I Like Moose: pt1

I wrote this short story several months ago. I thought I would share it, in its parts, respectively. Enjoy! - c.d.

Of Cobscook Bay

"A more interesting assemblage of phenomena than can be found on any other part of the eastern seaboard of the United States." -- Nathaniel S. Shaler, in 1886, was one of the first geologists to describe the bedrock geology of Cobscook Bay.

I

Late May. It was morning so the Clammers, adorned in waders and some, in linen-like hats with Saturn-like rims to block out the sun, trudged scenic narrowly winding trails towards the waterbed. The bay was mud; the only water left was in tiny puddles stored in the sediment and bedrock. The clams mused. Their misfortune awaited them in buckets and scratch rakes. The hunters sloshed out to the middle of the emptied bay handling a hoe-like object, a metal basket with teeth at the mouth. They spent the morning turning/collecting, from my perch (the waters edge beside an overgrown camp site); they are landscapers, preparing the bay for the rush. The flood. I know that by noon the bay will be stirring.

Part of the show is the tide change. Cobscook is a Maliseet-Passamaquoddy word for "boiling tides." These strong currents influence the sediments deposited in the Bay and increase shoreline erosion. The bay was destroying itself. The average high is 24 feet with some at 28. By lunchtime, the clamming fields have transformed into an ocean. Watch the water. It percolates. Rushes from different directions collide with one another and simulate the bubble. I have spent hours watching the water seep, rise and boil. Mimicking breath and heat. Rippling, or not, the water is alive; I have stared at it and put my feet in. The sensation against my toes, I think of home, Long Island, the goldfish pond in my parent's backyard. When it was warm out I'd stick my feet in the water and after some moments of stillness, the fish would nibble.


(stay tuned for part 2)