And Cara believed her mother had somehow guided this turtle to her tonight because she knew her daughter needed to see it again. To be reminded of the continuity of life. That death followed life and life was renewed once again, over and over with the steadiness of the seasons. The memory of that night with her mother had been her touchstone through many difficult times since. Cara knew this night would, as well.
The turtle steadfastly laid egg after egg into the nest. While she labored, great streams of tears flowed from her eyes. Lovie had called them “a mother’s tears.” Cara had to take her word for it. She was not a mother. She never would be. She’d come to accept this.
But she was a woman. Her feminine intuition understood fully the turtle’s sense of duty as she risked everything to lay her eggs. She identified with her maternal strength of purpose as she carefully, one flipper of sand after another, covered her nest, then flipped sand into the air to camouflage the next generation from predators. And when her nesting was finished, Cara comprehended the mother’s regret as she turned away from her young, as all mothers would one day, to begin the long, lonely journey back to the sea, never to return.
Cara rose to her feet to walk a safe distance behind the turtle. The turtle stopped frequently, gulping air, exhausted from the arduous night. Determinedly she moved toward the sea, scraping the sand, dragging the burden of her shell. At last the turtle reached the first touch of salt water as the lapping waves slid up the sandy beach to greet her. She raised her head, sniffing the salty air. Above, the moon spread a golden path across the sea, as though guiding her home. She moved quicker now, with renewed energy.
The turtle never looked back. She plowed forward with fresh resolve into the first wave. The black water washed away the sand, revealing the glistening, burnished brown shell illuminated by the mother moon. With the next stroke of her great flippers, the turtle was swimming. In that instant she was transformed from a plodding burdened beast into a creature of grace. Buoyant and free from the drag of gravity, she swam farther out to sea, her head in the air. Cara watched, hands at her lips, tears in her eyes. One final breath, and the turtle slipped beneath the darkness of the sea.
Cara stopped at the water’s edge. The sea was warm on her toes and swirled around her ankles. So inviting. But she dared go no farther. This was the sea turtle’s home. Not hers. She stared out at the sea a little longer, hoping she might catch one more glimpse of the turtle. But she was gone.
Cara smiled then and felt a great rush of gratitude to her mother.
Mama, I see what you were trying to tell me, she thought. It was time for her to be more like the sea turtle she’d been named after. To be resilient in the face of tragedy. She had no more time to waste on self-pity. This was her journey across the sand. She was, like the sea turtle, once again a solitary swimmer.
She made her way back across the beach toward home. Overhead the stars winked. Cara had her eyes cast forward. She didn’t see that, behind her, her footprints intermingled in the sand with the tracks of the great sea turtle until human and animal tread became one. A single ephemeral mark on the sand that couldn’t be told apart at all.
Part Four
RELEASE
Barbara J. Bergwerf
BROWN PELICAN
Pelicans are sea birds and some of the largest and most easily recognized birds found on the East Coast of the United States. Brown pelicans are gray-brown birds with yellow heads and white necks, and characterized by their long bills with a unique underlying throat pouches. They feed by diving into the water from as high as sixty-five feet, but contrary to common belief they do not become blind from the impact. After nearly disappearing from North America in the 1960s and 1970s, brown pelicans made a comeback thanks to pesticide regulations.
Conservation status: Least Concern *State wildlife action plan high priority
Epilogue
September
SUMMER WAS OVER. In the lowcountry, children were once again ensconced in school, the sea turtles were off swimming in the ocean, and the new crop of fledglings had flown the nest and joined the adults on the great migration south. Throughout the lowcountry the skies were filled with flocks of birds.
For six brown pelicans, however, the journey was only about to begin.
Heather had joined Bo among the ranks of volunteers at the Center for Birds of Prey. Her commission on shorebirds was finished. Two of her paintings had been accepted and would someday grace Mr. and Mrs. Citizen’s letters—American oystercatchers and semipalmated sandpipers. She’d submitted her proposal for wading birds and seabirds, and the response had been surprisingly enthusiastic—so much so, in fact, that she’d received word of her second commission! And the first bird she would paint was the brown pelican.
Heather was partial to the pelican. It was an elegant bird with its oversized bill, and a masterful flier. Who didn’t thrill to see squadrons fly above the water in formation? Or their stunning headfirst dives to catch fish? She and Bo had rescued dozens of pelicans in the short time she’d been a volunteer. Many of them were juveniles who’d never caught on how to fish. Failure to thrive was the diagnosis. Emaciated and caught in a downward spiral, many of them didn’t make it, although the center did all they could for them. Only 30 percent of pelicans survived their first year. But the good news was that there were three here today that had.
She looked across the beach at the six large crates spread out in a straight line. A volunteer from the Center for Birds of Prey stood at each crate, waiting for the signal. Bo was one of them, framed by the shrubby maritime forest of Sullivan’s Island and the brilliant September sky overhead. She smiled and waved. The sight of him still caused her heart to beat faster. The juveniles needed to be released to a flock of birds that would mentor them. Even the adults would have a better chance of survival if they joined a flock. Pelicans were exceedingly social, another reason she loved them.