Clamming at Nauset Inlet

A knick of a rubbery tip,

the stretched neck six inches deep,

the burrowed body praying for rain.

I carve at the grain, careful

not to crack my existence. Must keep

the shell safe in my grip...

I have loved clamming since my first introduction. There is something about the vista of sand, water and grass, the scraping sound in quest of the gritty sea, and the stillness, particularly the stillness that mesmerizes me. It is a meditation. I find infinite holes. When we had several high school students stay with us as part of an educational experience, one remarked, upon seeing all the holes, that "there should be no such thing as world hunger." As I focus on the careful excavation, crouched aside the grasses, and find the burrowed treasure, my heart expands. I am one with the sea. My hands are tattooed with the brindled grain. I cradle the shell, careful not to crack it.  Cracking it means it would not make it home with us, and could lessen its chance of survival remaining in the sand. That would be a waste. I have some mixed feelings with regard to the humanity of digging for clams;are they any less than us, and why do we have a right to eat them? I'm sure the fishermen and hunters have asked themselves the same question. It is the vegetarian spirit of my college days speaking. Yet, I have come to believe we feed from each other in the cycle of life and if we eat thoughtfully, respectfully, and mindfully. it is a healthy and balanced way. I always say a prayer of thanks.

We call the inlet our garden of the sea. We harvest from the inlet as we do our vegetables and flowers from our gardens around the house.. We discovered sea beans this year during one of our walks back from clamming. We had just recently heard of sea beans visiting our French chef friend Phillipe. He was chopping them up in his restaurant PB Boulangerie's kitchen. Shortly after, we spotted them along the edges of the inlet. They are an excellent source of minerals and a nice garnish to any meal. In the late summer, the sea lavender shows its blooms amongst the beans.We add them to our half-bucket haul of clams, just enough.

We dine only with what we have gathered with our hands on these evenings: clams, kale, tomatoes ,summer squash, and sea beans. Sea lavender and zinnias color the table. We are perfectly full.

And then there are days I don't...

...feel like a writer, because after that luxurious spell of time I wrote of two weeks ago, I have barely lifted the pen. Sure I've jotted down a few thoughts, a few images, a few recordings of our days spent, but I miss those precious writer-filled days.  It seems so long ago. I was hoping that I was forming the habit, that all writers who want to be taken seriously, must get into.  Write everyday.  Of course, I realize that having 6 hour days of writing is unrealistic when it is still just a fancy.  I have a practice, and a family that I must attend to, yet I miss it when I do not put thought to pen to paper.  How will I ever get anyone to take me serious if I do not "show up" as Mary Oliver states. It is an art that takes discipline. I know that.  I also know that the time will come when more of "those writing days" prevail. I believe timing is everything. Often, a book will sit on my shelf for years waiting for the day I peruse it and wonder how it sat for so long.  I tell Megan, my budding fifteen year old daughter when she questions of why's and how's and when's, that such questions never end.

There is a poetry reading in Provincetown tonight.  We've been talking of taking the time to go, and yet I find myself happy to stay right here in our studio.  I'm reclaiming our space.  After five days of company, and our studio being used as a bedroom, I am just now settling back in. But shouldn't I take advantage of an opportunity to listen to an accomplished poet? Wouldn't it help my craft? Our day started off with a swim and short run, and then our favorite breakfast of oatmeal stuffed with fruit and yogurt, papers and books found at a local yard sale, and the summer hours slipped by. The gardens needed attention, admiration at the least, and before you know it we have to decide what to do...leave this comfy space or drive to the Fine Works Center and listen to an acclaimed poet.  Not a bad choice really. I'm lucky to have such a choice, but even the best of two worlds can create a cognitive dissonance.

I begin writing this post so I can feel I have accomplished something. While I accomplish an update on this blog as I write, I also begin to listen to my inner writer's voice: what I crave is to stay here, to extend the hours that I have to write. Though this blog has few followers ( most,well actually all, being friends and family), it does discipline me to touch base and write for writing's sake. It helped me today to understand the nagging questions that cast doubt. It helped me realize I am a writer at heart.

Happy writing!