Save the Turtles

When Mom and Heidi took their customary walk on the beach this morning they were haled by a couple of ladies with the honey drawl of these parts. In short, we had left our outside lights on overnight and that's a no-no around here. This beach is one of the few where the endangered loggerhead lays her eggs, and from April to October the community observes some simple practices to assist these turtles and help to increase the odds thet their offspring will survive.

The women were actually members of a local turtle patrol. Later we found a postcard-sized message wedged into the outlet by the outdoor light switch that explained everything. (Those turtle ladies are efficient!) It seems that when the young turtles hatch, it is the light of the moon that draws them into the sea. Household illuminations can distract these newborns with disastrous consequence; once turned around hatchlings rarely find their way to the ocean.

I want to do all I can to preserve this (and any) species-- really I do-- but I confess that I'm a wee bit conflicted. On the one hand there is the pathos of those infant loggerheads heading with all of their innate instinct and determination in a direction exactly opposite of the one they ought to go. Then there is the notion of natural selection. Hey! Dumbass! The ocean is over there!

Don't worry. The lights are out.

Cogito Ergo Queritor

People don't always play the way you want them to. Some build sand structures, and others enjoy destroying them. Some are aggressively competitive in games, and some are politely cooperative. Some people prefer to pursue the impossibility of preserving pristine playdoh while others like to mix it all up.

What to do? As annoying as it might be, if you just take your quirkle blocks and go home, you'll miss all the fun. Eventually you've got to work it out. Does it really matter if you like reading on the beach or reading in the recliner, hot dogs or seafood, getting up early or staying up late? It's only a problem if you think it is, and who wants to do so much thinking on vacation?

Souvenirs

Last year my family rented a beach house the very first week of summer. It was so much fun that we wanted to put something similar together this year, too. It's tough to coordinate the busy schedules of 7 adults and the five kids, and this was the week when most of us could get together. Different house, different beach, even a different state, but same kind of vibe except for the fact that this time it is the end of the season-- school starts the day after tomorrow down here.

A veteran vacation renter, I never truly appreciated the wear and tear a place such as this suffers. After twelve solid weeks of family fun, this lovely beach house we're staying in could use some serious TLC. For example, the upper screen on the door to the oceanfront porch succumbed to the coastal breeze this afternoon and bid its spline good bye forever; now it flops forward like the dog-eared page of a paperback, marking our place here. This house has broken blinds, crooked grates, bifold doors that never meet, and all sorts of things corroded from salt, sand, and humidity. At dinner time we play an informal game of musical chairs to avoid the one with the saggy seat, although my brother graciously traded with me tonight, "Perfect for my boney butt," he said.

To begin with, these imperfections annoyed me considerably: every vacationer visualizes the ideal space for that long-awaited retreat, but gradually I've come to recognize them as what they are: badges of the pleasure and enjoyment that this place has provided to all the other people who have stayed here this summer. I'm sure we'll do a little damage of our own.

It's Not the Heat

A hundred percent humidity greeted us on our first morning here in South Carolina-- one hundred percent with not one drop of rain. Oh the rain came soon enough, it fluctuated all day from torrential to lazy drizzle to just a bead here and there oozing from the saturated air. I can't say I expected anything else from this sub-tropical vacation: the humidity and bugs have definitely not disappointed, and if the marine layer ever burns off, or the off-shore wind dies down, I'm sure the temperature will rise accordingly.

Visiting such a climate is an exotic experience. The palm trees and lush vegetation provide an emerald contrast to the white-washed sand and shells on the dunes. Our eyes are riveted to any road-side ditch or backwater-- we're looking for gators. Brightly painted cinder block buildings with tin roofs and plantation shutters are dotted in between the beach houses. Spanish moss drapes the trees and in the grayer, mistier moments, lends an air of eeriness that contributed to our purchase of Ghosts of the Carolina Coast at the local bookstore.

In fact it was just that moss hanging dramatically from the canopy of live oaks arching across the one and only road leading onto this barrier island that caught my eye on the trip in yesterday. Looking up to admire the natural arcade, I noticed something big and cat-like perched above us; in the fleeting look I got, I was sure I saw a wildcat. A little internet research confirmed the existence of bobcats down here.

Still, there are skeptics... my brother-in-law made my sister ask the clerk at the surf shop around the corner if there were any bobcats on the island. My sister says the girl looked a little taken aback by the question, but then she dug deep into her service industry core, smiled brightly, and said, "I never heard of any, but never say never, right?"

Right.

Infrastructure

We traveled most of the way on I-95 today, and what the GPS initially predicted as a quick little 8 1/2 hour trip  turned into an exhausting 11 due to pure congestion. It's impossible to begrudge others the right to travel on the interstate, and yet how much more quickly our trip would have gone if only our fellow citizens had stayed home. (No doubt they felt the same of us.)

The Last Hurrah of an Epic Summer

The bags and cooler are packed and waiting to be loaded in the van for our 10 hour road trip to South Carolina tomorrow morning. Buckets and beach towels, books and games, tennis balls and dog beds, Treat's guitar and Josh's long board, all are ready to go.

We hope to be on the road before 7 AM; we can get into the house at 4, and who wants to waste a single minute of ocean front living?

Not us.

More from Edisto Island tomorrow.

Out of Office

I heard on the radio today about a growing trend in certain smallish, white collar companies-- unlimited paid vacation for employees. Who among us could hear of such a plan without cynicism and suspicion? The opportunity for abuse seems so obvious. But still... the engagement and personal responsibility that a policy like that presupposes is just what I want from the students in my class. So when did it become so impractical to assume the best of each other?

As a teacher, I know the answer. Personalized accountability becomes nearly impossible when the group is too large to support it. When we must standardize in order to guarantee "equal" treatment, we often lose sight of the individual. As the debate on the pros and cons of nationalizing and even globalizing not only our economy, but also our food supply, our educational standards, and more, continues, it seems wise to find a way to allow each self, each someone, to regulate his or her needs in good faith.