The Birthday Storm Read online

  “Do you think we should evacuate, Grammy?” Sadora asks as Mom walks into the kitchen with the last bag of groceries.

  “Lots of Grammy’s neighbors have left the area,” Mom tells us.

  But Grammy looks calm. “I talked to your dad and your grandfather while you were gone, and we agree that we will be safe here. Our house is very strong.”

  “What if the house blows away?” I ask. I’m still thinking of Dorothy and Toto and The Wizard of Oz.

  Grammy smiles. “Trust me, Sassy.”

  Poppy and Sabin and Daddy come back inside, looking hot and sweaty.

  “Can I help hammer later?” I ask Poppy. I know that Daddy will tell me to wait until I’m bigger, but Poppy will let me try.

  “Sure, Sassy,” Poppy tells me as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. “Maybe I’ll show you how to hold a hammer and nail safely. There is one small window that you can cover.”

  Daddy winks at me. He understands.

  “I worked hard, Grammy,” Sabin says. “Can I eat now?”

  Grammy pats him on his back. “Go take a shower, Sabin, and I’ll fix you a feast!”

  Sabin runs up the steps two at a time.

  Grammy really does fix a great dinner. She cooks all the food that might spoil if the electricity is cut off. So we have baked chicken with sliced tomatoes, and roast beef and lettuce salad.

  “And for dessert,” Grammy announces, “I guess we have to eat all my leftover ice cream! If the power goes out, it will melt.”

  Sabin cheers the loudest.

  “Is this ice cream for the party?” I ask as I have my third bowl of chocolate-raspberry.

  “No, the bakery is bringing fresh-churned ice cream to go with the cake,” Grammy replies. “So enjoy!”

  After dinner, feeling full and safe for now, I snuggle next to Grammy on the sofa. “I’m worried about the turtle babies,” I admit to her.

  “I was wondering when you would ask about the turtle nest,” she says. “I made a couple of phone calls this afternoon while you were at the store.”

  “What did you find out?” Sadora asks.

  “Well, I talked to a really nice man from the university who also works for the National Save the Sea Turtle Foundation.”

  “I didn’t know there was such a thing,” Sabin says.

  “We Florida folks try to take good care of our wildlife,” Grammy explains. “We have several organizations set up to help the turtles.”

  “What did he say?” I ask Grammy.

  “He is coming here first thing in the morning, and he’s going to see what needs to be done about the nest. He’s a little worried about what the storm might do to the turtle eggs.”

  “Can we go down to the beach with him, Grammy?” I ask. “I can show him where the nest is hidden.”

  “Absolutely!” Grammy replies.

  When we finally get to bed, it feels stuffy because the windows are boarded over. It is a long time before I fall asleep.

  When I get up on Wednesday morning, I run downstairs and outside to see what the sky looks like. The dawn is thick and gray and cloudy. The ocean is dark, dark blue, and the edges look like whipped cream.

  Grammy has come out on the deck with me. The wind whips her long orange dress. “Good morning, Sassy,” she says.

  “The hurricane is coming, isn’t it, Grammy?” I ask.

  “Yes, little one, it’s coming,” she replies. She puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “What about your party?” I ask. “Tomorrow is your birthday!”

  “I figure this will be one birthday I’ll never forget!” she replies with a chuckle.

  “I would hate it if my birthday got messed up,” I tell her honestly.

  Sadora and Sabin join us on the deck. They are both quiet while strong gusts of wind whip around us.

  “The storm is like a monster in one of my video games,” Sabin says finally. “Sometimes it’s not on the screen, but you know it’s there. You can feel it coming.”

  Sadora nods in agreement. “Is that why they give hurricanes names, Grammy? Because they are like real beings?”

  “I suppose so,” Grammy replies. “I can feel it, too. So can the birds and the squirrels. Even dogs and cats go and hide under their owners’ beds.”

  “It’s a funny sort of exciting feeling,” I tell them. “Like just before you go down the hill on a roller coaster.”

  “Or just before you dive off the high board at the pool,” Sadora adds.

  “Or just before you jump out of an airplane!” Sabin says.

  “What?” we all say together.

  “Just kidding,” Sabin says. “But I will do that one day.”

  “Don’t forget your parachute,” I remind him.

  We laugh as we go back inside.

  While we eat breakfast, Sabin tells us what he has learned from his Web search about sea turtles.

  “Did you know that green sea turtles can weigh as much as three hundred fifty pounds?”

  “For real?” I’m amazed.

  “That’s a lot of turtle soup!” he jokes.

  I throw my sausage at him. “Yuck! Don’t even joke like that!”

  “Seriously,” he continues, “they’re really cool creatures, but they’re endangered.”

  “But they won’t become extinct, will they?” I ask. This worries me.

  “As long as folks help them like we are doing,” Daddy replies, “they have a chance.”

  Daddy puts another biscuit on Sabin’s plate. I think he is real proud of Sabin for finding out all this science information.

  “The poor little turtles are running out of beaches and places to lay their eggs,” Sabin says.

  “How come?” Sadora asks.

  “Too many hotels and houses and restaurants on the beaches. Too many people,” Poppy says, joining in.

  “Turtles need space and silence, and people are taking it all away,” Sabin adds sadly.

  “Somehow we have to find a balance.” Daddy frowns as he stirs his coffee. “It’s a huge problem.”

  “You know that plastic bag that the lady at the airport wanted you to have, Sassy?” Sabin asks me.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, lots of sea turtles are dying because they eat the bags that are thrown away in the water.”

  “Why would they eat plastic bags?” Sadora asks.

  “The bags float on the water and look like jellyfish,” Poppy explains. “For sea turtles, jellyfish is like pizza to you.”

  “That’s awful,” I tell them.

  Daddy nods. “Did you find out about how the females lay their eggs on the beach?” he asks Sabin.

  “No, I got sleepy when I got to that part, and I shut the computer off,” Sabin admits. “You’re not gonna give me a science quiz, are you?”

  We’re laughing in the boarded-up living room when the doorbell rings.

  Poppy goes to answer the door and invites the guest in. “This is my friend Michael,” he announces. “He works with me at the university, and he’s also active with the National Save the Sea Turtle Foundation.”

  “Wow,” I whisper to myself. “Sea turtles have their own club!”

  Michael looks like he spends every single day on the beach. His hair is bleached almost white and his skin is deeply tanned. He wears dark shorts, sandals, and a white T-shirt.

  He grins at me. “You must be Sassy!” he says. He shakes my hand firmly.

  “That’s me!” I reply.

  “Your grandfather told me how you and your grandmother found the sea turtle nest. We are so glad you called us.”

  “Because of the hurricane?” Sadora asks.

  “Exactly,” Michael replies. “We don’t have much time, so who’s going to help me?”

  All of us raise our hands.

  “Great. Go put on some clothes you can get dirty. We’re going to be digging for the next couple of hours.”

  “Dirty?” Sadora makes a face, but she hurries upstairs with me to get changed.

  Mom
and Daddy, as well as Grammy and Poppy, decide to go with us down to the beach. Grammy carries two plastic buckets. In each bucket are three large serving spoons from her kitchen.

  Mom carries four shovels from Poppy’s garage, and Daddy totes a case of bottled water. Michael carries his own shovel and tools. Poppy brings a basket of snacks from the cupboard. I carry my Sassy Sack.

  Michael walks very fast. It’s hard to keep up with him. He seems to be very serious about what he is doing.

  We get to the big rock. I can see, fluttering in the wind, the special pink ribbon I left yesterday. The green one is still there, too.

  “There’s the place,” I tell Michael proudly.

  He kneels down and examines the nest. The winds are increasing and sand blows in our faces.

  “Where did you see the mother turtle track to the sea?” he asks me.

  I point to where the turtle left her trail from the nest. The wind had blown so hard all night that the track was gone.

  “She left her eggs too close to the shore,” Michael announces.

  “Why would she do that?” Sabin asks.

  “Lights sometimes frighten turtles who are nesting. Or maybe she could feel that the hurricane was coming. She hurried to lay her eggs before she found a really safe place,” Michael explains.

  “So what will happen to the eggs?” Sadora asks. Her hair is blowing in the wind.

  “Unless we move them,” Michael says, “the storm surge will wash them all away.”

  “Move them?” I ask.

  “Yep!” Michael answers cheerfully. “We’re going to dig up some turtle eggs and move them to a safer place.”

  “Are folks allowed to dig up sea turtle eggs whenever they feel like it?” Sadora asks, frowning.

  “Good question,” Michael answers. “And the answer is absolutely not! I’m employed by the University of Florida and I’m trained in conservation and rescue skills. The ordinary person who is caught digging up sea turtle eggs would go to jail.”

  “He’s right,” Daddy adds.

  “Where will we move the eggs?” Sabin asks.

  Michael points to an area about two hundred feet away. It is in the sand dunes, way above the highest point the tide reaches.

  “Up there by the sea oats?” Poppy asks.

  Michael nods and heads in that direction.

  “What are sea oats?” I ask. “Not a breakfast food, right?

  Michael laughs. “Actually, sea oat seeds, when they are dried and cooked, make a pretty good cereal with honey and skim milk!”

  “Not for me,” Sabin says.

  “I’ve seen sea oats in really pretty floral decorations,” Sadora says. “They remind me of the wind blowing on the beach.”

  “Let’s get started,” Daddy says. “The wind is increasing. We must hurry.”

  Daddy passes out serving spoons to the children and shovels to the grown-ups.

  Michael explains. “We must be very careful. When we find the nest, Sabin and Sassy are to dig out the eggs. Sadora, you must keep them packed in sand.”

  “How come?” she asks.

  “That’s what keeps them warm and alive,” Daddy explains.

  We dig carefully for a few minutes, then again a few inches away. I get all sweaty, even though the wind is blowing pretty hard.

  Then Michael says, “I think those spoons you’re using are too big, kids. I wish we had something smaller. We need to be really gentle.”

  “I think I have just the right thing,” I say with excitement. I dig down into my Sassy Sack and pull out three plastic spoons from the school cafeteria. “Will these work?”

  Michael looks pleased. “Perfect, Sassy,” he says. “Now, carefully, gently, let’s find and remove the eggs.”

  Finally, Sadora calls out with excitement, “I see an egg, I think. I found the nest!”

  Poppy plops down on the sand with us and uses his hands and fingers to carefully uncover the amazing pile of eggs. “Gently, gently,” he says.

  “Have you ever done this before, Poppy?” I ask.

  “You mean search for eggs and move them to safety before a hurricane?” He wipes his brow. Sand and dirt cover his face and hair, but his eyes twinkle at me.

  I figure Poppy probably knows and has done everything there is to know and do.

  “Nope!” he replies with a grin. “This is the very first time I’ve saved sea turtles. I’m glad I get to save them with you, Sassy.”

  As he pushes more sand away from the eggs, it becomes clear that we have found a very large nest.

  “They look like soft, dirty Ping-Pong balls!” I exclaim. I’m not afraid to touch them, which surprises me.

  Michael looks in his pocket. “Oh, no! I left my notebook in my truck. I need to record what we are doing and count the eggs.”

  I scoop down in my Sassy Sack and pull out a small notebook and a well-used yellow pencil. “Will this help?” I ask.

  “Perfect, Sassy!” Michael says. He looks pleased. He begins to scribble notes and draw pictures of the eggs and the nest.

  I feel proud that I can help.

  “I wish I had my camera with me,” Daddy says. “I’d love to have pictures to show to my science students next year.” He frowns as he digs.

  I reach down into my Sassy Sack and pull out a small throwaway camera. “Here, Daddy,” I say.

  Daddy’s frown turns into a smile. “I can always count on you, Little Sister! Thanks!”

  He drops his shovel and snaps lots of photos of the turtle eggs and nest.

  Carefully, Sabin and I scoop the eggs out of the warm sand and into the waiting buckets. We move them one at a time.

  “Don’t drop them!” I warn him.

  “I’ve got this,” he says. “You just watch what you’re doing!”

  He sounds fussy, but I can tell he’s having a good time. He’s forgotten his iPod, and he hasn’t asked for food in an hour. Daddy snaps a picture of Sabin’s serious, concentrating face.

  Sadora packs the eggs carefully in more sand. “I’m getting sand in my fingernails,” she complains.

  Mom tells her, “Why don’t you and I go get a manicure when the storm is over?”

  Sadora looks happy when she hears this.

  “Can I go, too?” I ask. “My nails are dirtier than hers!”

  “Sure, Sassy,” Mom says. “But first let’s get this job done.”

  I try to count the eggs as we take them out of their hiding place and move them to the buckets. I’m pretty sure there are eighty-seven.

  “One turtle laid all these eggs?” I ask Michael.

  “Yep!” He grins at me. He takes more notes.

  “That’s crazy!” I reply.

  Finally, all the eggs have been removed from the nest near the waves. All that’s left is a hole in the sand. I double-check to make sure we have found every single egg.

  Poppy, still on his hands and knees, helps me to check.

  “You did a great job, Sassy,” he whispers to me.

  We both sit on the beach, gazing at the water, and brush the sand off our hands. I can feel the sea breeze on my face.

  Daddy and Mom sit close to each other on the sand. Sabin and Sadora sit near Grammy.

  “I think this is the first time I’ve ever worked at the beach,” Sabin says, shaking his head. “Usually I just play.”

  “And I never get dirty!” Sadora admits with a laugh. “Never!”

  Michael marches over to where our family sits, tired and dirty. He looks very proud of us. “Good work,” he says, “but we’re only halfway done.”

  “Is it time to move them to their new home, Michael?” I ask.

  “Yep!” he says. “Let’s move them, troops!” He sounds like a soldier.

  “How do we know we’re putting them in the right place?” Sadora asks with worry in her voice. She stands and brushes some of the sand off her shorts.

  “And how do we know we didn’t hurt them by touching them and moving them?” Sabin wants to know.

&nbs
p; “First of all, we were very careful, and I’m a sea turtle expert. I promise the little eggs will be safe from the storm.”

  “Will they hatch?” I ask.

  “Now, that I can’t promise, but I’m pretty sure they won’t notice they’ve been moved, and when it’s time for them to hatch, they’ll pop out and head back to the sea.”

  “How do the babies know to head toward the ocean?” I ask.

  Daddy answers in his “science teacher” voice. “As soon as the hatchlings squirm out of their shells, which is usually at night, they start crawling toward the brightest light. Because of the moon and the stars, the ocean is usually the brightest thing that the babies see.”

  “Except we have built so many hotels with bright lights near the beaches, that the little turtles often get confused,” Michael adds. “They crawl to the hotel lights instead of the ocean.”

  “Then what happens?” Sabin asks.

  “They don’t survive. They need the sea to live,” Michael answers softly.

  Everybody is quiet as we march up toward the top of the sand dune.

  Daddy and Poppy dig another hole in the same shape and size as the first one, then we carefully put all the eggs back.

  “Just a few at a time,” Michael warns. “We have to cover them with sand the same way the mother turtle did.”

  One by one we carefully lift the eggs from the buckets and back to the new hole in the sand.

  I whisper a message to each egg just before I place it in the new nest. “Swim strong, little one,” I tell it. “The ocean is straight ahead. Watch out for hotel signs,” I tell another one. “There is danger there.”

  Sadora is filthy dirty and never looked happier. Sabin’s face is serious as he transfers the eggs from the buckets to the sand. Mom is sweaty and cracking jokes. Daddy snaps pictures. Poppy’s curly gray hair is thick with sand. Grammy stands on a dune, the wind blowing her clothes around her. She is smiling at the whole scene.

  When the last eggs are placed, Michael smooths the sand around the new nest.

  “Great job, troops!” He salutes us like an army captain. We salute back.

  “Can I leave my ribbons here so we can find the new nest?” I ask.

  “Good idea, Sassy,” Grammy says. She helps me tie the ribbons on a stick. Then we tuck the bottom of the ribbons under a rock so they will not fly away. The lucky pink one seems to flutter proudly.