The Beginning
Well, I'm back home now. Arkansas home, anyway.
It's difficult to have two homes because no matter where you are, part of you is always missing the other home. I must admit that I didn't realize that I missed Arkansas. Of course I missed my cats, but I forgot about the charm of crunchy leaves underfoot, a cup of hot coffee on a cold morning, and the frosty anticipation of Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I came to Hawaii expecting to help save the turtles, which I did, and that is magnificent. I am so honored to have been able to help them and to leave a positive mark on the environment. I did not expect to grow and change so much as a person.
I've noticed that people on the mainland socialize by complaining. One person will gripe about some aspect of their life, and then someone across the table will try to one-up them with a bigger complaint. "You think that's horrible? Well today my boss asked me to do something that I don't think I should have to do! Let me bitch about it for a while!"
People in Hawaii don't do that. They say positive things and build each other up. They give others the benefit of the doubt instead of jumping to conclusions. I absolutely love this. I grew up learning to give others the benefit of the doubt, always assume the best about them when you don't know something for certain. I didn't realize how far I'd strayed from that mindset. Depending on who you spend time with, it might even become pointless to assume positive things about others, because a lot of people just want to complain and if you try to say something positive about a person you will be ignored or criticized.
I am going to be more positive in my life.
I am also going to be more purposeful about my life. I don't feel directionless like I did before this journey. I know what my passions are. I have possible employment goals to explore. Like the hatchlings, I won't give up, even when it seems hopeless.
This is what I love about hatchlings. From the moment they draw their first breath, everything is against them. First they must break out of their shells, but some don't hatch. The ones that make it out of the shell must fight their way up through a foot of sand before they even see the sky. Some don't make it that far and begin to decompose in the nest. The remaining hatchlings have to rush across one or two thousand feet of sand, climbing into and out of ruts and footprints, avoiding crabs, staying right side up. For a hatchling that is maybe 5 centimeters long, this distance is enormous. Some of them go the wrong way and never make it.
Once the surviving babies reach the shoreline, the waves don't pick them up right away. The hatchlings are tossed back onto the beach by the force of the waves hitting the sand. They tumble over and pick themselves up and again race headlong into the water. They might try five or six times before successfully being swept away by the ocean.
The hatchlings that enter the ocean must swim hundreds of miles to floating seaweed (sargassum) beds. They must evade predators and at this point it's mostly just luck, because hatchlings are completely defenseless.
The ones that make it to the sargassum beds must find enough things to eat and continue to evade predators until they reach sexual maturity around age 20.
Of course none of this occurs to a hatchling as it pips out of its egg. When it's racing to the ocean, it doesn't know that it might die at any moment. It has no knowledge of whether there is a depression in the sand ahead of it, or a crab, or a fish waiting in the water. The entire time there is only one thing on its mind: getting to the sargassum beds as fast as possible.
I want to be like that. Single-minded, focused on the goal, not distracted by the haters and the obstacles.
Infinite thanks to everyone who helped me on this journey, especially those who generously gave through the GoFundMe that my cousin encouraged me to start. Thank you for all your encouragement and support. None of this would have been possible without you.
(The caption for this snap video says: "The last hawksbill hatchlings of the season are off. I hope one of them survives and returns in 20 years to lay her own nest")
It's difficult to have two homes because no matter where you are, part of you is always missing the other home. I must admit that I didn't realize that I missed Arkansas. Of course I missed my cats, but I forgot about the charm of crunchy leaves underfoot, a cup of hot coffee on a cold morning, and the frosty anticipation of Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I came to Hawaii expecting to help save the turtles, which I did, and that is magnificent. I am so honored to have been able to help them and to leave a positive mark on the environment. I did not expect to grow and change so much as a person.
I've noticed that people on the mainland socialize by complaining. One person will gripe about some aspect of their life, and then someone across the table will try to one-up them with a bigger complaint. "You think that's horrible? Well today my boss asked me to do something that I don't think I should have to do! Let me bitch about it for a while!"
People in Hawaii don't do that. They say positive things and build each other up. They give others the benefit of the doubt instead of jumping to conclusions. I absolutely love this. I grew up learning to give others the benefit of the doubt, always assume the best about them when you don't know something for certain. I didn't realize how far I'd strayed from that mindset. Depending on who you spend time with, it might even become pointless to assume positive things about others, because a lot of people just want to complain and if you try to say something positive about a person you will be ignored or criticized.
I am going to be more positive in my life.
I am also going to be more purposeful about my life. I don't feel directionless like I did before this journey. I know what my passions are. I have possible employment goals to explore. Like the hatchlings, I won't give up, even when it seems hopeless.
This is what I love about hatchlings. From the moment they draw their first breath, everything is against them. First they must break out of their shells, but some don't hatch. The ones that make it out of the shell must fight their way up through a foot of sand before they even see the sky. Some don't make it that far and begin to decompose in the nest. The remaining hatchlings have to rush across one or two thousand feet of sand, climbing into and out of ruts and footprints, avoiding crabs, staying right side up. For a hatchling that is maybe 5 centimeters long, this distance is enormous. Some of them go the wrong way and never make it.
Once the surviving babies reach the shoreline, the waves don't pick them up right away. The hatchlings are tossed back onto the beach by the force of the waves hitting the sand. They tumble over and pick themselves up and again race headlong into the water. They might try five or six times before successfully being swept away by the ocean.
The hatchlings that enter the ocean must swim hundreds of miles to floating seaweed (sargassum) beds. They must evade predators and at this point it's mostly just luck, because hatchlings are completely defenseless.
The ones that make it to the sargassum beds must find enough things to eat and continue to evade predators until they reach sexual maturity around age 20.
Of course none of this occurs to a hatchling as it pips out of its egg. When it's racing to the ocean, it doesn't know that it might die at any moment. It has no knowledge of whether there is a depression in the sand ahead of it, or a crab, or a fish waiting in the water. The entire time there is only one thing on its mind: getting to the sargassum beds as fast as possible.
I want to be like that. Single-minded, focused on the goal, not distracted by the haters and the obstacles.
Infinite thanks to everyone who helped me on this journey, especially those who generously gave through the GoFundMe that my cousin encouraged me to start. Thank you for all your encouragement and support. None of this would have been possible without you.
Hey Anna, Great to hear in 1 blog post the sweep of the entire 2 months. You have brought to life for us the positive side of "environmentalism." Not the dour, anti-fun, anti-freedom stuff that gets so much publicity and can be so polarizing, but rather a sort of merry midwifery that escorts some of nature's most attractive babies into an uncertain future, but one in which they at least NOW HAVE A CHANCE!! That snap video is priceless. I'm so glad that you posted it. For it is a bittersweet denouement to your adventure, evoking the the same wistful ambivalence that middle-aged humans have as they say goodbye to their last home-dwelling child. GREAT that she's leaving; SAD that she's leaving. What will the future bring? "Letting go" MUST happen, but the empty hand . . . well, it is empty, and must learn to grasp new things, or re-visit the old things, lest it too suffer the fate of the hatchling that didn't make it out of the sand.
ReplyDeletePlease keep writing in your future plans. We have all been blessed by your depictions of travel, nature's wet and fiery domains, life and death, human nature, and your own growth as a naturalist and sort-of sheriff . . . with a twinkle in her eye! Be sure to let us in on your next adventure. We can hardly wait!