By ALICIA WOODWARD, guest columnist
An enormous sea turtle appeared on the dusky beach with a helpful push from high tide. Word quickly spread among beachcombers taking an evening stroll. A crowd gathered to get a glimpse of the gentle giant who slowly batted her large, sleepy eyes, as if seeing alien beings for the first time.
The loggerhead laboriously planted her fore flippers and pushed her beak-like mouth in the thick sand to slowly pull herself forward with one purpose in mind. No telling what she had gone through to reach this particular spot on Hilton Head Island to lay her eggs.
Most of the onlookers remained a respectful distance and watched the beautiful creature in awe, but others moved closer and closer.
Selfies were taken and posted. A dog’s owner allowed it to jump and yap furiously no more than a foot from the turtle’s thick, calloused head. One young couple actually attempted to perch their baby on the turtle’s 3-foot long carapace. Their plans for the perfect photo op were thwarted by a tiny but mighty woman with brown, leathered skin wearing a Volunteer Sea Turtle Patrol T-shirt.
The turtle’s expression was one of exhaustion, stress, and a sad understanding that she is an endangered species. She stopped moving and seemed to stoically wait for the will to push past the noise and narcissism.
Sea turtles can’t retract into their shells, though she looked like she wanted to. At last, she gave in and allowed a few big waves take her back out to sea.
Amazingly, sea turtles undergo epic oceanic journeys and return to the exact spot they were born to mate and lay their own eggs. With this kind of wisdom, it’s likely she chose to return to the ocean of sagacity, not defeat.
I’ve been a lot like that sea turtle lately. I squeeze my wrinkled eyes open and shut, not quite believing what I see. I shake my head slowly from side to side, not quite believing what I hear. Sometimes there’s just too much to take in, to process, to respond to, so I go into my proverbial shell and let it all crash over me.
It’s been nearly a month, but I still think of that gorgeous loggerhead. I hope she’s happily swimming through deep blue water fully recovered from the world’s madness.
We’ve all been there — a time when it’s perfectly logical and necessary to retreat, regroup and regain our strength and sense of self. Then we can come out of our shell and simply carry on.
Alicia Woodward and her husband are empty-nesters who live on Sweetwater Lake in Brown County. She taught middle school literature and language arts for more than 25 years and writes a weekly blog, The Simple Swan, inspired by the wisdom, beauty and simplicity of nature. Subscribe at thesimpleswan.com. She can be reached at [email protected].
