Category Archives: Sea Sighs

Higgs Bosun and Huck Finn

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Fair Winds and Current on the Alton Pool

Last week the Nobel Prize for Physics was awarded to two guys who confirmed that all stuff exists in a sea of energy. The Laureates explained that the dark voids of the universe are more like molasses than Tanqueray Gin. The sea of energy known as the Higgs Field is precisely where It was built and to where everything, including us, came to be.

Visualize the universe as a snorkeler would while exploring a coral reef three meters below the surface. You’ll wear a diving mask because human eyes are made to see through air not water. The mask puts a barrier of air between your eyes and the water so that you can see clearly. There are zillions of particles a millions times smaller than anything visible. What you can’t see even with goggles makes the universe happen. Every gazillion or so of these minute particles is an unstable piece of stuff that makes much of the universe matter. It’s the missing piece of the creation of the universe – the fuse that set off the Big Bang. In a universe that appears perfect this one tiny, incredibly complex and unstable particle broke the perfect symmetry between dark and light, matter and energy. This Higgs Boson particle energizes nothing into everything.  We are all children of this ocean of energy.

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Ex Libris on the hook behind Slim Island – Holding Against the Flow

Quantum physics has finally answered the age-old question, “What’s the matter?” Matter is everything that interacts with energy. Stuff encounters a lot of resistance along the way and that’s known as matter. You know matter because you can feel its resistance – like poking the Pillsbury Doughboy. Unlike emotional anxiety or depression that destabilizes people, matter is made to deal with resistance. We matter because we flow with energy. Dealing with friction or drag doesn’t stop us from being – it is what causes us to be something of matter.

Huckleberry Finn understood that things that matter change other things. People who never get to be on the river don’t understand the freedom of getting away from stuff. Huck found it lovely to live simply on a raft with the sky “up there, all speckled with stars.” He and Jim spent many a languid evening just looking up and debating whether the stars “was made” or simply “happened”. Huck figured there were so many stars that it would take too long to make them – so they must’ve just happened.

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Courtesy of Captain Ron, “If it’s gonna happen, Boss, it’s gonna happen out there.”

The Nobel winners would probably sit on Huck’s raft, puff on their pipes and nod. Seems something came along and spanked that dark empty space up there above the river and found it wasn’t nothing a’tall – it was some thing. Outer space is a big jiggly thing that sort of snapped a bit when God only knows what gave it a spanking and a little teeny tiny speck o’ stuff – so tiny it could hide behind light – flew off. That little Higgs Boson rogue was different from all the other stuff. It didn’t spin around and around like other particles and it gets smaller and smaller the longer it exists. Then the universe started to move and more stuff was made as things moved through the Higgs force field.  Pretty soon that energy and stuff were everywhere making galaxies, planets, life and everything known to be something, happen.

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Resistance Makes it Matter More

And so it is that a young freckled kid born of Twain’s imagination became as real to readers as the Higgs Boson, “God Particle” is to scientists. Some people are closest to nature and answers to eternal questions when like Huck, they “escape cramped and smothery places” to “feel mighty free and comfortable aboard a raft”. A raft is as good as any place to ponder the unknown. To exist as a human being or an Asian Carp is matter that deals with energy. Like the flow of the river it’s something that just is. Huck Finn felt free and easy when he was on the river, away from land. The stuff between people became matterless  while onboard a raft. The stuff back on land seems to have no mass, or to quip in Spanish, “No mas”, our worries weigh nothing.

Huck found that by lying comfortably aboard his raft he came to understand that some things happen to be because it takes a bunch of energy to make them be and energy’s gotta do something. The God particle is everywhere – within and around everything in the universe. It’s an energy field that is felt but not seen and only recently begun to be understood.  It always was, is and will be, part of Huck’s river.

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Mass and Energy

Wakes and River Life

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Confluence of Illinois & Mississippi Rivers

The dynamic relationship between a river and the land is constantly changing and it’s all because of water. When there is a lot of precipitation a river rises, breeches its banks and floods the land. A river shrivels during droughts when its flow is not much more than an old guy straining to pee. It rips up some parts of land while at the same time building new land in other places. Whether raging or meandering, life in and on a river is ever changing. Fail to respect water’s power and it will kill you.

Wakes on the river are the natural effect of boats breaking through the surface tension of water. We once crossed a wake head on with our powerboat, flew above water, slammed into the next wave with an impact that seemed as solid as hitting a Sequoia. Injuries to the crew, guests, and vessel were relatively minor but the experience was upsetting. Going into a wake head on amped up our respect for the fearsome power of water.

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Flow

We saw many of our river friends today at the wake of one too young to die. If all the tears shed  today were dumped into our river the force of gravity would take them far downstream and finally out to sea. Our tears would encounter life forms barely imagined by Dante as he pondered Hell. They would become the new normal as we adapted to the currents. A tear is so small among billions of gallons of dark churning water that even if it’s pumped through a carp’s gills the tear would be comfortably floating free in no time. Its seaward journey would be punctuated by terrifying encounters with the unknown and the ecstasy of learning how all systems connect.

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Drifting with the Current

On very hot days it’s fun to set the anchor, put on a life jacket, tie a strong line around your waist and secure the bitter end to a cleat on the boat. Even when the water seems gentle and listless the current is strong and tireless. Being swept downstream would be life threatening. Looking face down at the water it’s impossible to see your own feet. As Mark Twain mused, our river is, “too thin to plow, too thick to drink”. I have never seen below the surface but my belief that all sorts of life exists below keeps me on high alert. I do not need to see fish to believe they swim nor snag myself on a branch to fear letting go of the safety line.

The famous physicist Stephen Hawking once said he had done “all of the math” and could not find Heaven anywhere in the universe. Therefore Hawking does not believe Heaven or God exists. And then he did some more math and determined that there were many other universes and some are the opposite of everything we know. Last week some oceanographers figured out that most of what lives in the oceans resides far deeper than explorers have ever ventured. The scientists don’t know what lies beneath but believe that down deep all life is subject to change. Since we don’t know the nature of life miles below the surface we cannot determine how changes to it will affect relationships between other species, ourselves included. We simply don’t understand how we are related.

There are no Apps for a map of the universe that pinpoints Heaven or a route between where we stand and that destination. Like tears in the river left from a wake, we can take comfort in knowing that every living thing is programed to make the journey with no need for a map. Our guides are those who journey ahead and share the basic wisdom that life prepares us all for death. Just as we share the bias that river floods are disasters, in real life they are predictable and necessary for rivers to exist.  Wakes are the physical effects of movement though water, and of a loved one crossing the boundary between life and death. Wakes confirm our deep desire to live though the powerful currents of compassion and caring. Water is within and around us. That’s life. I’ve never been to Heaven but know it exists because of the peace of knowing that it is where all life flows. I did the math; 1 life plus 1 faith = eternal life. Peace Out, Mackenzie.

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Heaven’s just a different address. GHL

Harbingers @ Sioux Harbor

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Running Before the Wind

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Dew & Spider Harbingers

Sailors are as obsessed with weather forecasts as pirates are with rum. Saturday morning on our dock, Sailor Jerry, the one with mutton chops not the rum bottle, pointed to the cars parked on the lot and said, “There is no dew this morning. That’s a good harbinger for rain.” I stuck my head out of the cabin, squinted at the clear blue sky, donned sunglasses and pondered the use of such heavy vocabulary so early in the day. The wind was brisk but the harbor was as smooth as a pool table. I focused my senses and tried to figure out how missing dew was connected with precipitation.

I watched the water for a bit and noted an awful lot of fish were jumping and small schools were spooling around the boat. A remembered George’s great Aunt Hetta (who owned a patch of land on a Connecticut lake) telling us that when fish are jumping, rains are coming. She also claimed to be an esteemed member of the Degree of Pocahontas, the Women’s Auxillary of The Improved Order of Red Men. They gather to honor Pocahontas by teaching kindness, charity, and loyalty to one’s nation. When I inquired about her tribe of origin, she scoffed that none of the members were Indians or Italians.  I ignored her bigotry and weather forecasting aptitude.

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Web o’ Sails

A Cottonrattlemoccasin Snake glided through the water and slipped beneath the dock. I grabbed the gaff hook and assumed a defensive posture. I recalled a video about robot snakes being developed at Carnegie Mellon to do search and rescue. Sometimes science is just stupid, if a snakebot came searching for me, my heart would simply stop. I counted six new spider webs adorning the standing rigging and bimini cover.  I squished an exceptionally large spider beneath my foot and figured rain was now guaranteed because killing spiders is bad luck. I wondered whether the cows were lying down and noted my knee felt stiff.

The skies were clear as we sailed upriver propelled by 20 knot gusts and warily eyed an ominous strip of nimbus clouds that darkened the eastern bluffs. The western clouds were wrinkled – a verse about cloud wrinkles and sprinkles came to mind. We heeded the dockside harbinger’s forecast of rain and returned to the harbor to caulk the main hatch and secure the sails.

Sometime before midnight cold rain dripped through the open hatch into our bunk. We snapped to attention, closed the portholes and tumbled back to sleep. Sunday dawned with a thick dew that covered the topsides. NOAA weather radio forecasted clear skies and light breezes.

When the mainsail was raised long silky gossamer strands attached to tiny parachutes drifted from the canvas – baby spiders swinging through the air. The captain laughed that sails are like giant milkweeds only instead of incubating monarch butterflies they are nurseries for spiders. That’s nice – spiders are good omens. We watched the sunset from a cantina on the western shore. During the last gasp of daylight, the Mississippi was transformed into an elegant silver-blue serpentine stretching toward the sea. Was this twilight scene a harbinger for good days to come? Best to go with the flow and find out.

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Sailors’ Delight

Pirates of a Certain Age

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Rags Raised

Our second son is an attorney who specializes in elder law. He often counsels families on fine details of Granny and Pawpaw’s estate planning. The grandparents are often in their 90s, the kids in their 70s, and grandkids in their 50s. He says the 90s are a hot time in life – most folks got the math down pretty good and know a thing or two about saving for rainy days. They’ve got enough stashed away to give the great grandkids more than just good advice.

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Chicken Sheet

I spent the weekend surrounded by other grandparents and two of our own grand kids. We whiled away Saturday aboard the Ex Libris, our sailboat, playing pirates on the Mississippi with a rowdy band of grandparents. There were a dozen other boats flying Jolly Rogers, flinging rubber chickens, and drenching opposing crews with water cannons. All of the scally wags were in proper attire and the letter right between Q and S (if I hear it one more time I’ll scream) was yelled more times than a hip-hop rapper can drop the F bomb.

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Big G Won a Cutlass for Best Pirate Costume

When I was a kid during the middle of the last century it was politically correct to play cowboys and Indians. Our six shooters were filled with bright red rolls of caps. The pungent aroma of burnt power was one of the best smells of childhood, followed by a fresh can of Play Doh and the sugary scent of a slender slab of bubble gum that came free with baseball cards. We built forts in the woods and played baseball in back yards with out any adults tending to our super egos. If someone cheated he or she was summarily chased, caught, and pummeled.  Although the rules of any game changed depending on who’s house it was played – it was a given that somebody would break the rules. Wondering who and when was part of the fun. Getting away with breaking the rules and winning was pure ecstasy.

By middle age the smell of a new car pretty much topped burnt caps and our weekends were consumed watching our kids play games. They were very organized games with referees and red cards that could eject a player who broke the rules or a parent who dropped an F bomb (rather than the letter right smack between Q and S) right out of the park.

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Cap’n Bloody Bruce’s Boat

But during all that time there was one toy that was ageless. A boat. Whether it has an engine, paddles, oars, or sails, a boat is simply one of the best toys ever invented. Boats enable people to play on or in water, dance with waves, float a dream, and drift way.   Donning a pirate hat, slipping into a worn pair of Top Siders, and raising the main sail piques the same imagination we had as kids. Pirates get to break the rules all the time! It’s their job to play dirty and Cheat! Grandpas leer at nauti-wenches and are rewarded with a sly wink and a soaking shot of river blasted from a PVC water cannon. Flasks of personal choice poison are quaffed and by day’s end the booty is surrendered.

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Pirate by Day Grandma by Night

Boats bring forth one of the best scents of the good life – water. Playing pirates allows anybody to break the rules and play make believe on real boats. Eventually, I’ll have to sit down with my heirs and plan for rainy days when we can no longer float our boat. But thinking of Randy at work today – I am pretty confident that being only in his mid 30’s he is not expecting to inherit a boat for another quarter of a century. Who knows whether playing pirates today will be thought of tomorrow as yet another politically incorrect game of a generation who simply never grew up? Who cares? We got to keep the rubber chicken as a souvenir and I passed on my foam cutlass to our oldest granddaughter. Heck, maybe I’ll make her the captain someday and break the rules of inheritance etiquette. Argggghhhhh.

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Nice Heir

Tethered

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Solana Beach, CA

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Solana Beach at Sunset

It is Labor Day. An impudent breeze is ushering out summer and welcoming football season. The winds of change shift to different compass points and we reorient ourselves from lazy dog days of summer to working like a dog. Honestly, if any of our pets were role models, it’s not a particularly aggressive work ethic.

Work is a lot like the wind. We gust with short bursts of high speed energy to complete some tasks while other projects require the sustained power of a gale that blows for days. There are those mind numbing jobs that catch us in irons, like a sailboat pointed directly into the wind. Lots of noise, sails slapping, slamming into waves, but no forward motion. You’re just stuck in the wind. I’d rather not think about work on this national celebration of a day off. It’s more fun to think about a simple way to play with the wind. Go fly a kite. It an easy way to kiss the sky while grounded to Terra Firma.

Kites are simple toys – no batteries required – just a kite, a tail, and a long, really long, piece of line. Kites are tethered aircraft. Sky high they fly while connected to the earth by a thin line to the kite flyer. Kite flying is an empowering pastime because it encourages imaginations to slip the straps of reality – so powerful that when the Taliban ruled Afghanistan, kite flying was outlawed. Relax, here it’s as legal as medicinal pot in Denver.

I realized during an eastbound Southwest Airlines flight bouncing through turbulence above the Rockies that airline passengers are tethered souls. We are linked by heart strings to family and friends six miles below our fastened seat belts.

Two weeks later; aboard S/v Ex Libris, Sioux Harbor, MO

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Outa Here

The Voyager 1 spacecraft has exited our solar system after a 36 year trek with no high tech entertainment aboard other than an 8 track tape-recorder endlessly looping the song “all by myself – just wanna be all by myself”. It is in a free fall through the galaxy – with over 31 million miles of look backs and multiple universes ahead. Voyager was launched the same year as the Star Wars franchise – that both continue to thrive is an assurance that old missions can still do exciting things – as can a graying kite flyer who stands grinning aside her four year old grand daughter who grasps the string and shrieks, “It’s up!”

Simple moments, a fresh breeze, a destination unknown, sometimes feeling connected to another generation – and the skies above – I feel like a kite.

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Free to be tethered

Two Ships Passed

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Serenity

Photo by TJC

Finn is bobbing on the outgoing tide, her docklines are taught and straining to be free. She is unaware that when the wish is granted – the lines will be coiled and hung from a hook, her hull cradled by a metal berth, the topsides shrouded beneath a royal blue tarp. She will be separated from the sea and her crew, tucked away in the backyard for three long seasons. It’s time to swallow the anchor and retire from our seaside hamlet for another year. We are returning to our home midway downstream of North America’s greatest drainage system and leaving behind a narrow estuary with a mere seven mile flow from source to sea. Should we enjoy the continued blessings of health and prosperity we will return in a year.

The rivers flowing today will be long gone when we return. The water between the banks will have found its place in the sea or have joined the clouds in the sky. New waters will bubble up through the ground and fall from the sky as Nature invests in the flow between the banks. It is a small tribute to the anxiety that rides lightly astride my aging process that a humble prayer runs through my soul – a petition for good health and sharp wits to remain with those I love during the upcoming circle around the sun.

My worries concerning as yet unknown events that will transpire during Finn’s hibernation blossom from a seed planted a exactly a year ago when two ships passed in the night. Longfellow would explain that time laid its hand upon our dear friend’s heart, “gently, not smiting it”. It was as a “harper placing his hand upon his harp, to deaden it’s vibrations.” And so it was. The music ended yet the deafening quiet that followed his finale blares loud in my memory. While Peter’s heart was stilled, over the following two days his spirit briefly soared close to shore. We are certain that it heard the first cries of his newborn grandchild.  And so it was, that a mere year ago, “on the oceans of life” a grandfather and a newborn passed and  spoke to one another, then sailed into the night. Today the child’s heart vibrates with youthful zeal. She laughs to the beat of clapping hands as the family sings to her loudly and off key in celebration of her first birthday.

Today our family is reminded, by Longfellow’s verse, that, “God sent his singers upon the earth, With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, and bring them back to heaven again.” We are charged, as God’s earthly singers, to be in tune with the angels by sharing our grief and joy, fear and hope whenever we mourn a loss and celebrate a new life. “So on the oceans of life – we pass and speak to one another.”

On these tender days of August, for the rest of my earthly tenure, “My soul (will be) full of longing, 
For the secret of the Sea, 
And the heart of the great ocean
, Sends a thrilling pulse through me.”  Sail on through the heavens, dear Peter. Oh! What grand adventures lie before your bow, dear Maggie, as you captain your own vessel upon the stream for many, many circumnavigations around the sun.

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Upstream or downstream? Depends on from where you look

 

Quotations from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poems, Ships the Pass in the Night, The Golden Legend, The Singers, and Secrets of the Sea.

Great Whites

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Smile

3,000 teeth behind 1 smile

The eighth month of the calendar year brings forth the quintessential American television phenomenon, Shark Week. Every evening the Discovery Channel treats its viewers to vivid footages of sharks doing what they do best – thrive. They are the direct descendants of predators who fed during the time of dinosaurs 60 million years ago. Sharks spend their lifetime swimming, breeding, hunting, and eating.

The star of a typical episode of the series is a lean, mean eating machine. The thirty-something year old great white female debuting the other evening was about 14 feet long and weighed a couple of tons. The film was shot a year ago, but last weekend she was cited back in her summer playground, about 15 feet off Chatham Beach, Cape Cod. Chatham boasts an abundance of overweight beach goers and plump seals. It’s a favorite feeding ground for carcharodon carcharias – great white sharks.

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Don’t go into the water

Humans are winning the predator versus prey game with sharks. About a hundred million sharks are caught a year compared to less than ten shark attacks on humans. Fortunately for sharks, Steven Spielberg and composer John Williams gave us a killer sound track that put the fear of being eaten should just a single toe set foot in salt water.  This relieved sharks of the temptation to nosh on people who feared sharks and stayed clear of the water while at the same time deciding to protect a declining population of seals. This is how Chatham became the preferred dining spot for great whites.

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2 healthy eaters

Looking at photos of the beach goers splayed on sandy towels and the whiskered, doe eyed seals basking in the shoals – it’s pretty obvious that sharks thrive because they are discriminate eaters. The beach crowd is filled with artificial preservatives, cholesterol, toxins, and who knows what kind of germs. The seals eat the catch of the day – fish and mollusks. It’s a healthy diet. People aren’t such a healthy menu choice.

Depending how you look at it – eating fresh and free wins. Sharks and seals thrive. Lots of people are afraid to go into the water. After a day of excessive sun exposure people pack up their towels and become scavengers. Unlike sharks, people prefer to eat dead stuff. If we are what we eat – including seafood – it’s no wonder that many people feel drawn to the water. Whether fried, grilled, steamed or blackened a little bit of the sea is digested which becomes part of our blood. Just remember, if you eat too much of anything, you’re going to need a bigger boat. So, contrary to the tag line of a Jaws movie, “don’t go into the water”, go ahead – jump right in -splash, swim and enjoy the waves. No worries, mates – sharks prefer to eat fresh and healthy rather than baked and fried. Bon Appetite!

Amity

Amity means friendship

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Extended Forecast

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The weather is here

Vacationers tend to obsess about the weather. They pray for blue skies and dread gray overcast horizons. Weather happens because of changes wrought by transient pressure systems. Case in point, an area of low pressure moved over southern New England last night bringing showers and downpours to the beaches. These were not welcomed by vacationing families paying two grand for a week in a quaint cottage with a water view. Stressed out employees who day dreamed of a vacation spent idling away sunny daylight hours with “no or at least low” pressure are not going to be pleased with today’s weeping skies.

The weather experts have predicted a dramatic confrontation between this morning’s low-pressure system and the arrival of a cold front this afternoon. When the two collide we’ll be drenched with thunderstorms that are expected to linger until sometime tomorrow. Fog and low-lying clouds will blanket the beaches. It’s not going to be a good day for Annette Funicello to play bingo.Image

What’s outside the window right now determines what’s going to happen later. The problem with forecasts is that they are based on complex mathematical equations called models. Weather models are subject to changes in winds, currents, and pressure. Weather forecasts are often wrong. Anyone who has ever come across the cover model of an issue of Cosmopolitan or paid attention to fashion knows for certain that models are not perfect.  A fashion model’s errors are made right by airbrushes, collagen, and plastic surgeons.

Too many people rely on The Weather Channel and newspaper weather maps rather than simply taking stock of what’s happening now. Sherlock Holmes once said, “The world is full of  obvious things that nobody by any chance ever observes.”[1] It’s relatively easy to become in tune with what is now. First, you have to intentionally pay attention. Don’t just look out the window, it’s impossible to feel the wind, smell the air, see the sky, and touch the weather from the inside of a window. By tuning into some things and tuning out other things we become awake and aware. If you shut your eyes and go outside it’s pretty easy to figure out whether your skin is wet from perspiration caused by heat and humidity or stinging sleet.  We become one with the weather.

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Not an optimal time to sail

What happens when we pay attention is that our consciousness slips between what we are observing and thinking about ourselves. Watching the subtle ripples and hearing the soft gurgles of an ebbing tide along a rocky shore or sensing the changes in clouds by the degree of warmth on our body brings forth a deep connection between consciousness and nature. Just as the clouds shift shapes and the winds change direction we change as a consequence of being in tune with our surroundings.

Pressure is part of what is within and around us. The weather, our jobs and vacations are all subject to chaos. The present is a precursor to the future but there is no way to predict exactly what’s going to happen later on.  We get a clue about what comes next by paying close attention to what’s going on right now.  If the barometer is rising the skies are going to clear. Pack a cooler and get outside. If the pressure drops pull out the Monopoly board. Either way, it’s going to be a great day. Obviously, if there was no pressure there would not be anything.

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Becalmed – awaiting adventure

[1] The Hound of the Baskervilles, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sea Roaches

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It's Hot

Lethal

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Sea Roach

This week the mercury eked its way up to three digits territory in all but four of the continental states. All along the Rhode Island beaches (Jersey is the shore, the Ocean State is the Beach) swimmers were grossed out by nasty critters affectionately known as Sea Roaches. Body surfers splashed about in masses of quarter to half-inch long bugs that are blessed with tiny but strong claws. When the surf tears the crustacean isopods from seaweed they follow ‘any port in a storm” advice and hold on to hairy chests, swimsuits and the lot.

I admire the critters’ tenacity for life and ability to clear the beach. They are tiny vacuum cleaners that exist on algae and other crud that balance the ecosystem.  Sea Roaches are newcomers to coastal life believed to be part of the new world made possible by global warming. They cope with rising sea temperatures by making lots of love and millions of more critters. This summer swimmers are enjoying the warmest waves in recent memory, calm seas, and fair winds. It’s also as hot as Dante’s Sixth Circle of Hell – the one that burns up heretics who don’t believe in Heaven or that Satan fans the searing fires of their eternal domain.

Sea Roaches remind us that what seems okay for some is hell for others. Vacationers complain that the critters keep giving them little pricks. Actually, Mother Nature is doling out the little pricks.

Everyone knows that high doses of Mercury are lethal but beach goers believe that they can dodge the bullet. It’s not the power of sunscreen – they seek the refreshing balm of cool salt water. Yesterday the heat index in New York City, which is an island surrounded by an ocean current, was 107. It was a killer day with much suffering in brick high rises. Today, the National Weather Service issued an Urgent Heat Warning that advises New Yorkers to reschedule strenuous outside activities to a shady or air conditioned place. People should wear light clothing, rest frequently, and hydrate.

Damn the sea roaches – they are also called Sea Pills! Perhaps the coastal waters are teaming with the ultimate cure for heat waves. Besides, for many of us, enduring the obnoxious effects of little pricks is just another day in Paradise. Grab a cooler and man the beach umbrellas – get thee to a beach!

With respect for all who cannot find respite from the heat in pools, ponds, and seas consider one course of action. Shed all but the most modest of clothing, sit in front of a fan and read Jaws. You’ll be glad you’re not treading water among a million little pricks wondering whether something more lethal lies within these waters.

Hydrate.

Jaws & Beer

Shucking Finesse

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Residents of and visitors to Narragansett Bay spend many low tide cycles digging clams and muscles, tying chicken legs to string and crabbing, baiting lines and casting into the sea. We don’t so much sing for our supper as “ing” for dinner. We eat the sea’s bounty in the form of clam stuffies, crab cakes, chowdas, grilled, fried or blackened catch of the day, and boiled anything caught from the chilly north Atlantic waters.

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Shuck’ Em?

During many a summer gone by, our family members would crowd onto our sturdy Boston Whaler, zip down river to an undisclosed location and do the clam dance. It is a simple heal to toe movement done walking through sand and silt in a foot or less of water. When a foot makes contact with a solid object lodged about a hand’s span down in the muck a fresh little neck or quahog clam is found. With a boatload of clammers we could be assured of at least 75 clams within less than a half an hour of doing the dance.

SteamersMy job is to wash the clams and sort them by size. From big to small there are quahogs for chowda,  cherrystones for stuffies and cakes, and little necks for grilling or steaming. I use a garden hose in the backyard and then decide how to cook them. There are many options, steaming and grilling them is the first step. Then it’s either stuff them with Portuguese sausage, cracker crumbs and secret seasonings and bake, or make red (Manhattan), clear (Rhode Island) or white (New England) chowda. Yes, those afflicted with a Rhode Island accent drop final “r’s” on all spoken words.

I haven’t mastered is the skill of shucking  raw clams. This involves sliding a special dull knife between the halves making a quick twist and opening the shell. The chilly meat can be slurped down raw, decked out with pepperoni and garlic butter on the grill or baked with spinach and parmesan cheese.

Stuffies

Stuffies

There is a certain finesse needed to shuck a clam. Mishaps can involve nasty punctures to hand muscles and sliced thumbs. This culinary skill can be seen from a positive or negative view. Shucks can mean disappointment, as in “Aww, shucks”.  In life, it’s something you don’t do well and give up on quick. We compensate for our weaknesses by cooking clams and let them open themselves.

Shucking is also a word that means “to open”. It’s pretty cool to open ourselves to new skills, practice them often, endure a few nicks, and savor the joy of our work. Roger Williams University recently announced the “Grow Your Own” program to help people raise their own oysters. The University will provide aspiring aquaculturists with instruction, equipment, and seed oysters. The RI-OGRE (Oyster Gardening for Restoration and Enhancement) program will enroll anyone who has a dock registered with the Coastal Resources Council in good clean water. Everyone has to volunteer in the recreational oyster garden program and take a three day course. Finally, something to do during retirement – become an oyster farmer. I’ve got to practice shucking.

Oyster Farm @ Jamestown

Oyster Farm @ Jamestown

Bon Appetite.