Jewell Falls is in Portland, Maine, the city’s only waterfall. Most people have never heard of it, let alone seen it. I had heard about it for years and so when Spring school vacation week arrived, I drove up, gathered you up and off we went to see it for ourselves. It was Earth Day 2015, a perfect day for a hike, the best possible way to celebrate Mother Nature and the beauty that surrounds us every day.
After some “arcading” at Family fun Center we headed over to Rowe Avenue, driving through a neighborhood on a dead end road. “This doesn’t look like the right place for a waterfall,” Ainsley said. We kept on going, and when we reached the end, there was a sign, an arrow and a place for two cars to park – both empty spaces. Ainsley was right, It didn’t look like much, but we gathered our faith, jackets and camera and headed left along a railroad track. A distant train whistle filled the air and we braced for a view, but we had just missed it.
The open fields soon gave way to a thicker forest – so odd because we were close to houses, streets and cars. An oasis in an urban setting. A Jewell in the rough.
I asked a few hikers “is there a waterfall on this trail?” and they said yes. Off we went through the early spring forest which was still muddy and lacking leaves.
The two of you ran ahead, cresting a hill above the trail. “We can see it!” you shouted and soon so could I. It was a surprisingly pretty waterfall with great water flow helped by a record breaking winter snowfall.
After hanging out at the base, we continued our climb, up the path along the waterfall toward the bridge cresting the top of the hill. After a bit of exploring (including floating pieces of bark and acorn top hats), we looked down the waterfall. I noticed something in the water at the edge of the first cascade. I was convinced it was a statue of a turtle someone had placed there from the neighborhood to decorate Portland’s only waterfall.
“Come over here and try to find something that looks alive but really isn’t.”
Ainsley bolted over first and quickly spotted it. “It’s a turtle! There it is!” Camden spotted it in the water, and I looked at it again. But this time the statue moved. It was a live turtle, a big snapping turtle, one of the biggest I’ve ever seen. Then it started to move, s-l-o- w-l-y, toward the edge of the waterfall.
“He’s going to fall down the waterfall,” we shouted, not believing what we were seeing. We were captivated as he drew close to the edge and eventually he put his head down and soon plummeted down the first cascade.
We ran over the bridge and down the path to where he would land. We watched as our friend – now nicknamed Tommy the Terrific Turtle – made numerous twists and turns in the air and water. He landed by a rock, seemingly alive and well, perhaps a bit shook up, with a face full of cold spring water bubbles.
He s-l-o-w-l-y headed toward the shore. We figured he had had enough and was going to climb back onto terra firma, back to solid ground and safety. He looked tired and distraught.
That’s when we started shouting “Go, go, go!” and “Don’t give up!” and “You can do it Tommy!”and other words of encouragement. We kept chanting, loudly, not caring what anyone in the area might think (if there was anyone around). We watched carefully as the tired terrapin looked directly at us, up the hill to where we were standing on the path, as if to acknowledge our faith in his fearlessness.
Then he turned around s-l-o-w-l-y and did the another amazing thing: he walked back into the water, venturing, eventually, toward the edge of the second cascade. We couldn’t believe he was going for it again! Other hikers had made their way down from the bridge at that point, and I told them about the intrepid terrapin. After quickly spotting Tommy (it wasn’t hard because he was so big), they too were mesmerized. Together, in a common bond, we watched this Earth Day treasure repeat a remarkable achievement I can bet none of us ever see again in our lifetimes.
Down down down Tommy went, flipping and flying, gliding and galavanting down the second cascade, eventually landing on his back at the base of the falls, “showing off his privates” as Ainsley said.
Tommy’s audience was stunned. Would he be able to right himself? Would we have to wade into the water and try to save him? Would he drown?
After wondering if he was permanently stuck in that position, he eventually righted himself and proceeded s-l-o-w-l-y toward the bottom of the waterfall. There he posed with Ainsley and Camden in the afternoon sunshine. You can see Tommy in the background to the right, dizzy and drenched, but proud of his achievement.
Sometimes the most ordinary acts turn into extraordinary achievements. Tommy the Terrific Turtle could have walked the customary path to the bottom, over the bridge, or along the edges of the waterfall, taking the usual, safe, normal course.
But Tommy was a terrapin of a harder, more independent shell, with a love of adventure and an appreciation for risk and reward and taking the road less traveled.
We talked about it the rest of the day, laughing and re-telling our tale. I encouraged you to write a story and Camden said “we’ll get it published as a kid book.” It was an Earth Day we’ll never forget.
