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.

I Feel Like a Writer

 I feel like a writer. This summer has given us hours to spend in our studio, with Michael painting and me writing.  My last post included some segments on an essay I'm working on Why We Write.  I wish to send it in to Poets&Writers magazine so I requested a sooner-than-usual meeting with my mentor. We skyped, and she, being the archeologist she is, has me dig deeper. I love her ability to find the one line that works, even when it means that I must rewrite my entire essay.  Gigi, picked one line out of fifty-six and suggested to work off that. Of course I'm up for the challenge.  I can't go back to my original when she gives me a radical idea to try. Several hours more into this writing piece and I am still rewriting.  This is what writers must do to work their craft.  I've spent close to a year or more revising some of my poetry.  Some writing flows, some trickles, and some pours.

Days spent solely in our studio has meant we've missed a local concert or that movie we wanted to see, we forget to eat, or make phone calls, or paint the trim we keep putting off, but it reminds me of something the poet Mary Oliver once wrote.  She spoke of missing appointments and luncheons and asked not to be upset with her but to be happy that she must have been in a blissful state of being, of writing.

I stretch, and change positions, compose, and compose again. I am thankful for these summer days in our studio, with Michael by my side, and Ella playing on our phonograph. I can't imagine a happier way to live.

Happy writing!
~Bess