Not too much to talk about in regards to Hunter’s Retreat, except that edits continue. Since that’s boring to read about, I thought I’d share a little slice of my life with you this week.
When I was school-aged, my family used to drive up to Connecticut every summer to visit with the grandparents. There wasn’t very much to do in CT as the house was neither equipped with video game systems, nor cable, so the first time my grandpa offered to take me clamming in the bay with him, I thought “Sure, can’t be much more boring than sitting around here doing nothing.” So I carried an inner tube down to the community’s private beach and watched Grandpa dig for clams. It was as boring as I expected it to be until I unexpectedly dug up my first clam using my feet. From then on, I was hooked. Grandpa would rake in the clams and I’d dig them up and we’d go home and cook up our catch on the grill.
Fast forward to last weekend, my first trip back to CT in years. Grandpa is about to turn 90 this fall and no longer to get out in the bay like he used to. I checked the tides before my visit, got myself a clam rake, a shellfish license and thought to surprise him with a cooler full of clams, just like the old days.
Guys, clam rakes are a lot harder to use than they look.
Pretty sure those clams were all laughing at me as I fumbled around looking for them. By the time the tide came in enough to carry my cooler away, I had only found 9 clams–and at least half of those I dug up with my feet! But by the next day, I had the hang of the rake and worked for a good few hours, netting nearly 50 clams! Grandpa was pretty impressed, and of course I told him it was all because I had a good teacher. Victory was pretty sweet, as we cooked up the spoils on the grill and I even had enough left over to try a few stuffed clams recipes. I’m thinking I might get a seasonal license and keep clamming out near where I live. For me, nothing says “summer” like fresh clams and melted butter.
Love you, Grandpa!