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.
How loving. She was indeed a wonderful woman. I treasured her, and now I treasure all memories of her. Love, Mom.
ReplyDeleteIt's always fun to have those little things that remind us of our grandparents. I raise flowers because those same annuals once resided in my grandparent's yards.
ReplyDeleteLinda
Lovely and very touching Marianne.
ReplyDeleteMama, she was amazing. How I wish I remembered better. Love you!
ReplyDeleteLinda, such memories are so precious!
Cathy, thank you. I thought of grandma the whole time we were in Florida....
Oh, your photos of coquinas reminded me of long-ago winter months spent on Florida's Gulf Coast. My dad owned a marina in Michigan, and when business slowed to a stop in winter, we went to St. Petersburg Beach for a month or so (we kids brought our school books and somehow kept up). How I loved those beautiful shells of so many different colors. I remember some of the local folks would boil quarts of the living ones up for a broth (not much to eat of the flesh, that's for sure!). When I looked at your photos, I could even smell the scent of those beaches and that broth!
ReplyDeleteJacqueline, how wonderful that must have been! What fun, and I'll bet you learned at least as much as if you had stayed at school. I wish some year we would have more time in the south to explore more thoroughly and try some of the local food. We passed an oyster cooking place...small, local, a little rough around the edges..... that was slammed with cars and trucks, with more piling in all the time. As we passed it smelled SO good! Alas, we had such time constraints that we had to eat a lot more fast food than we would choose if we had a choice.
ReplyDeleteI think I was lucky to visit the south in the 1940s and '50s before super-highways and fast-food restaurants. Our trips from Michigan to Florida took 3 days, passing through every city and town and sleeping in tiny tourist cabins that I thought were adorable but my mom thought were filthy (some were!). We knew we had reached The South when grits appeared on our breakfast plates without having to order them. My dad started looking for pit barbecue joints as soon as we reached Tennessee, and Georgia brought pecan stands and coconut candy. Florida offered sweet oranges, of course, and shrimp like I've never tasted since, so fat and sweet and always accompanied by Hush Puppies. Making me hungry remembering all this!
ReplyDeleteJacqueline, that sounds so wonderful. I never really cared for grits, but when they were served with my breakfast in Fl. I tried them again. Not bad at all. The first time I went was in the early seventies on a college break. We took our dogs and stayed in the back of our truck, which had a cap. Slept in airport parking lots as there were no places that allowed dogs and few that allowed overnight parking. Still had a great time. And you are making me hungry too! lol
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