by glen:In the tradition of Norma Mae, I beach comb on our daily walks on the ocean. The "beauties" are not as abundant as I am used to in Maine, but the dunes are so interesting for a former biology major. We soon learned to keep Sam ands Lu out of the pucker brush. It seems that every plant has adapted a spiked, spiny, sticky seed pod. We spend hours grooming them out of their fur.
The beaches and the dunes are covered with tiny holes in the sand dug by industrious "little thingies" (Darwin's term...). Today at "Bloody Marsh" National Historical Monument we walked out into the marshes and the tiny crabs skittled before us by the hundreds. Connie jumped on my back and wouldn't get down.
I brought home a variety of shells which I washed and arranged on the counter. Pieces of rainbow colored oyster shells, delicate little clam shells, spiral conch shells. We remember so well those trips to Higgins Beach with mom and all the grand kids, everybody with their own bucket, gathering "beauties". I remember one cold December day when Eric, 2 years old, waded into a tide pool right up to his waist in his little down jacket to claim a starfish. (beach combing is a competitive sport in our family...). I remember Spring Point on June 30, 2001 when Kimmy and Nate argued about whether to keep or release another giant starfish... probably the same guy!
We began to hear unexplained noises a couple days ago. Just bumps in the night.... But yesterday while Connie was talking on the phone to Tina, the conch on the counter just mysteriously flipped off the counter and onto the floor. She skooched down to check that the counter was level, scratched her head and picked up the shell.
This morning, as Connie was telling me about the crooked counter top, the shell got up and walked toward us. She screamed and started doing her best South Brewer Turrets Syndrome on me. I couldn't stop laughing.
I get to laugh every day.
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