The Shell Seekers Of Carabelle

When I was young, I was a bit of a collector. Perhaps it was for the thrill of the hunt, or to feel connected to a specific location, but I remember hoarding stones at a very young age. Anything from ordinary river stones to more specialized stones like Rose Rocks, Peacock Stones, Agates, Galine, Rock Crystals, Pegamatite, Olivinite, Zebra Onyx, Quartz, and more. It was an inexpensive, interesting collection, so I began my career as an amateur collector at the tender age of five. I kept those stones forever. I don't think I lost them until a recent move..

Coming down from Wisconsin and later settling on the west coast of Florida, I began collecting seashells. It first started with my step-grandparents,  who had a beach house in Carrabelle Florida. Along that coastline where the Apalachicola River flows, we would walk through a shady sea oat pathway, and go shell hunting together in the mornings when the tide was low. Looking like lumps in the muck we would find them, and later soak them in buckets of bleach water. Any snails still alive would die off and then, John, my step-grandfather, would gently grind off any hard barnacles. Eventually, we would oil the shells to help keep their brilliant colors. Along that slow, beautiful winding beach, we would find True Tulips, Lions Paws, Rose Murex, Junionias, Cinderella's Slippers, Olivines, Lightening Whelks, Large Calico Scallops, and Kings Conchs. It was a treat if you found a Junonia, a Shark eye, a Lace or Apple Murex, an Alphabet Cone, a Milk Conch, or an Angulate Wentletrap. There were hundreds of varieties. Our excitement would be brimming if we found a rare shell. Other times we would go out to the ocean and collect sand dollars, by sifting our feet through the sand in shallow water. The sand dollars would then be bleached to a clean bright white and hung on our Christmas tree later with a red ribbon. 

I remember going home with boxes of shells from Carabelle. My mother would proudly display the shells in a big ranch house we had near Jacksonville. Later In St. Petersburg where I lived for many years, finding shells like that proved to be a lot more difficult. For some reason the shells on the beaches there are typically crushed by the time they reach land. The beaches there are beautiful, calm stretches of powder-soft white sand, but the only thing you can collect around there are the butterfly wings - technically - coquina clam shells, and sometimes a few scallops. The beaches south of St Pete like Ft. Myers and Venice can be a bit more rewarding. If you're dedicated enough, you can grab beautiful Olivines, gently spinning sideways in the waves just along a shelf near the edge of the water. Unfortunately, over time I lost or got rid of my seashells from Carabelle. One day I remember looking around the house thinking it was a shame I hadn't kept them.

The best shell day I ever had though was a fluke incident in St. Pete, when my mother happened to be there for a visit. I mentioned I didn't have any shells left, so on a Friday evening we made plans to venture forth the next day to Pass-a-Grille Beach. We woke up early and I remember being a little worried about the weather. A spring storm had rolled in overnight but the sun was breaking through the clouds, and the air was clear and cool. I drove to my favorite spot, across from The Hurricane, parked, and noticed the beach was filled with bunches of algae and sea grass from the storm. The waves were still cresting but we ventured forth because not a soul was there and this is a good thing for shell seekers. 

As we walked along the beach my mother exclaimed. "My God, the beach is filled with shells!"  I couldn't believe my eyes. The storm and its winds had kicked in a highly unusual covey of shells. I walked back to the car and collected some bags thinking it was sheer luck. We began grabbing shells left and right. Up and down the beach we walked until my mother told me she couldn't go on. She was laughing, giggling nearly stumbling at this point as we looked down at our bags filled with shells . I tried not to think about how many more shells I could carry and left the beach.

In some ways, it felt like a scene in a movie, where I've stumbled across a secret chamber filled with gold. I load a heavy saddlebag with gold, jewelry, necklaces, coins, and statues. I spot an ornate staff sticking out of the ground and collect just one more piece - exhausted. I need to leave though because the walls are starting to sink into the ground and I have to haul a** out of the chamber. I scamper through a passageway and barely make it out with my saddlebag and torch. I decide not to get greedy and a massive cloud of sand and dust billows out over the air as I escape. I've left in the nick of time, and I have some treasure. I ride off into the sunset...

After we returned home, my mother left her share of the shells with me so I could clean them and bring them to her house at a later time. I remember going to Home Goods and buying a basket for her to put them in. When I arrived at her house, I was tickled to give her the shells. We both reminisced about the fun time we had and talked about our luck in finding them. It reminded me a little of Carabelle, and in a way, I had regained my precious lost shells.

When I think of that morning,  it makes me smile.  We rode off into the sunset that day with our treasure — it was a day to remember for us — shell seekers that we are.