A small crowd began to swell around the nesting site an hour before sunset. Volunteers had been taking turns camping out several nights in a row to guard the precious and living treasure. It was day sixty, a full moon, and a four inch hole had appeared at the site the night before. Expectations were high.

Vacationers who picked up on the buzz were setting up their lawn chairs and towels in hopes of a front row seat. They brought with them the smell of beer, loud children, and many questions about sea turtles and their little ones. Few intelligent answers emerged from this pool of ignorance as I listened.  One lady yelled about a half hour after sunset, “Where’s the show?” Another one shouted, “What time are the turtles going to hatch?” The volunteers, who had been patiently waiting for days answered with silence. A few minutes later another woman began to do a cheer pleading the turtles to come out. A couple of teenage girls observed and improvised a turtle dance. Soft glows from cell phones, Nintendo DS’s, and Palm Pilots surrounded the curved pathway to the sea. Because the loggerheads are endangered a local marine biologist had raked a pathway for the turtles and encouraged a group of volunteers to keep the path free of debris and humans.

An hour later, the tourists became restless as the natives began peering into the hole with a red light. The lady who wanted to know what time the turtles were hatching left in frustration. A few others followed. Two families nearby, who were apparently friends, were talking very loudly to their unruly children who kept running around kicking sand on those of us who were trying to get some rest. They did not seem to notice that they were the only ones talking loud among a sea of whispers. My heart rate rose a bit with hope as their mothers said that they were tired and were heading back to the condo. My hopes quickly sank when I realized that their children were going to be staying behind with their fathers, who by this time had easily put away a 12 pack of Bud Light and were discussing whether to stay or to get pizza and more beer. Close to eleven thirty a drunk staggered across the beach near the fifty or so left of us and cried, “What the hell is going on?” He plopped down on the sand and said, “This is f#@ing awesome, everyone just hanging out together, all for the little turtles.” By this time, my three and seven year olds had been asleep for more than an hour. I laid back with my face toward the stars. I observed a couple of satellites arching across the sky amid several planes. Gazing into the sky I was surprised to see a meteorite blasting into the earth’s atmosphere in a brilliant display of yellow and orange. I thought about God and how the universe was both ordered and chaotic, much like the human condition. As annoying as people can be, they are all wonderful in their own way. We are all on a learning curve about how to interact with nature in a way that is mutually beneficial for all creatures. Even those of us who are more ecologically mindful can be annoying. We must all love and respect each other, despite our differences, and strive to see beyond ourselves to each other and the natural wonders that surround us.

                This was our second night on the beach. Both nights we stayed past midnight. My three year old son was beginning to get cold and restless. My soul was full. We headed back to shelter.

                No turtles emerged that night. The next night, we went out again and had a great time together as a family.  Again, we saw no turtles. The fourth night was cool and rainy. About a dozen volunteers huddled near each other around the nesting site. Then, suddenly, albeit anticlimactic, the sand began to move. Within five minutes a little three inch turtle emerged. Within twenty minutes the earth was moving and ninety five turtles began their fateful march to the sea, the very waters that have given a haven of safety to their ancestors for more time than I can fathom; the same sea that is also home to dangerous predators. Most of these turtles would eventually fall prey to them. Some might get caught in fishing nets. One of the marine biologists told me that fewer than five would likely make it to adulthood and perhaps only one or two would live to reproduce. I said a prayer that night that this group would beat those odds.