Lights were ablaze in Oysterville last evening when we returned after our ten-day sojourn in California. My first thought was “How nice! Everyone is in town to ring in the New Year.” And then I realized that there’s a clam tide this weekend. Among most ‘part-timers’ – even those who grew up here – a clam tide trumps every other reason for coming to the beach.
A “clam tide,” of course, refers to those low tide days that the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife deems legal for digging razor clams out on the ocean beach. Regulations these days are considerably more stringent when I was a kid and I’m not sure if there were any regulations at all for recreational digging when my mom was growing up here. Certainly not back in the 1870s and 1880s when my grandfather was a boy.
Even so, digging/eating razor clams has never been a passion in our family. Traditionally, our focus has been the bay – oysters, crab, mud clams (my grandmother thought they made the best chowder), and, these days, steamer clams. Our Red House Cousins, on the other hand, are razor clammers. I’ve always attributed the difference to them being more out-doorsy than our branch of the family.
The same goes for duck-hunting. My Uncle Edwin hunted duck when he was a boy and Nyel did when he first moved to the Peninsula. But no one in the family really liked the ducks – least of all the women to whom fell the chore of cooking them to disguise any fishy flavor the meat might retain. Whenever my folks were recipients of ducks from local hunters, my mother compared them to ducks provided by one of my high school boyfriends in California.
His name was Don Ferrell and he went hunting each year with his grandfather up in the Sacramento Delta area. The ducks he proudly brought home had spent their time fattening in the rice fields of the Sacramento Valley. They were plump and delicious. “Not gamey” my mother used to say.
I thought about those long-ago meals just a few days ago as we made our way homeward. We had turned off the freeway to have lunch – maybe in Winters – and passed a small trailer with a large sign advertising “duck plucking.” I immediately flashed on the many “clam cleaning” signs around the Peninsula. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a duck plucking offer. I guess it’s a matter of priorities.
Speaking of which, the priority around here, today, probably isn’t Happy New Year. It’s Happy Clam Tides!
Many memories emerged as I read Sydney’s blog today….Always a great read, but the memories of clamming (for razor clams) at Cannon Beach in the early 1950’s swirled around my tiny office corner in California. These were followed by memories of what I think of as “rake clamming” in Oysterville. And, seeing the name Don Ferrell, brought a smile of recognition. Thank you, Sydney for the “Happy Clam Tides”and the memories that ebbed and flowed.