Yesterday we went clamming, which involved a long bicycle ride through flat marsh on the Sound side, then a trek through yellow-brown muck through razor sharp grass and into the murky waters where the sand is gray and studded with cob-web like seaweed. I clamped my jaw tight, which made my teeth hurt, as I waded out, fearful of coming into any contact with the slimy, tangled, underwater strings. It was as though I was holding my nose with my entire, rigid body, and I said over and over, loudly and crankily, “I don’t like this.” Every three or four steps I stumbled into a whole, for the bottom is anything but even and the water very cloudy. Ryan stomped right out into it, whipped off his shoes and wiggled his toes into the sand. “Clam!” he chirped.
I clambered up onto a duck blind and recoiled while pretending to meditate on the broad shoal, which goes on for miles and never gets any deeper than three feet of water. Finally I saw that Ryan was struggling to hold his shoes and the clamming bag and waded over to help him. At first I hung around, holding his shoes, while he found clam after clam with his toes. The backs of my legs were badly sunburned and I tried to face them away from the sun. Then I started to rake the sand with my own shoes, still strapped to my feet.
I wandered over a sandy spot, noticed something white and round in the water, and gingerly reached down for it. “Clam!” I shouted. I found another one, and then another, and then it occurred to me that I could keep my legs out of the sun if I squatted down into the water, and while there I might as well fish around in the “clean,” sandy parts for a clam or two. Before long I was hooked and digging down even into the cobwebby weed. The clams were plentiful and easy to find, and each one I brought up came with a cloud of inky sand. It was fun. I filled Ryan’s shoes again and again, emptying them into the big mesh bag he carried. After an hour or so we must have collected 15 pounds, more than we could eat, so we headed back to shore, through the muck and the mud. And that was our day clamming.