WHITEFISH RIVER FIRST NATION—On a humid July morning, beneath the thick hush of a wetland waking to life, two women move with care and intention. One adjusts the thermostat on a humming incubator, the other weighs a tiny, glistening egg. The numbers have to be right. The moisture has to be right. The future of a species—centuries-old, sacred and under siege—depends on precision.
This is not just science. This is care work.
This is the Turtle Incubation Project, co-created between Whitefish River First Nation (WRFN) and two environmental researchers: PhD candidate Reta Meng of McMaster University and Alexis McGregor, a master’s student in environmental engineering at Carleton University. What started as a student partnership has become a community-led research program braided tightly with the values of reciprocity, protection, and intergenerational knowledge.
For Anishinaabe people, the turtle—known as Mikinaak or Mishiikenh—is a sacred being, central to their cosmology and identity. It appears prominently in creation stories and is understood as a symbol of the Earth, often referred to as Turtle Island. The turtle represents creation, wisdom and longevity, and its shell is recognized as a lunar calendar, with 13 large scutes mirroring the cycles of the moon. These teachings reflect a deep understanding of the natural world and the interconnectedness of all life.
“The funding came through my university graduate program, but now that’s concluded—it’s actually WRFN’s funding now,” said Ms. Meng. “We’re always applying for more wherever possible.”
The pair, recently honoured with the Braiding Knowledges Canada (BKC) Knowledge Braiders’ Award, has been tracking, protecting, and now incubating freshwater turtle eggs—particularly Blanding’s turtles—on WRFN land for several years. This year, they’ve expanded the project to include artificial incubation in order to combat the devastating effects of predation on natural nests.
“Right now, we’re taking care of the eggs. They need to be watered twice a week to make sure the moisture content doesn’t drop too much—it supports the growth of the turtles,” said Ms. McGregor. “We’re weighing them to make sure they’re not shrinking. We’re kind of going crazy in terms of numbers, and we monitor the incubator temperature constantly—28.5°C during the day and 21°C at night—just making sure nothing malfunctions.”
That level of meticulousness is hard-won. It stems from years of heartbreak—like the discovery that nearly 95 percent of test nests placed along a former rail corridor were destroyed. The straight-line geometry of the decommissioned Algoma East Central railroad has created a deadly buffet for raccoons and other predators. “Turtles lay eggs and they bury them along the train track, but then raccoons and all sorts of animals come,” said Ms. Meng. “It’s basically like an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
The team hopes that artificial incubation—carefully warming and monitoring eggs until they hatch—will boost the survival rate and buy time for longer-term solutions. It’s a stopgap rooted in urgency, and hope.
But this isn’t just about hatching eggs. “We’re working on long-term population monitoring too—basically going into wetlands when we have time, based on suggestions from community members, just surveying,” said Ms. Meng.
And always, they’re listening.
Each year, the project uncovers new habitats, more turtles, and fresh insight—much of it guided by the wisdom of Elders and the curiosity of local youth. As the work expands, so does community involvement, with students, families and knowledge holders joining the effort. For Ms. McGregor, the project is more than research—it’s a chance to give back to her community and deepen the connections that make the work meaningful.
That connection has turned into a full-fledged collaboration between WRFN’s Lands Department and the two researchers. “Alex and I have been working together for this entire time,” said Ms. Meng.
“This project doesn’t exist without Alex—we’ve really been building it on the ground together with the Lands Department,” Ms. Meng added.
The team isn’t shy about the urgency of their work. “We do still see people purposely run over turtles, and it’s really uncalled for,” said Ms. McGregor. “It’s July already, so we’re a bit past nesting season, but they’re very sensitive. It’s important to stay 10 metres away—and just slow down on roads if you see them.”
Why does this matter?
Because turtles are far more than their shells. “They help control the populations of fish, frogs, tadpoles—keeping things balanced,” said Ms. Meng. “They also eat decomposing matter and cycle nutrients. They’re ecological indicators—if you see turtles in an area, especially the more sensitive Blanding’s turtles, it generally means the wetland is still somewhat functional, which is really good to see.”
But their role is not only scientific. “It’s not just that they’re cool creatures,” she said. “They have high ecological value, high cultural value.”
And therein lies the strength of this project: it is not merely conservation—it is restoration, resistance, and reclamation. With the support of WRFN Chief and Council, the Lands Department, Elders, students, and local families who come out in droves for turtle education events, the Turtle Incubation Project represents a kind of living treaty—between youth and Elders, between species, and between two knowledge systems.
In the humid hush of a lab, or the thick buzzing heat of a wetland, you can hear it: a promise cracking open. A future hatching.
For more information on turtle conservation in WRFN, including road safety tips and outreach events, please contact the WRFN Lands Department.
– with files from Michael Erskine
