Whelks

I've been trying to remember this poem by Mary Oliver since I first walked the beach in Florida. The other night I went searching for my Oliver poetry book so I could look it up, along with the Moccasin Flower poem I posted . This is one of my all time favorites. (Searching for whelks was great fun while I was in Florida and while I didn't have lots of luck finding whole ones, the search was the journey and a fine time was had by me!)

Whelks

Here are the perfect
fans of the scallops, quahogs, and
weedy mussels
still holding their orange fruit---
and here are the
whelks---
whirlwinds,
each the size of a fist,
but always cracked
and broken---
clearly they have been traveling
under the sky-blue waves
for a long time.
All my life
I have been restless---
I have felt
there is something
more wonderful than gloss---
than wholeness---
than staying at home.
I have not been sure what it is.
But every
morning on the wide shore
I pass what is perfect and shining
to look for
the whelks, whose edges
have rubbed so long against the world
they have
snapped and crumbled---
they have almost vanished,
with the last
relinquishing
of their unrepeatable energy,
back into everything else.
When I find one
I hold it in my hand,
I look out over that shanking fire,
I shut my eyes. Not often,
but now and again there's a moment
when the heart cries aloud:
yes, I am willing to be
that wild
darkness,
that long, blue body of light.

Mary Oliver

Yesterday was another relaxing day in Paradise. (I know, Dear Reader, you are most possibly getting more than a little tired of hearing me go on and on about Paradise!) There were more birds and again, they were willing to pose for photographs. The egret was hunting for supper about two lots down the road from my rental house and was kind enough to just stand there while I took many shots. I didn't even have to get out of the golf cart to take them, either

This is, I think, a Royal tern. Either I am not very intimidating or I look very fat and slow, because this guy couldn't be bothered to even move away from me in the slightest. I walked right past him in the end.

Big waves again all day yesterday. Several crab pots had washed ashore. This one had a few crabs in it and the prettiest one I fished out and photographed. I tried to set the crab free after our photo session but found him washed up ashore again on my walk back, missing most of his legs.

There are osprey nests everywhere and sometimes I can spot ten or twelve osprey flying at one time. There is a snag on the beach on the way to the State Lands where you will often see one perched. Whether or not the bird is hunting or just enjoying the view, I don't know.

These little shells are called coquinas and come in a multitude of colors. They live in the wet sand near the surf line and let the waves move them up or down the beach as required. If you look at the photo closely you'll see two siphon tubes---one tube for "in" (filtering out the plankton that is their main source of food) and one tube for "out" (expelling the water). As a wave recedes you'll see them scattered across the top of the sand and then, POOF!, they upend themselves and dig down into the sand. By the time the next wave appears, they've gone down into the sand. Note: According to the book Florida's Fabulous Seashells, coquinas make a very good broth....of course, you need several quarts of the little guys and I have much better things to do with my time than gather quarts of these things! After all, I have shrimp in the frig!

But, hey, for those of you who don't have more pressing chores looming ahead of you today, and you have the beach that is providing the coquinas, here's the recipe, straight from Florida's Fabulous Seashells, by Winston Williams, copyright 1988 by World Publications, page 8:

Coquina Broth Recipe

Collect several quarts of coquinas. Make sure they are all alive and that there are no other types of shells mixed in which might not be live and fresh. Rinse well to remove any algae or debris. cover in a pot with about 1/2" of water. Add a little pepper, a little butter, and a couple of tablespoons of sherry. Boil for 5 minutes. Strain out the shells and serve the broth.

Some people use toothpicks to remove the meat from the shells, but this is tedious and not very rewarding. Coquinas are really best for broth, not chowder, and the broth can be used as a tasty soup stock or base for other dishes.

Sea Shells

Inside each twisting shell,
Will a tiny creature dwell,
And when its life is done,
The shell is ours, what fun!
All that's left to do at last,
Is walk the beach, find it fast,
For others with the same desire,
Scour the sand, and never tire.
The perfect shell, lucky catch
Nothing else could ever match,
Our finding at the tidal stream,
The collector's hope and
sheller's dream.


Poem taken from Florida's Fabulous Seashells: and Other Seashore Life, by Winston Williams, copyright 1988 by World Publications, page 1,poet not named.

More Bliss

Another day in Paradise. We are getting tanned and we are getting more shells that either of us really knows what to do with and I'm a very exhausted but happy camper. We walked about ten miles today, waaaaaay down to the "State Land," as the south side of the island is locally known. I didn't notice that the shelling was that much better down there and it sure is a long, long way to carry back all your loot, so I think tomorrow we may well stay a little closer to home.

If you sit down, even to just have a drink of water or to riffle through a mound of shells, the gulls immediately think you are eating and they start arriving, shouting for a hand out. "Feed meeeeee....feed meeeeeeee!" No. We did not feed them. We did not. We did, however, guard our package of Ritz crackers carefully!I have to admit that I am not very well educated about birds and I am especially ill educated about Eastern US birds....so I don't know exactly what sort these hungry fellas might be....but they are pretty and they are numerous and they are LOUD.

North Captiva Island

Bliss. Bliss.

And more bliss.