Photo Day 24: Scallop Shell

 

On my first and only trip to Martha's Vineyard, a friend of mine showed me a jogging path, a sandy road which led to a quiet bay with a boat launch. It was so quiet that it looked to me like an inlet on a small freshwater lake, even though the inlet led in fact to the Atlantic Ocean.

With a seaworthy boat I could have sailed out into the open, headed south, and not run out of water until I reached the Dominican Republic. (After that, Venezuela.)

I am sure that there are hundreds of inlets like these. But I am a City boy, by way of Michigan and Colorado, and I rarely see them. So my first thought was: What a nice, quiet pond.

Fifty feet or so from the water stood a gray, weathered wooden table. By the table, a pile of clam shells, with a few scallop and oyster shells mixed in. I don't know if people came to the table and shucked clams there, or if they just found this a convenient spot to dump shells from elsewhere.

To some people, this pile of remains would look like a smelly mess. To me: evidence of briny, delicious meals past.

My friend, the runner, talked about how years ago he used to sit down at the counter of the Oyster Bar in Grand Central and order a half dozen Malapeques. Sometimes he would find himself in conversation with the guy sitting next to him. Always, he would enjoy the oysters.

Then he discovered that he had terrible cholesterol and became something close to a vegetarian. From there it was a short step to following certain dietary laws, and since he was (and is) a nice Jewish boy from the Bronx, he started keeping kosher. He eats meat now, but still follows kashruth. So: no more oysters and no more trips to the Oyster Bar in Grand Central. It's been so long since he had shellfish that he had to be reminded which of the shards in the pile came from oysters.

I only made one trip down that sandy jogging path, and although I took hundreds of pictures elsewhere on the island, I didn't have my camera. I would have liked a picture of that midden of clams' remains. Something about the repeating, haphazard pattern of fluted shells attracts my eye. It soothes and intrigues me. I wish I did have my camera then.

But anyhow, earlier in the trip, I did take this picture. I kind of like it.

Anyone want to go to the Oyster Bar in Grand Central, and sit at the counter?