteria as soon as possible, bid it safe travels, and send it on its way.

If in doubt, never hesitate to call; we’re here to provide phone support as well as help sick and injured animals, and will gladly assist you with your foundling turtle.

This is a story about homelessness, a scourge that afflicts pets as well as people. When we bring animals into our homes they become our captives, for better or worse. Their lives are dictated by our whims and circumstances. Too many turtles know something of this. Often kidnapped from their native homes and continually rejected and resettled over the courses of their long lives, they are at our mercy. Their stories seldom end well. This, however, is a rare exception.

Once upon a time a beautiful, male spotted turtle in his prime was tragically taken from the wild. When his captors tired of keeping him he was dumped, anonymously, at an urban school. The principal, recognizing a protected species, brought him here in the hopes that we could find appropriate placement for him. Being of unknown origin and with a history of captivity, he would sadly never be able to return to his wild home to carry on his wonderful genetics, as the risk of his carrying disease instead was now too great.

With no legally permitted facility in the market for a spotted at that time, an arrangement was made to have the turtle fostered by the Special Education Department at a local elementary school, where he served as an ideal reading buddy and received impeccable care while awaiting permanent placement. “Mikey” became a beloved member of his new population, a classroom of emotionally and developmentally challenged kids. Staff reported that his presence benefited his new friends—many of whom will never have a pet—in immeasurable ways.

When the call came late last year that the Bruce Museum in Greenwich, Connecticut was in search of a spotted turtle, it presented a conundrum. Being offered such an ideal placement for an unreleasable, listed species is commensurate with having your number finally called for an organ transplant. Yet how could we, in good conscience, sever the bond that had formed between those special needs children and this little fellow, especially at a time when their lives had already been so destabilized by the pandemic? None of our adoptable rescue turtles were small enough to take his place in the limited available classroom tank space.

Meanwhile, as news of the looming eviction crisis joined the daily pandemic alarms, a message appeared on Facebook as if to illustrate the truth of that prediction. A woman in a nearby town had recently been evicted and had taken her pet map turtle with her. The pair had been surviving in her car for thirteen of the coldest days in December. So devoted was she to this common, captive-bred little turtle that its entire tank and furnishings were taking up precious real estate in her car, and she was providing water for him using a ceramic bowl. Precarious as her situation was, life had another blow in store; she suddenly required long-term hospitalization, and the turtle needed immediate rescue.

Dealing with the sheer volume of unwanted pet turtles around us is one of the most frustrating, expensive and no-win aspects of being a turtle rehabilitator, and we often have to say no. To find someone so dedicated to a turtle that they won’t part with it—even when dealing with one of life’s most dire emergencies—is stunningly rare. With no plan other than a compelling need to honor this commitment, we rescued the turtle that evening with the help of some very good Samaritans.

It was as though fate had intervened on everyone’s behalf. The map turtle, whom we expected might need medical care after his freezing ordeal, lived up to the robust reputation of his species. He was perfectly healthy…and exactly the right size to replace the spotted. The timing couldn’t have been better; not only did these two circumstances arise simultaneously, but transfer was able to take place during the holiday break, smoothing the transition for the students. Mikey has embarked upon his new adventure at the museum, and “Shelly,” as the map turtle has been affectionately dubbed, has been wholly embraced by his new elementary school family. Both animals found not only ideal new homes, but also new and important roles as educational ambassadors. And, if karma holds true, a woman who went to heroic lengths to save her turtle during an ordeal brought on by a pandemic will have the relief of knowing that he is settled and beginning a new chapter.

Good outcomes are hard to come by when it comes to placing dispossessed turtles. It’s not the job we sign up for when we become rehabilitators, but it’s definitely in the small print. A success for any animal is gratifying, whether it’s a release back into the wild or a safe landing in the best of all possible captive worlds. This was a clear, and even poignant, win-win. Let us hope that all live happily ever after.

NOTES:  1) The Bruce Museum exhibit will be housed in the new permanent science gallery, currently under construction. The theme of the exhibit will be “Cycles;” the spotted turtle will be featured in teaching about hibernation patterns and use of ephemeral wetlands. Information can be found here: https://www.newbrucescience.org/terrestrial
2) Never, ever take a turtle from the wild or release a captive turtle into the wild.

As Aristotle said, “Nature does nothing uselessly.” Those fall leaves littering your lawn actually serve a very important purpose as winter habitat not only for pollinating insects, but also for amphibians and reptiles. By the time many of us get to our autumn yard clean-up, turtles are already winding down for the season before brumating (hibernating), and are sluggish and vulnerable. This astoundingly resilient Eastern box turtle was discovered under the leaves by a family that was out raking during last weekend’s warm temps, and she is a survivor if ever there was one. Not only is she in the process of healing from a spectacular shell fracture which has compromised her ability to walk with ease, she also appears to have suffered chronic ear abscesses in the past, judging by the scarring and protuberance on the left side of her head. Despite having come so far and endured so much, she could easily have been accidentally bagged up with the leaves and hauled off to the dump, or even burned to death, if fire had been the preferred leaf-removal option.

As Americans we are by and large a culture of lawn-worshipers. And our notions of “seasonal” yard work rarely take our wild neighbors into account. Germany, by contrast, strictly prohibits significant shrub and tree work between March and September in recognition of bird nesting season. If we can learn to recognize that animal habitats are not defined by our property lines, perhaps we can build awareness of how our impulses to manicure affect those who are struggling to survive around us—whom we may not even see. It IS possible to maintain a landscape that works for all its residents; look at the many Gardening for Wildlife resources available (and what better time to try it than during a pandemic?). You can have a gorgeous lawn and still make room for the needs of animals.

Protecting our native turtles requires more than simply helping them cross roads when you find them. Wildlife is with us all year, and they’re just trying to get by. It’s up to us to adopt a healthy land stewardship ethic that helps them feel at home and stay safe—one homeowner, and one leaf pile, at a time.

Found an injured turtle? The first question to answer is: what kind? One of the most surprising aspects of turtle rehab is the constant realization that most people have no idea how to tell one kind of turtle from another. Yet this is a critical piece of information in being able to determine what happens next.

Think of it this way. No one calls a rehabilitator and says “I found an injured rodent.” They say I found a squirrel, or a woodchuck, or a chipmunk or a mouse. Most people are able to identify these species, and that makes the job of helping these animals—and their finders—much easier, because the rehabber can assess the situation immediately and plan accordingly. Think about it: the ramifications of taking in an injured chipmunk are considerably different than they are for an injured beaver or porcupine. One is small and common and won’t require much in the way of resources, one is large and aquatic, and one is large and potentially dangerous. Their diets, habitat needs and behaviors are completely different, and that means their treatment plans need to be completely different. Before even deciding whether to accept that animal, a rehabber must assess his or her level of skill, experience with that specific species, and capacity in terms of space, supplies and infrastructure to adequately handle that animal for as long as it will take for it to recover. And that assessment begins the minute they pick up the phone to respond to a call.

Turtles are no different. Just as saying “I found a bird” means little until you know whether it’s an eagle or a sparrow, calling about a turtle requires more information up front. The differences between even the two most commonly found species, snapping turtles and painted turtles, are vast. One may be huge, the other is small. One is able to recover from injuries the other cannot. One can be dangerous to handle, the other not (although painteds can be more aggressive than snappers!). One carries 7-9 eggs, the other 20-40. If the animal is one of the five other listed species of turtle we have in Connecticut, the stakes are higher and the animal often more specialized in its needs; does the rehabber have the knowledge, qualifications and experience necessary to handle the rarer specimen? On the flip side, the turtle could be a non-native, problem species like a red-eared slider—an animal that should be permanently removed from the wild if found and not allowed to reproduce. This introduces a whole new set of considerations, such as whether to accept that turtle for treatment at all, try to rehome or euthanize. Egg incubation is definitely a moot point, but without first knowing that the victim is a slider, real time may be spent discussing how to save those eggs.

Time is the most precious commodity of both wildlife in crisis and their rehabilitators during the busy season. Taking a moment to identify your turtle before you call is one of the best ways you can help conserve that resource. It’s a short list—only eight!—and it will be a huge help to all involved. For a quick reference, check out our Species ID page.

I am often asked why I chose to rehabilitate turtles. The answer is simple: they need the help. Sure, I have always loved these animals, but most crucially, with five out of eight Connecticut species listed as endangered to some degree, this is where the ability to save a life makes a huge difference.

Yes, one life. Earning a place on the list of Special Concern, Threatened, and Endangered Species isn’t just a matter of sheer decline in numbers; it has just as much to do with the viability of populations within a given species. There may still be a significant overall quantity of box turtles, for instance, but if they are scattered across many tiny, fragmented groups, each with few breeding adults and no opportunity to recruit new members, the loss of even one turtle can spell the end of its entire community.

That’s why it’s so important to know which species of turtle you encounter and to report its location to the DEEP if it’s one of the five listed species (Eastern Box Turtle, Wood Turtle, Spotted Turtle, Diamondback Terrapin and Bog Turtle), to NOT euthanize without giving every injured animal a chance, and to take earnest measures to do what you can to protect every animal if you live in proximity to one of these populations. Keep a natural buffer zone—as large as you can manage—around all wetlands, and never fill them. Raise mower blades to 3 inches, sweep lawns and fields for reptiles before mowing and weed whacking (remember that juveniles are small), and mow from the center outwards to give them a chance to escape towards the edges. Never take a wild turtle home as a pet, and never move one to a “better” location—that’s as good as killing it, and it often does. Never release a pet turtle into the wild; you risk spreading disease that can wipe out a wild population. Post Turtle Crossing signs from mid-May to mid-July on roads where you know turtles cross. And get any injured animal to a rehabilitator or vet who has solid experience with that species—turtles are not one size fits all, and listed species can be especially complicated.

The wood turtle in this photo was found having recently lost both her front legs in a field that is mowed a few times a summer. She was able to push herself along like a skid, using her hind legs, but her prospects are not good. She could easily be drowned during mating or unable to extricate herself from underwater hibernation among the tree roots. It takes a wood turtle at least 10 years to reach maturity and be able to reproduce. If this animal was the only surviving adult female left in her population, her demise would likely mean the collapse of that population.

With human life feeling more precarious than ever, perhaps we have a new-found sense of what it means to be an endangered species. If so, let’s put some of that empathy into action and flatten the curve of extinction for these incredible beings.