“Do I eat hamburgers? Yes. Would I look into a cow’s trusting brown eyes and aim a gun between them? No way. Call me hypocritical, but there it is. Except for clams. Don’t discuss their nervous systems or consciousness with me, because I don’t want to know. After shaking the nap cobwebs from my brain, I got dressed. With that aching thigh and tender ankle, my jeans were a challenge, but I got them on, along with the first T-shirt I touched. Because the beach cools off fast after sundown, I tied ...my hooded red sweatshirt around my waist. I walked to the beach wearing a backpack loaded with matches, a pocket knife, a copper-bottomed saucepan, a footed rack to hold the pan above the fire, a little metal dish, and a cube of butter. This was one beach treat I remembered how to make. Since Mom loved fresh clams as much as I did, I learned to prepare them by watching her during our shoreline cookouts when I was a kid, and more recently, when we’d driven to beaches closer to Valencia. Striding away from Cook’s Cottage I had one twinge in my thigh and another of loneliness when Gumbo mewed from an upstairs window.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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