In North Texas, we are used to watching for plenty of things on the road. Deer at dusk, cattle out after a storm, slow-moving tractors, potholes, washouts and the occasional armadillo that made a poor decision.

But this time of year, there is another traveler worth watching for: turtles.

After spring rains, during nesting season or when ponds, creeks and low-water areas begin to change, turtles may be on the move. They cross county roads, highways, driveways and pasture lanes for several reasons. Some are looking for nesting sites. Some are moving between water sources. Others may simply be following the same route they have used for years, long before the road was ever there.

For drivers, a turtle in the road may seem like a small thing. For the turtle, that crossing can be dangerous. Turtles are not built for speed, and even a quiet farm-to-market road can become a problem when traffic picks up.

Many of the turtles North Texans see are aquatic species, such as red-eared sliders, which are common across Texas. These are the turtles often seen lined up on logs or rocks near ponds and creeks, sliding into the water when approached. Other turtles, including box turtles, may be seen farther from water, especially after rain or during warm, active months.

When you see a turtle in the road, the first rule is simple: do not put yourself or anyone else in danger. If traffic is heavy, visibility is poor or there is no safe place to pull over, it is better to slow down and go around if you can. A good intention is not worth causing a wreck.

If it is safe to stop, pull completely off the road, turn on your hazard lights and watch for traffic before getting out. The safest approach is usually to move the turtle to the side of the road it was already heading toward. That part matters. If you turn it around or move it somewhere else entirely, the turtle may try to cross again.

Small turtles can usually be picked up gently by holding both sides of the shell. Keep your fingers away from the head and front legs, and carry the turtle low to the ground in case it kicks or startles you. Set it down a safe distance from the road, facing the same direction it was traveling.

Snapping turtles are a different matter. North Texas is home to common snapping turtles, and Texas also has alligator snapping turtles in parts of the state. These turtles have powerful jaws and long necks, and they should be handled with respect. Never pick up any turtle by the tail. It can injure the animal, and with a snapping turtle, it can put you in a bad position quickly.

If you are dealing with a large snapping turtle and do not feel comfortable helping it, the best choice may be to let it continue on its own while you stay safely away. If you can safely assist without handling it directly, you may be able to guide it across with a shovel, board or floor mat, but only if traffic conditions allow.

What you should not do is take the turtle home. A turtle in the road is not lost in the way we might think. It is likely trying to get somewhere specific. Relocating it to your pond, your yard or a “better” place miles away can do more harm than good. Turtles have home ranges, and moving them far from where they were found may leave them stressed, disoriented or more likely to die.

It is also worth remembering that wild turtles are not pets. They may look harmless, and some may be tempting for children to keep, but wild turtles belong in the wild. In Texas, there are rules regarding the collection and possession of native wildlife, and some turtle species have special protections. The simplest and best choice is to help them across when safe, then leave them where they belong.

If a turtle is injured, the answer is a little different. A cracked shell, obvious bleeding or a turtle that has been hit by a vehicle may need help from someone trained to handle wildlife. In that case, contact a permitted wildlife rehabilitator, local animal control office or Texas Parks and Wildlife for guidance.

For those of us who spend a lot of time driving North Texas backroads, watching for turtles is just another small way to be aware of the land around us. It does not take much effort to slow down, give one a little room or help it across when conditions are safe.

A turtle crossing the road may not be in a hurry, but it is on its way somewhere. Sometimes the best thing we can do is help it get there.

A Favorite for Butterflies and Hummingbirds

By Norman Winter | Horticulturist, Author and Speaker

The Mexican bush sage has been blooming for a few weeks now, and like clockwork, it’s proving to be a favorite nectar source for Monarch butterflies heading south. It’s always fascinated me that, with so many other nectar flowers available in the fall, there’s something they especially like about this salvia.

Known botanically as Salvia leucantha, the Mexican bush sage is native to Mexico and Central America. It’s one of those plants I can’t imagine not having in my garden. A short-day (or long-night) bloomer, it starts flowering in late summer and keeps going through several frosts. The fuzzy, velvety purple spikes with white or purple flowers are produced in abundance. For cut-flower enthusiasts, this plant can easily yield a hundred stems for the vase. Even when not in bloom, its gray-green foliage adds interest to the garden.

As I mentioned, it’s a favorite for butterflies – especially Monarchs – but it’s also a regular feeding stop for hummingbirds. They’re drawn to the white blooms emerging from the velvety purple calyces. The ideal growing location is full sun, though the plant can tolerate a bit of afternoon shade. The soil must be very well-drained, so consider planting in raised beds or amending heavy soils with compost or humus. In fact, well-drained soil may be the key to encouraging a surprising spring return in regions farther north than expected.

When preparing your soil, incorporate 2 pounds of a slow-release 12-6-6 fertilizer per 100 square feet of bed space. Space the plants 24 to 36 inches apart, and plant them at the same depth they were growing in their containers. Avoid planting near streetlights or floodlights, as this salvia blooms in response to the number of dark hours.

Provide supplemental water during prolonged dry periods. After the first hard frost in the fall, cut the plants back to ground level and add a layer of mulch for winter protection. Feed again in the spring when you see new growth emerging, and continue feeding every six to eight weeks through September. For even more blooms in the fall, lightly prune once or twice in late April and early June. You can also harvest stems and tie them with sprigs of rosemary to hang in the kitchen – an aromatic and beautiful touch.

Mexican bush sage is mostly sold generically, but there are some standout selections worth noting: Midnight (with dark purple flowers), Kathiann Brown (a dwarf with lavender blooms), and the similar Santa Barbara (also a compact lavender variety). The standard form of Mexican bush sage typically reaches about 4 feet tall, while the compact varieties stay under 3 feet.

For companion planting, consider pairing with classic fall-blooming yellow mums – they’re an obvious but perfect match. In the herb garden, Mexican bush sage pairs well with rosemary, garlic chives, and lavender. The fall-blooming forsythia sage (Salvia madrensis), with its massive yellow flower spikes, also makes an incredible companion. Other great partners include yellow marigolds and golden lantana.

Mexican bush sage is perennial in USDA zones 8 and sometimes in zone 7, especially with perfect drainage and a protective layer of mulch. Even in cooler climates, it’s worth growing as an annual if you have a long enough season – just know it won’t bloom until August. In places like St. Louis, it typically blooms from mid-August through frost. It’s also one of the easiest plants to root from cuttings or propagate by division.

Spiky flowers always bring energy and visual interest to a garden, and Mexican bush sage is one of the best – providing nectar for pollinators, beauty in the landscape, and cut flowers by the dozen. At this time of year, it’s practically without equal. I hope you’ll give it a try.

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Cutlines

The Mexican bush sage is the perfect complement to fall planted marigolds, sometimes called Marimums.

This Ruby-throated hummingbird finds the Mexican bush sage to be just perfect.

The Golden Thyrallis is becoming popular in Texas and makes an ideal companion for the Mexican Bush sage.

The Mexican bush sage also dazzles in fall mixed containers.

I spend a lot of time and money every year trying to convince wildlife that I do not exist.

By bow season, I’ve got it down to a science. The right camo pattern for the terrain. Face covered. Hands covered. Everything sprayed down with whatever scent is supposed to make me smell like dirt, leaves, or possibly a rock that hasn’t been disturbed since 1987. I climb into my stand well before daylight and settle in, careful not to bump metal or do anything that would announce my presence to every deer within a quarter mile.

That morning, I was feeling especially confident about my setup.

The wind was right. The stand was tucked in perfectly. The camouflage blended so well with the tree that even I had trouble finding my own knees when I looked down. I remember thinking, If a deer spots me today, it deserves to.

That thought turned out to be a little premature.

It was still dark enough that shapes were more suggestion than detail, and the woods had that quiet, holding-its-breath feeling that only exists right before daylight. I was leaned back against the tree, bow hanging on the hook, watching the woods slowly come into focus.

That’s when I heard wings.

At first, it was just a soft rush of air. Subtle. Close enough that it registered, but not loud enough to make sense. I tilted my head slightly, trying to locate the sound without moving too much. The last thing you want to do in a tree stand is start acting suspicious.

Then it got louder.

Much louder.

I looked up just in time to see a large shape coming straight at my face.

There’s no graceful way to describe the reaction that followed. I didn’t scream, but I also didn’t not make a noise. It was some sort of half-grunt, half-gasp that came from deep in my chest as I instinctively leaned back into the tree.

The owl pulled up at the last second.

We were close enough to make eye contact, which is not something I recommend experiencing unexpectedly while twenty feet off the ground. His wings flared, feathers spread wide, and he hovered there for a split second like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

To be fair, neither could I.

We stared at each other, both clearly shaken by the encounter. I’m fairly certain he had planned to land on the tree right where my head happened to be. My camouflage had done its job so well that I had successfully fooled an apex nighttime predator.

There’s a strange mix of pride and terror that comes with that realization.

He banked hard and flew off, disappearing into the timber with a few annoyed wingbeats. I stayed frozen against the tree, heart pounding, trying to convince myself that my soul had not, in fact, just left my body.

I sat there for several minutes afterward, replaying the moment and wondering how close I’d come to becoming part of some owl’s story about “the weirdest tree I ever tried to land in.”

Once things settled down, daylight finally started to creep in. Birds picked back up. The woods returned to normal. I eased back into position, telling myself the worst part of the morning was over.

It wasn’t.

About an hour later, I caught movement to my right. A doe eased through the trees, cautious but unbothered. She passed under my stand without ever looking up. A few minutes after that, another deer followed. Still no alarm. No snorting. No busted hunt.

Apparently, owls are pickier about personal space than deer.

By the time I climbed down that morning, I hadn’t loosed an arrow, but I’d gained a healthy respect for just how invisible you can become when everything lines up. We spend so much time worrying about deer seeing us that we forget the rest of the woods is watching, too.

And sometimes, if you’re really doing things right, they won’t see you until it’s almost too late.

Next season, I might still wear the same camouflage.

But I’ll probably keep one eye on the sky.