To the unschooled, turtles’ Latin names can be intimidating and disorienting. Many scientists, and far too many turtle people, refer to turtles by these names. For years, I stood around at Turtle Society meetings and reptile conferences foolishly grinning and nodding as people traded information about turtles called, for instance, Clemmys guttata and Malaclemys terrapin. These turned out to be spotted turtles and diamondback terrapins, two species that lived in my kitchen.

     In the fall of 1992, Allen excitedly informed me that the next July, he’d be spending seven days at the State University of New York at Purchase at a turtle conference. There, more than two hundred herpetologists (scientists who study reptiles and amphibians) from around the world would convene to present papers on their recent findings. Since the New York Turtle and Tortoise Society was a conference sponsor, Allen would attend as a volunteer. He’d help with registration and arrange media interviews for the scientists. The Turtle Society, he said, wanted me to be the conference photographer. I thought about it and agreed. Even though I’d be photographing people, not turtles, this seemed more appealing than spending a week at home alone. Then, I realized I had a problem: Everyone at this meeting would call turtles by their Latin names.

     Then and there, I vowed not to feel left out at Purchase. I began to bring a few of Allen’s turtle books to bed at night, determined to memorize some Latin names before I nodded off. The first time Allen found me curled up with a turtle tome, he burst out laughing. “You do realize there are over 250 species and a bunch more subspecies. Not that I want to discourage you.”

     No, he wanted to be incredibly condescending.

     “Try me,” I said.

     “Okay, close the book and tell me the Latin name for an Eastern box turtle.”

     I didn’t hesitate. “Terrapene carolina carolina.”

     “That’s right.” Allen looked surprised. “What about a three-toed box turtle?”

     “Terrapene carolina triunguis. ‘Triunguis’ for three toes.”

     “Map turtle.”

     “Graptemys geographica. ‘Graptemys’ means inscribed and ‘geographica’ means maplike. The name describes the maplike markings on the turtle’s shell.”

     I realized that Allen was testing me on the turtles he had now or had once had. I was a step ahead of him. “I’ve already learned the names of your turtles,” I said, smugly. “For instance, your painted turtle is Chrysemys picta picta. ‘Picta’ for the bright markings on the shell. Your reeves turtle is Chinemys reevessii. ‘Chinemys’ means Chinese turtle and ‘reevessii’ is for Reeves, who discovered the turtle and described it in the scientific literature. A single or double i at the end of the word means the species was named after its discoverer. Your red-eared sliders are Trachemys scripta elegans, or ‘elegant slider’. Did you want me to go on?”

     Allen rolled his eyes and groaned.

You may freely reprint all or part of this excerpt on your Web site or in your newsletter, provided that you include the citation below.  To copy the HTML code for this text box and link, which you may paste into your Web page, click here. Excerpted from CONFESSIONS OF A TURTLE WIFE (Hats Off Books) ©2001 Anita Salzberg.  To learn how some hard shells melted two hearts (plus puzzles and games, turtle art and more!), visit turtlewife.com.