Where the Turtle Walks and the Geese Talk

I must’ve missed a step somewhere in raising my kids. I grew up on a steady diet of British and Indian literature — think Aesop’s Fables and the Panchatantra. Don’t ask me exactly where things went sideways, but somehow they made it through childhood without ever reading the story of the geese and the turtle. Poor things.

Then again, my boys think I missed something in my childhood — I didn’t read The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings until I was an adult, after I’d crossed the pond to the good ol’ US of A. So I guess it all depends on where you’re standing to decide what’s wrong with the picture.

Let me set the scene for you: a lush green lawn edged by a runoff pond, beautiful reeds swaying in the breeze, and — oh yes — the incessant, honking cacophony of Canadian migratory geese, determined to ruin the peace. Honestly, these geese deserve a citation for disturbing the neighborhood. But I digress… 

One night, after yet another bed-time symphony of honking echoing through the dark, I complained to a friend about the stupid geese keeping me up and giving me a headache. He very helpfully suggested I pour some brandy into the pond to “calm them down.” Honestly, what’s with these silly birds? Do they not know they’re not nocturnal — and that the neighborhood has a noise ordinance? They also better know they are not a protected species.


One morning, I stumble out to find all the men in my life — husband, sons — standing in a solemn semicircle around a turtle crossing our driveway, bravely inching away from our property. 
Now, across the road from us, our neighbor — let’s call him Mr. Pond — has a catchment area with a bit more water. Perhaps the turtle was relocating to a roomier suite? 

So I quip, “Ahh, the geese must’ve told him about the other pond. But of course, our turtle is too smart to rely on those loudmouths for a goose-with-airlift service — he’d rather walk than trust a goose with directions.” 



And what do I get? The universal teen response: the “Mom is crazy” look. 
Mind you, this comes from kids who grew up with both Aesop’s Fables and the Panchatantra - English translation - lining our bookshelves — one of whom even showed promising signs of bookworm-ism before outgrowing it in his sage teen years. 

So here we are: a turtle crossing the road, a choir of unruly geese who don’t respect bedtime, and a mom who apparently missed the memo on the required reading list for raising American kids. But hey, at least there’s never a dull moment.

(And if you’ve ever wrestled with the trials of raising bookworms — or living with people who don’t understand the sacred art of book-hoarding — stay tuned. That one deserves its own post. Prreeccioouuss…)

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