I really don't feel up to writing this morning but I am one of those who starts something and then quits halfway through. I have promised myself I wouldn't do that here, that I would write something if only to write, I DON'T FEEL LIKE WRITING TODAY! I think we all feel that way when our little life has been shaken by something we can't control.
I noticed the other day when driving through the back roads to Rhode Island, a house with a yard full of lobster pots. It instantly triggered happy memories of when I was a kid and lived on the river. A River Rat I suppose some called me. Those days were some of the happiest I remember from my childhood.
Dad had a boat and we lived right off the river. I would wake up and as soon as my feet hit the floor, I was running down the river bank, eager to find my gifts for that day. Lifting the slippery stones and finding little eels swimming out from under, startled by my intrusion always made me smile. The good Lord always had plenty for me to do, whether it was cutting the boat loose and just drifting in the water with my eye on the shore so as not to get too far out or just jump out and try to doggie paddle without holding on to the boat. I couldn't swim then, yet had no fear of the water. I would jump overboard and cling to the boat with one hand while kicking my way around the other side. To make it to the shore I just got to the back of the boat and kicked my way in to the mooring spot. Of course it was only a row boat but it was ours, pretty special to me, and I used it as much as possible.
I remember low tide and getting into my old sneakers so I could walk the muddy river bottom, pail and crab net in hand. What fun it was to out maneuver the crabs sitting on the bottom of the river and quickly catch them up in the net before they could scuttle away, and safely drop them into the pail. I would spend hours doing that until the tide started coming in and it became too deep for me to safely see the river bottom. Then I would walk home with my sneakers sloshing, pail weighing me down so bad I could hardly carry it with it propped against my skinny legs let alone swinging it with a smug look on my face. Laughing out loud as if I had done something perfectly wonderful. Well it was wonderful. And my neighbors were happy about it also because there was always enough for everyone to share. I didn't particularly love the taste of crabmeat, but loved shelling it and making crab meat salad for the family.
Then there was clamming, a really fun chore digging in the wet sand for long necks. We had another name we called them but don't think I should write it here. Those I wouldn't eat at all, just couldn't stand the look of them let alone the taste. And the horseshoe crabs that we had to be careful not to step on while in the deeper waters feeling around bottom for quohogs. The Indians used quohog shell for wampum years ago. And the purple and white shells were truly beautiful. After the clams were shelled, I would wash the shells up as clean as possible and paint them or drill a hole in the smaller of them to make jewelry. I don't think I was a bored child as much as one who could see things in junk that others couldn't. And I would always be making my jewelry and gifts.
But getting back to those lobster pots which set me thinking of my childhood days, I can remember helping my dad to replace the wooden slats in the pots where boats or humans had done their damage. The netting was always in need of repair also along with replacing the buoys used to mark where the pots were located in the deep waters. When we were lucky enough to find the pots with a few lobsters, it was off for home to cook them up and savor the meat while they were fresh. Those were the good times. When we discovered too many empty pots, we knew they had been pilfered and it didn't seem like fun anymore.
In true River Rat fashion, I would rake for scallops alongside my dad and help fill the large bushel baskets with our bounty. Oh how I love scallops. Of course I had to help shell the darn things too, being careful not to cut myself on the jagged shells or with the short shelling knife. There definitely was a trick to it and once I learned, could shuck in time with my dad.
When I wasn't crabbing, clamming or playing in the boat, I was fishing from the bridge. I caught so many flounder (we called them flat fish) and many times came up with long slimy eels. They gave me the willies but a few people loved them and would pay me to bring them home to them. One time we had them slithering all over the kitchen floor because I had knocked the bucket over. I thought my mom would have a heart attack! I wasn't in her good graces at time such as those so would make myself very small and hide away somewhere. Out of sight was out of mind.
Gosh, for someone who didn't feel up to writing anything this morning, I think I outdid myself. It's easy to do when you relive your childhood. Because no matter how unhappy it might have been at times, there were still those bright spots and the good memories I now cherish.
So fathers and moms too, take those children fishing. Pack a lunch and be prepared to laugh a lot and grow closer to your children. Enough with those darn video games and all the noise that goes with them. I just can't bear seeing a childhood wasted on electronic junk. Fresh air and a day of fishing is just what they need. Doctor's orders or a grandmom's.
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