 A Distant Shore... |
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posted by: Andaloo (reply) post date: 07.30.05 (10:54 pm) Ahh those silences, I remember them well. Strange isn't it, that those silences only start to matter when we're grown up and other people tell us they matter? posted by: juniperflux (reply) post date: 07.30.05 (11:03 pm) Reply to: Andaloo Ack! You caught me in edit mode. :) Nonetheless, I appreciate your comment. Silences are hard to interpret when we're younger, I think in large part because we're too busy being noisy to notice them. I'd like to think that I pay closer attention these days... but I know I still miss the boat sometimes. Again, thank you for stopping by. j posted by: JimBrodhead (reply) post date: 07.31.05 (4:17 am) As the father of two grown women, I remember the silences as well. In my dotage I has recalled those times mostly as failures...times when I could have been in communion with Ruth and Wendy. Your post is such a relief, allowing me, as it does, to think that those non-verbal times were more intervals of presence than of absence. You remember them as you do and so often, too often, fathers look on them with regret as times all too short. You recollect them as gold and we forget that they may have been gold in our little girls eyes and that maybe we are still their dragonslayers. Thank you for the gift of a daughter's perspective. posted by: juniperflux (reply) post date: 07.31.05 (12:39 pm) Reply to: JimBrodhead I'm so pleased that you saw something here that you could grab onto. I very much like the idea of these shared experiences that tie people together. It's comforting to think that even though we might be a little too close to our own stories to clearly see their lessons, that by simply taking a glimpse into someone else's snapshot, we're sometimes able to make the pieces of our own fit together. In the end, we're more alike than different, aren't we? As always, thank you for your thoughts. j posted by: lindy (reply) post date: 07.31.05 (2:22 pm) You are making my assignment much easier with every story you tell. The snapshot in my mind is priceless... that young, dainty, hopeful girl, scrambling and clamoring before the break of dawn to be included in a special outing that was probably as much for her as it was for him. Thank you for letting me in to this particular moment. It's a beautiful one. posted by: juniperflux (reply) post date: 08.01.05 (10:26 am) Reply to: lindy Thank you for reminding me of it. Our conversation about beaches led me here. :) j posted by: lindy (reply) post date: 08.01.05 (3:27 pm) Reply to: juniperflux That makes sense. As I was reading, I was reminded of my own beaches of grey and dreary, damp and cold in the chilly days of Fall and Winter. Consistent with our conversation. It took me back to a day of lonely sea shell gathering in white tapered capri length pants and panty hose, short curly hydrogen peroxide lightened hair and mother snapping away with a camera that had the nerve to capture such a sight. I had such a thing for sea shells... posted by: juniperflux (reply) post date: 08.02.05 (10:39 am) Reply to: lindy Forgive me for focusing on the minutia... but I love the way you capitalized Fall and Winter in this comment. I like the idea of the giving the seasons their proper due. As for seashells... they are a delight, although I've always had a thing for starfish, myself. j posted by: lindy (reply) post date: 08.02.05 (5:36 pm) Reply to: juniperflux Hahahaa. You soooo pointed that out! Oh man. I have had this thing about NOT capitalizing the seasons since I was old enough to understand that you don't. I can't stand it. I think it is just plain wrong and I've never agreed with it, therefore, I throw grammar to the wind in this instance, much to the chagrin of my linguistic friends and acquaintences. F-all, W-inter, S-pring and S-ummer. Yes indeed! Starfish... I've always thought starfish were pretty, but... they confuse me. I don't know how to treat them. Even to this day. I guess I don't understand how a spark of life got into them. posted by: TheJongleur (reply) post date: 08.05.05 (12:56 pm) "I could nod and smile and still be telling the truth; it really was good." I am drawn to the story(teller) that can tell a fragile little tale such as this one. There is sadness here, but it doesn't drown the crisp beauty of this series of moments.. in fact, it acts as something of a gentle wave.. and I like where it carries us. posted by: juniperflux (reply) post date: 08.05.05 (1:56 pm) Reply to: TheJongleur Thank you for wading through this and all the other pieces of me that I continue to leave at your doorstep. Thank you for taking the time to leave me a few thoughts and thank you for always making me want to do better... to be better. posted by: tasia (reply) post date: 08.06.05 (1:13 pm) Where I live..I don't think anyone has ever seen a clam on the beach. I've seen jellyfish and small fishes but no clams..you're lucky. posted by: juniperflux (reply) post date: 08.08.05 (9:41 am) Reply to: tasia It's funny sometimes the things we take for granted. Where I currently live there are no clams on the beach either... I miss those rocky shores. Thanks for stopping by... j posted by: Reomwbecca (reply) post date: 03.14.08 (11:28 pm) employed in transacting the commerce of foreign countries, or in carrying to the operation of this statute of Charles II. which had been posted by: Marwduia (reply) post date: 03.14.08 (11:29 pm) public attention. The trade to the East Indies, by opening a of the corn trade is almost everywhere more or less restrained, posted by: Ampknanda (reply) post date: 03.15.08 (3:10 pm) great and it is not improbable that those of some individuals8qeBxD8p4EhYafforded a much greater and more lasting resource. In the present posted by: Sharon (reply) post date: 03.22.08 (9:27 pm) what money purchases, and is valuable only for purchasing. Money, b37MXfm6x3 prohibition, upon many occasions, extremely inconvenient. They posted by: kjvdtzrp ijodk (reply) post date: 04.15.08 (10:40 am) cjut iwfa ldthbipz wgbzn qwicmsv vlnofaw pojegfd |
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I was quite young when I first learned how to spot a razor clam lurking just beneath the surface of black, wet sand. In the very moment that the Pacific pulls away from its rocky shoreline, revealing a few rare feet of smooth, flat beach, a trained eye can spot the clam’s quiet calling card: tiny holes in the damp surface, about the size of a quarter, often surrounded by a raised ring that locals and old-timers will refer to as “the doughnut.” The trick, of course, once you’ve spotted such signs, is to dig - fast - before the ocean hurls its way back in, shifting the sands, and the advantage, decidedly into the clam’s favor.
Like many men of his generation (and others too, I’m sure) my father’s idea of good parenting consisted solely of providing food, shelter and discipline for his children. Conversation with his pre-teen daughter, particularly within the confines of a small, moving, metal box, was probably not something he was prepared for. But back then, the silent drive there only added to the magic of the moment. There was something about sharing that space with him, without the clutter of words, that only served to make the entire experience that much more extraordinary. 
Ours was a finely tuned clamming machine. My job was to spot the clams and then stealthily alert my father, usually by jumping up and down and pointing. Immediately, he would swing into action, carving the sand away with his angled spade (which many people refer to as a "clam gun") and his fingers. Once the clam had been dug up, he’d hand it to me; my second job was to transport our riches to the waiting bucket. With every second or third success my father would ask me how many we had; my third job was to then count them dutifully, which I did. (Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday). Clearly, I took all my jobs very seriously. 
These were the beaches of my childhood. Rocky, cold, gray and inhabited by feathered scavengers along with a dying breed of hardened men who survived by fishing the harsh waters that their fathers had fished before them. Unlike their California or (southern) east coast counterparts, people who braved pacific northwest beaches in the early morning hours to dig for clams or to cast thick lines into the choppy sea in search of bigger bounty, did so knowing they’d have to work for their suppers and swallow more than a little saltwater. Similar to the rocky shores of ancient British islands, ([url