Page 92 of Changing Tides

With everything laid out before us, we set to work, preparing the meal. Sebastian and I scrub the clams clean, removing any grit or sand from their shells, and sort them into batches based on size. Amiya chops the potatoes and onions into bite-sized pieces, ready to be cooked alongside the clams, while Anson and Parker get to shucking and trimming the corn on the cob.

As Sebastian layers the stones with seaweed, Amiya and I arrange the ingredients in large, heavy-duty aluminum foil packets. Each packet contains a generous portion of clams, nestled among the vegetables and seasoned with a sprinkle of salt, pepper, and fresh herbs. Once sealed tightly, they’re ready to be placed on the hot coals to cook.

With the food arranged neatly on the makeshift grill, the boys cover it with another layer of seaweed and then dry sand.

I settle back to enjoy the company of my new friends as we wait for our dinner.

The sound of laughter fills the air as we share stories and jokes, passing the time until the tantalizing aroma of cooking clams begins to escape the beach oven and wafts through the air.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of anticipation, the moment of truth arrives.

Sebastian carefully retrieves the food from the hole, taking care not to burn himself on the scalding foil.

With eager hands, I unwrap each packet, and a wave of delicious aroma wafts through the air, causing my mouth to water in anticipation.

The clams are perfectly cooked, their shells gaping open to reveal the tender, succulent meat within. The potatoes and onions have soaked up the butter and flavors of the sea while the corn on the cob is sweet and juicy.

Sebastian tosses more wood into the now-empty pit and starts a new fire to keep us warm.

With our paper plates piled high with steaming food, we gather on the tarp and dig in with gusto, savoring each mouthful.

“Damn, this is so good,” Amiya groans.

“So good,” I agree.

Sebastian grins. “Glad to see you’re enjoying your first clambake.”

“You might have messed up, mister. She’ll be expecting you to cook for her all the time now,” Amiya says.

As the last scraps of food disappear from our plates and the fire dwindles to embers, I can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction wash over me. The clambake has been a resounding success, coupled with my body experiencing a much-needed release.

With a contented sigh, I lean back against Sebastian’s chest and watch as the stars begin to twinkle overhead, grateful for moments like these that remind me that I’m still very much alive and that joy is possible.

For now.

Avie

Ida Mae wasn’t feeling well this morning, and rather than disturb Sabel, I decide today is going to be a take-your-daughter-to-work day.

Our first order of business is walking the west side of the beach for nests.

Getting up before dawn isn’t fun, but searching for nests is. The reason we go out at daybreak is so we can find the mother turtle’s tracks in the sand before visitors disturb them.

They like to lie at night during high tide, and each track is easily identified. They’re about forty inches wide, and there are two sets. One made when she is walking from the ocean toward the dunes and one when she returns to the water. The nest, a small mound of disrupted sand, can be found about halfway between.

I opt for the golf cart this morning, and we take the main road to the farthest access point. I unload a heavy-duty all-terrain wagon and toss in my supplies before the two of us walk onto the beach.

Leia brings along her pink sand pail so she can collect shells as we scan the shore.

“You see that fishing pier off in the distance?” I ask.

Her eyes follow my extended finger, and she nods.

“That’s how far we have to go. Think you can make it there and back?”

“I can do it.”

We remove our sandals and toss them in the wagon, and I pull it behind us as we make our trek.

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