Loggerheads

 

Author's Note: While walking on the beach last week, I saw three baby Loggerheads trying their darndest to claw their way toward the Gulf of Mexico. They were each hardly larger than my big toe, making their task seem impossible. Curious, I did a little research to find that female Loggerheads are 30 to 35 years old before they find their way back to their origin beaches to lay their eggs, which they then continue to do in two- to three-year intervals for decades. I had seen Loggerheads laying their eggs once. It was 44 years ago this month.

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Like many graduating high school couples, Neil and I imagined that no geographical separation could be great enough to divide us emotionally from one another. And so, it seemed to me, that because we had now made it through our freshman year of college, when so many other long-distance couples had not, we might be well on our way to forever. Consequently, I reasoned that we would get through this summer of separation, too.

My job, at a bank, was in our hometown on the west coast. Neil had taken a job on a shrimp boat off the Miami coast of Florida. For these few months, prior to the beginning of our sophomore year, he would live with his aunt and uncle on Key Biscayne during the week and come home every other weekend to visit. We worked out a plan to talk on the phone a couple times a week, to spend as much time as possible together during his home weekends, and for me to fly over to the east coast at least twice. 

Over the Fourth of July weekend, we decided that I would make my first trip to Key Biscayne the following weekend. In those days, it was easy, and inexpensive, to hop on a small plane to get from Sarasota to Miami and back again. Thus, after I finished work on Friday, my dad drove me to the airport and waved as the twin-engine plane–eight passengers on board–taxied down the runway for a 45-minute flight.

It was still light out when Neil picked me up in his aunt and uncle’s station wagon. He hugged and kissed me as if it had been far longer than just five days since we last saw one another. His aunt and uncle greeted me upon arrival at their unassuming ranch house located on the shores of the South Basin. “Just make yourself at home. We’ll be around, but will try to leave you two on your own as much as possible,” his uncle said with a wink. 

Neil showed me to a room of my own with its own bathroom. He helped me settle in, frequently interrupting my unpacking with more long kisses to which I, smiling broadly, asked, “What’s going on with you?” He blushed and mumbled that it was nothing.

That first night, we made frozen pizza, and watched a spectacular sunset from the dock. We then snuggled up on the family room couch together to watch The Maltese Falcon. We were both big film noir fans and HBO was running a weekend-long marathon. At midnight, Neil and I reluctantly said goodnight and headed each to our own bedrooms. We had never slept together, both of us being from conservative households. It’s telling to think of it now, as we seemed to be quite content not to take things any further.

The next two days were filled with all kinds of activities. We went to the beach. We rode bicycles. We visited the aquarium. Neil had asked me to pack a nice dress, which I then wore when he took me out for dinner in Coconut Grove. After dinner, we walked out on the terrace of the restaurant, kicked off our shoes, and stood on the beach in the light of a nearly full moon. He twirled me around and we moved to the distant sounds of music from a nearby club.

One of the things I liked most about Neil was his imagination for making lasting memories. There was the time we rode horses on the causeway; the time we went to a range and he taught me how to shoot; the time we waded in to explore a wet cave wearing carbide lamp helmets; and the time we put on beekeeping suits and extracted honey from hives. He taught me how to stick shift in his 280-Z; we went four-wheeling through mangroves in his Land Rover; and, in his family’s boat, we anchored off the shores of Egmont Key to swim with dolphins. But, of all the romantic adventures we enjoyed together, the one I remember the most vividly happened on Sunday night in Key Biscayne.

After another day filled with, among other things, a visit to the Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden, we returned to the South Basin house near dinner time. Neil’s aunt and uncle were getting ready to grill chicken kabobs and corn on the cob. Although there had been no plans in advance, they were delighted that we were there to join them because, as his aunt said, “We bought too much food!” We ate out in the backyard with an offshore breeze from the canal to keep us cool. Another beautiful sunset lit up the sky just as the Buck Moon was rising in all its supermoon glory. “The loggerheads will be laying tonight,” his uncle mused while taking another sip of his Shiraz. “Take the rowboat,” he said while motioning to the little craft tied up beside the pontoon.  

We first watched Casablanca, a favorite of ours, before making our way back down to the dock around midnight. Neil rowed us south down the canal toward ​​Bill Baggs Cape Park, just a short distance away. When he pulled the boat up onto the shore, I couldn’t imagine where a turtle might find a hospitable area for a nest. The shoreline seemed too rugged. 

Neil had brought along an old quilt. We placed it on a small patch of flat ground and sat. The moon glowed down upon us. The stars above were drowned out by its brightness. 

“We won’t stay long,” he said, sensing my skepticism. He pulled me close and I rested my head on his shoulder marveling at that beautiful moon. And then it happened. 

Hardly ten minutes had passed. The gentle lapping of the water had lulled me into an almost dreamstate making me think that what I was seeing couldn’t possibly be real. “Look!” Neil whispered. 

And there, unbelievably, not one, not two, but three female Loggerheads emerged onto the shore. They were magnificent. I still couldn’t imagine where they could possibly find spots for their nests, but as we watched, they each agonizingly found their individual areas and began to dig. I think I stopped breathing for a minute wanting to hear every scritch and scratch upon the sand. When the last of the three turtles turned to drag herself back to the water, I asked, “What time is it?” Neil answered, “Almost 2:30.” We had been watching for over two hours.

With help from the ebbing tide, Neil rowed us back home. After securing the rowboat to the dock, it was my turn to kiss him like I’d never kissed him before. “We’ll always have Key Biscayne,” I said. He smiled at my reference to Casablanca, pulled me into his embrace and said, “Here’s looking at you, kid.” It felt final in some strange way, as if this was to be the last wonderful thing we did together. But then I’ve always had premonitory feelings that turned out to be true.

He took me to the airport in the morning. We embraced and said we’d see one another in a few days. But, he didn’t come home the next weekend. Or the one after that. “Work,” he said. 

Of course, I now know that he had already met his future wife, that those passionate welcome kisses, and all the ones that came after, were tinged with guilt and regret, and a little disbelief that he was about to do what he was going to do. He was a man caught between his past and future–a kid, really, who didn’t have any idea of how to break up with his hometown honey. He was at loggerheads.

According to the dictionary, to be at loggerheads is to be engaged in a disagreement or dispute. And so, Neil had been with himself. But, for me, Loggerheads are only one thing: a beautiful last night of a lovely romance.

Copyright, DJ Anderson, 2022