Oyster Schooner Louisa Morrison, 1868

     The garden beds on either side of our east door grow native oyster shells – or so it seems.  Each spring as I begin the winter clean-up chores, I find that more than the weeds have multiplied.  The small, worn oyster shells from long ago are always there in force, ready to welcome the flowers that are soon to appear.
     I wonder where they came from.  Is our house sitting on an old shell midden left over from the time that Indians camped here on their yearly rounds of hunting and berry-gathering?  Or did the first residents of the house simply throw their garbage out of what was then the front door?  However the bright little shells got here, I enjoy turning them up each time I work in the garden.  And I like the way they look, glistening among the nasturtiums and primroses.
     But I can’t help but wish that some of those acclaimed gold pieces from the pioneer days would also turn up.  Oystermen of the nineteenth century were paid in gold when they delivered their bushel baskets of oysters to the waiting schooners anchored in front of Oysterville. As far as I know, however, not one stray gold coin has ever turned up here — certainly not in our backyard!