
It was day like another day, except I was up at 5:30 am. I’m never up at 5:30 am unless my husband Ed has convinced me to go fishing, or years ago when I was teaching high school.
My husband Ed was snoring in neutral and Diesel, our corgi, was peacefully lying by. I lay there eyes wide open. “What’s going on with me”? I thought. I shut my eyes hard trying to get back to sleep. I heard a little voice in my head: “Why don’t you get up and do something”? I closed my eyes even harder. Then for some reason I sat straight up, got dressed, and headed for the beach.
The morning was so peaceful. Being a night owl, morning is a time of day I rarely experience. As I pulled out of South Sewall’s Point onto AIA I thought, “You know Jacqui, you really don’t take advantage of this beautiful place you live. The call of the ocean is just moments away, everyday.”

Turning onto MacAurthur Boulvard I drove through the old Indian River Plantation and out to Chastain Beach. It was like going to Church after a long absence. Scott David, the “mayor” was there filming wildlife with his drone, a young man named Dustin was blowing into a conch shell – its ancient sound reverberating across the water – and Dr. Duke Duncan was happily paddle boarding surrounded by friendly sharks. It was glorious!
The sun was rising and I was surprised to see young and old wading through the gentle waves so early in the morning. Looking around, I noticed multiple sea turtle tracks. A young woman and her friends were gathered watching a baby loggerhead sea turtle lying limp in the sand. I watched, thinking how good it was these young people were out caring about Nature. I approached.
“He’s alive,” she said, “he’s just too tired…”Screaming seagulls darted overhead, hungry for breakfast. The heat of the sun was slowly intensifying.




“Hmmm,” I said. “What should we do?
“Well I know we are not supposed to touch them…” the girl said. “But it’s definitely going to die or get eaten. Many don’t make it I guess.” The kids looked at one another.
“Would you want to take the hatching to the Loggerhead Marine Center?” I asked. Florida Oceanographic nearby used to have a baby turtle drop off but I don’t think it’s there anymore…”
“Oh we don’t know about that.” A boy replied.
“That’s a good idea,” said the girl, ” but we are just visiting the area, could you do it?”
“Of course I can”, I said. So I did.
The kids watched as I dumped out the tea that was in my Gator cup and filled it with seawater. We packed in some seaweed too which was everywhere along the shoreline. I wanted to help the little sea turtle keep its head up. Sea turtles breathe air; we didn’t want it to drown. “Yes thousand of years ago they lived on the land,” said the boy.


I went home to tell Ed where I was and was going. When putting the little sea turtle into a larger bucket, I noticed he or she had something like a placenta coming out of its stomach. “Ed do sea turtles have belly buttons”?
“Look it up ,” he mumbled making his coffee.
I read out loud: “Loggerhead hatchlings have a temporary “belly button” or umbilical scar – on the center of their lower shell (plastron). This small protrusion or dimple marks where the hatchling was attached to their yolk sac in the egg. This sac provides them with vital energy for about the first 3 days as they dig to the surface, make it to the ocean, and swim out to sea — sometimes continuously for over 48 hours tor more towards the Gulf Stream. — Only about 1 in 1000 baby hatchings make it to maturity.”
“One in a thousand?” Ed said, perking up and then helping me and the sea turtle into the car.
Carefully balancing a small bucket and making sure the little sea turtle’s nose was positioned on the seaweed so it could breathe, I drove south on US 1 from Sewall’s Point to Juno Beach. Every once in a while the little turtle lifted its head and its tiny flippers shook with what appeared to be excitement.
“Stay alive, little guy. We’re almost there,” I said, as traffic clogged the highway and gas fumes filled the air. I thought about how sea turtles have been swimming in Earth’s oceans for about 120 million years. With a little bit of help, they just may make it another million, I mused. I may have been dreaming but I swear I thought I head the hatchling say: “But will you?”
I looked down at the baby sea turtle incredulously. “Thanks for calling me this morning; I’m not sure if humans will make it or not, I said, but in any case, “I hope to see you again.”


















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































