Conched Out! - January 25, 2022

Remember all those conch shells I collected at the beach? How they finally started appearing after the big storm in early November? We found so many, they covered the only table we had outside, until we lined them up on the deck floor. They covered the longest part of the deck and then meandered down both sides. I wanted to bring them all home, but it occurred to me it was a foolish and unpractical thought.

Nearing the end of our time we made a vow that we could only pick up another one and take it back to the house if it was a perfect specimen. No cracks. No holes. Not one. I had to hold myself back as I walked along the shore and not pick up every beautiful, wave worn shell. Each day was an adventure, and I loved the hunt. What would I find that day? It became a competition between me and my husband. Who could find the best one of the day? I admit, I’d get a little annoyed when he would find the perfect gold toned spiral conch after a ten-minute walk and I had spent two hours wandering the sand and came back with a broken brown one. It’s amazing how such a small activity could bring so much joy. And why don’t I do more things just for the joy of it?

"Cling to joy; audacious and unbridled joy, that looks for light in everything, even in your waiting." - Morgan Harper Nichols

I’ve been home for almost a month and have already settled back into a life of duty. I suppose most of us do live a life of duty, but I know that even though I must be dutiful, joyous activities help me cope better with my daily pain. It’s pretty much a necessity, and yet, it rarely makes it into my schedule. Duty on top of pain is a recipe for disaster.

That is why I am so happy that I didn’t listen to that nasty voice. I brought the conchs home! No, not all of them, but at least half. 48 in total! You are wondering how I did that. At first, we thought we would ship a box of clothes back so we’d have more room in the car. After finding out a car top carrier was cheaper than UPS costs, we bought one. I picked up an empty cardboard box from Publix and wrapped each shell in newspaper until the box was nearly full. You should have seen me deciding which ones to take and which ones to leave behind. I was like a child who couldn’t bear to inadvertently leave one of their beloved stuffed animals behind.

Maybe I should take this one. No, that one isn’t as good as this one. Back and forth. What may sound like a frivolous exercise was actually a whole lot more fun than a dozen other things I “should” have been doing. You know, those dutiful things. My treasure box did indeed fit into the car and made it all the way home.

The other day, while frustrated by the way my legs and hips weren’t working, I remembered the box was still in the basement. I had my husband bring it upstairs. Each time I unwrapped a shell, I was drawn back to the image of finding them. The days I made hanging out on the beach a priority. When doing nothing was more important than doing “all the dutiful things." There was a swing in my stride. A lightness of being. A place I left definite footprints of joy. I’d like to think the pelicans and sandpipers miss my daily presence.

The conchs have found a new home. They are lined up on the wood windowsills of my back porch where I can see them every time I walk into the kitchen or sit on my family room couch. Sometimes I just stand there at look at them for a few minutes. Right next to the blackboard that says, “35 weeks left to the beach.” And then I get the feeling – the feeling of joy. And there’s not too many better feelings than that.

Shell Teeth

The ocean has lost her baby teeth

They're shells along the shore

And every day she grows new teeth

Each night she loses more

She spreads her teeth upon the beach

I gather up a pile

I bring them home so I can keep

a piece of ocean smile.

-anonymous