Life on a family farm
in the wilds of
Upstate New York
Monday, January 02, 2017
Whenever I find coquina shells I think of my father's mother. She liked them too. Vague memories have my grandparents shelling, maybe on Sanibel, when they retired to Florida. Tragic events sent them back north before too many years passed, but they were happy there for a while, and I loved hearing their stories when they visited home. They were so intrepid, traveling to Florida and Mexico and bringing back amazing treasures....but somehow the tiny, humble, yet colorful, clams remind me of them.
Thus the pockets of all my shorts are full of sand from stuffing pretty coquinas from every beach we visited into them. I have a whole bag full of memories of grandma.