In response to Andy in “Comments”

Snapping turtles are the meanest critters on the face of the planet. Before we moved to Florida, my old man’s favorite thing was hunting snapping turtles in the swamps of New Jersey near Swedesboro. All he used was a metal rod with a hook on the end of it and a big wooden crate to put the turtles in. He would always bring me back a little box turtle. He caught the snappers for fun. Only once did he bring one back to cook. He cut off the head and the head kept trying to take your finger off well into the next day. Here’s a picture of me and Billy Drake on the crick (Back then it wasn’t a “creek”. It was a “crick”) down behind our house.

That boat we’re floating in was my father’s snapping turtle crate. My mother’s note at the bottom is wrong. My father died in 1958. I was just a kid. Years later I learned from my cousin, Barb, whom I mentioned yesterday, that my father’s wish was to have his ashes spread in the swamp where he hunted the turtles. When my mother passed in 2004 I took her ashes up to the family plot in Wilmington, Delaware, and I spread my father’s ashes in the swamps of New Jersey.

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