The beach on the island looks different at dawn.

It is quiet. The only thing making any sounds are the sleepy seagulls and the terns and, if you really listen, you can hear the myriads of sand crabs poking in and out of their holes to see what we are doing there.

It was the first morning to start my commitment to help the large endangered turtles.

I was chosen to be one of the two people to make up the Turtle Patrol and I was so excited to do it.

Ahead of time we were schooled in what to do, how to do it, all the way to hatching days.

I met my partner at 6 a.m., and we began our walk on the beach from the pier to the lighthouse.

We were to walk and look for crawls, which is when the turtle leaves the ocean and makes her way to the spot she chooses.

There she stops and begins to dig a deep hole. When she is satisfied with the hole, she straddles it and begins depositing her eggs.

During this time, tears form and she continues to cry until all of her eggs are in the hole. There are usually more than 100 eggs.

It’s no wonder she cries.

Once she is emptied of eggs, she uses her big body to cover the hole.

Then she returns to the ocean on a path like making a “U turn” that is a crawl and then our work begins.

My partner and I follow the crawl to the hole the female dug and, setting our basket down at the edge we, very carefully, pick up and count every little egg and we deposit them into our basket.  One of us covers the hole and starts back where we took them for safety while I continue my walk to look for another crawl.

If I found one I would repeat the crawl procedure and head back to the enclosed area, which is a fenced area safe from raccoons and all other predators.

The most important part of our work takes place at this point. We each take our gathered eggs inside the area, dig holes that approximate the mothers hole inside and we deposit each egg into it while carefully counting them.

On a board inside the enclosure every crawl is noted, the date it was transferred, the exact number of eggs in it and finally, the exact date they should hatch, dig out of the hole and run.

That day is amazing.

On the day they hatch we must be there to make sure all goes well.

I have never seen anything like that morning when my first babies were born.

It was once again dawn. It was so quiet except for some awakening seagulls watching us.

I went inside the enclosure and waited.  Before long, the hole began to quiver.

In no time, a tiny little baby turtle broke through the topsoil. Then another and another and another.

I counted as each egg became alive and ready for a very tenuous life.

Now, here’s the first hurdle for these little guys.

Because it was still dark outside, cars are usually passing with headlights on. And because the babies gravitate to light, unless I get them headed to the ocean, they often head for the lights on the road running parallel to the beach.

My job was to turn them back toward the ocean and say a prayer they live through the fish, birds and other species that pick them off as they swim away.

It wasn’t too long after we left our island life and moved to our wondrous Kentucky farm.

But I often think of those days when our human lives were one with the lives of the wildlife we respected and loved.

You know what I have learned? Unless man and nature protect each other neither may survive. During those Turtle Patrol days I wrote a poem that won an award:

Kinship with life, breath to breath,

with no thought to soul or spirit,

only the realization of reverence,

of oneness simply and only because

we all exist.

Thus the melodic background for loving

for the death of man will surly hasten

when the music of concern plays only for him

and excludes

or even diminishes

the glory of all other living beings.

The miracle is love

and the love is for life, and the music chants for all, for all. 

I no longer have the strength to travel but I am sure if I could walk barefoot on that soft white sand and if I came upon a crawl, my heart would skip a beat.

My mind and my heart would take me back to my Turtle Patrol days and I would hope there are humans that care enough about the survival of the turtle to walk and help them to the ocean.

We — every living thing — are all children of God. Let us try to live lives that reflect this belief.

The view from the mountain is wondrous.

Jean Brody is a passionate animal lover and mother. She previously lived in Winchester, but now resides in Littleton, Colorado. Her column has appeared in the Sun for more than 25 years.