It was always a treat to visit Grandma and Grandpa Cassidy when we were growing up in the 1960s.

The drive to New Haven, Connecticut, took about 2.5 hours. Sometimes we’d stop at a breakfast diner and Dad would cough up a few nickels for the booth’s jukebox so we could play a song or two. Most often it would be On Top of Spaghetti, that old classic.

It was always a thrill when Dad started pointing, “There it is – do you see it? Do you see it? It’s the Sleeping Giant!”

At least one of us would look the wrong direction, but eventually we’d all see him, on the horizon: The Sleeping Giant.

Years later, our kids got to enjoy a different “we’re almost there” landmark when visiting Mom and Dad in Madison. It was a boulder that was curiously shaped like a giant turtle. And it was beautifully painted to enhance those features.

But one year, to Mom’s dismay, the turtle got a bad paint job

The First Turtle

A boulder really
the roadside rock lived in calligraphy
last Summer as a turtle
Imagination fed the one who stroked
the ones who later looked
and saw a life

Summer went one early evening
a villain interrupted
ended the first turtle
fashioned another
no one could travel with
a leaden presence
full face and shell
eliminated all imagination
tethered that turtle
wiped away his wings

~ joan vayo ~ 26 June 2001

Oh, dear. I hesitate to even include this photo. But here’s the result of the vandals’ work:

Maybe someday a kind photographer will send me a photo of the fellow in well-painted form. He really does cut a striking figure.

Meanwhile, here’s another painted rock in Connecticut, this time in Marlborough.

And in Hebron …

… an eagle eyeing passersby, no matter what the season.

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“The First Turtle” ©2001 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

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