Stupid snail eggs.

I have an affinity for eggs. Over easy. Scrambled. French omelets. Farm-fresh or, you know, the standard grocery-store variety. Whatever. They're the perfect food. My culinary school teacher at CSCA, Chef Stephan, told me that every egg has the exact amount of biotin (needed by the human body) to break down the exact amount of fat found in one egg. Name another food that does all that work for you. Ok, maybe celery. But for taste? And yes, those are hen eggs. The kind you eat. But every egg holds some sort of promise, doesn't it? Baby blue jays. Baby snakes. Caviar. All good things in small packages.

But baby snails? That's where I draw the line.

Sometime around the last full moon (a few weeks back) the mud snails of Duxbury Bay started laying eggs. It's a seasonal thing and will happen a few more times before mid June. They'll hatch and make new snails which will spawn and lay more eggs. This is the cycle we live in.

But it's where the eggs land that just kill me.

The eggs adhere to whatever underwater, stationery surface they can find and once they stick, they're on like glue. That could be old clam cages. Seaweed. Our oysters. In fact, our oysters are the eggs' most favored landing place; all those nooks and crannies and divets in the shells are like warm little caves that the eggs can hide out in. Crate after crate, oysters have been coming back blanketed with these little, woolly nuisances. And it is a royal pain in the ass.

Imagine turning over a crate of a couple hundred oysters, all of them covered in a thin blanket of these tiny slivers of minced garlic. Imagine pulling out a stainless steel scrub brush whose head is the size of a post-it note and rubbing away at the mottled brown shell to get every miniature egg separated from its landing spot. Imagine tightening one fist around an awkward oyster and the other around the handle of the brush and scouring away, getting just a few eggs off with each stroke. The eggs scream off the brush, hitting you, your neighbor, your neighbor's eye, and every other object in plain sight to the point where you see them when you close your eyes at night. Imagine trying to come up with a super-strength brine, or vinegar-based solution that will loosen the eggs but not ruin the oysters. You turn to your neighbor, who is wiping snail eggs off their face, and talk with them about this idea. But instead of coming up with a brine, you accept your fate and go back to work, scrubbing until your fore finger and thumb are blistered. Or until your eyes cross. Or until the stainless steel spokes of your brush are eaten away to the stubs.

You brush and brush only to find that all you've done, after a full two minutes of scrubbing and cursing, and scrunching up your face, is uncovered yet another single, ugly oyster shell.

Imagine repeating it a hundred or two hundred times to get your crate of oysters cleaned.

Then imagine this: Imagine, over the course of a long weekend, going to a restaurant (or three) and ordering a dozen (or three) of your very own oysters. Imagine the plates arriving to the table, all sparkling and clean and covered in ice and lemon wedges. And you go to pick up an oyster, ready to slurp it down. And your finger, feeling its way around the edge of the oyster, finds the tiny, softened woolly fleck of snail eggs. You look closely at the shell and they peek out at you from a darkened crevice, staring you in the face.

Of course, you eat the oyster. And you laugh at the snail egg. And you tell it it has not beaten you and that you will kill millions of its siblings when you get back to work. The eggs are no match for your scrub brush and vengeful hand...

Maybe it's hard to imagine. But if you can... even if you can for just one minute, then... just then, you might be able to imagine a day in the the life of a Duxbury oyster farmer at the end of May.

The babies arrive, our family grows

On Tuesday, I was out on the float and got a call from Skip asking me to drive the boat over to the dock (by myself - ack) to check out the upwellers. I made it over there without knocking into anything and found Skip, Mark Bouthillier, Dave Grossman, and Christian Horne all on their knees staring into a couple of gaping holes in the dock. They started renting dock space from the Duxbury Bay Maritime School in the late 90s and have kept their floating upweller systems there ever since.

Each upweller has a trough down the middle with pipes running into four silos which sit down the length of the trough on either side. A pump pushes water through the system so that there's a constant flow of fresh bay water. The bottom of the silos are fitted with micro or fine mesh screen so when the seeds arrive we just drop them to the bottom of the silos and let them grow.

This week, Skip got a few orders of seeds from two different hatcheries. They ranged in size from 1.5 mm to 2.5 mm so they're literally the size of grains of sand. But if you could see them up close, each tiny seed looks exactly like a grown oyster. On Tuesday, we dropped about a million into our silo system.

The seed arrived in a ziplock bag; wrapped up in two packets of dry/wet cloth.

And we carefully unwrapped each packet and dropped them into the silos.

It was a little unnerving and, as cheesy as it sounds, somewhat spiritual. I had hundreds of thousands of those little lives in my hands (all of which determine Skip's future livelihood) and the smallest gust of wind could have carried thousands of them away. They'll stay in the silos for the next few months, getting bigger by the day. My job, as keeper of the seed (latest nickname: Mama Seed-a), will be to constantly clean out the silos and eventually grate the seed (which will all grow at different rates), separating and moving the larger oysters to different silos week after week. Eventually, when they're large enough, we'll drop the seed onto a designated section of the lease to grow "free range" on the bay floor.

I'm still learning the ropes on the seed but am pretty pumped to be the one to watch it grow each week. We have to keep the trays and silos clean (oysters do poop... a lot) which means hosing down the trays as often as possible. These trays are actually filled with seed we received last week that's been attached to a buoy in the back river. We pulled them in and got them cleaned off before setting the trays back out for another week or so.

The only downside is that I'll be spending less time on the float with my crew, which has doubled in the past two weeks. We've now added Maggie (in grad school at Brandeis) and Quinn (a journalism major at Indiana University) plus Will (who's taking a short break from GE) to the group. They're all keeping A2, Berg, and I entertained and on our toes. Between Maggie's attempts to storm the fort and Will's goofy, mad scientist humor, we've grown into a big, very happy float family.

We also saw the arrival of the farm's newest members, six baby chicks. The plan is to build a coop behind the office so the chickens can grow and eventually provide us with blue eggs. For now, they're safely nestled in a cardboard box under a heat lamp in the office.

Yesterday, Skip and I took a drive down to one of our hatcheries, the Aquaculture Research Corporation (ARC) in Dennis on the Cape. He was picking up another couple million seeds so I tagged along to get a quick lesson on how our oysters are spawned. On the way down, Skip told me about his background with Dick Krauss, who runs ARC; he was the first person to get Skip his clam seed back in the early 90s and eventually helped him with the oysters, too. Now the two could talk for hours about the ups and downs of oyster farming. While they got caught up, one of the hatchery experts, Sue showed me where and how the oysters are grown. Essentially, they keep the parents, which are about 2 or 3 year-old-oysters, in waters warm enough to cause them to spawn (over 70 degrees, but closer to somewhere in the 80s). They then collect the fertilized seeds and grow them in a controlled environment until they're a couple of weeks old before selling them to farmers like Skip. I learned that you can tell the difference between male and female oysters by looking for a milky white sperm sack inside the oyster belly (haven't tried it yet, though). Under a microscope, Sue showed me an 8-day old oyster as well as a few 3-week old clams. Our batch of oysters weren't swimming, but the clams were and it was incredible, like looking at cells; the clams' legs and byssus threads were squirming like crazy. To the naked eye, they looked like specs of dust but their shells were hard and firm.

I was hoping to get some photos but they're pretty protective of their process (understandably). I'm still not certain on the science behind it all but clearly, these people have provided Skip with unparalleled support. They're one of the main reasons he's had such success with his business and it was clear during our trip yesterday that he is in awe of what they do. I, for one, can't wait to learn more.

Nantucket Wine Fest '09

There are far too many fun stories to tell about this past weekend. Not sure this little blog will do it all justice. But here goes.

Most of the farm packed up early last week to hit Nantucket for the 2009 Wine Festival. On Friday, Will, Berg & I hopped a flight from Hyannis to the island and arrived just in time for a seminar hosted by Skip and Shore at the White Elephant. They were joined by Sarah Leah Chase, a cookbook author, Jamie Hamlin, a TV personality, as well as Jim Clendenen of Au Bon Climat wines. A group of us stood behind the raw bar shucking as Skip told the seated crowd the story of Island Creek. Sarah paired our oysters with a black pepper mignonette to start and later served them quite simply with grilled sausage. The sausage dish was a hit, as was the roasted bone marrow dish that followed it (no oysters but a fantastic pea shoot salad and a few dabs of Martha's Vineyard sea salt from).

Jim had several fantastic things to say about our oysters which was a huge endorsement for us -- he called them "a delicious example of East Coast oysters." And we were absolutely enamored with his wines, especially the Hildegard and the Nuits-Blanches au Bouge. Really tasty juice.

Afterward, we packed up and got checked in to a few rooms at the Cottages (conveniently located above Provisions, the sandwich shop run by our friends Amanda Lydon and Gabriel Frasca who also run the Straight Wharf Restaurant) before turning thoughts towards dinner. Skip lead the charge to the Boarding House, owned by close friends of Island Creek, Seth & Angela Raynor. Somehow, after a trip into the kitchen, he was able to snag a table for all ten of us up in the Pearl's private dining room -- which was exactly the color of Pepto. The guys were unfazed so we sat down to a huge table and started an epically long (and hysterical), family style meal with a few cocktails and a magnum of Ridge Zinfandel. Skip took charge of ordering and out came a parade of amazing food: dumplings, soft shell crab, lettuce wraps, 60-second steak, wok fried lobster, black cod...it was never ending. Berg and I hoarded a few dishes at our end of the table just so we could lick the plates.

After dinner, we eventually found our way to The Chicken Box where the phenomenal U2 cover band, Joshua Tree, rocked straight until closing time. There were after parties, beers on the roof, and eventually, we all made it home safely to bed.

Saturday was an early one but we managed to get to the Nantucket Yacht Club in time for our 11 a.m. set up. We arrived to the tents and found our boat already in place (thanks to Shore and a few others) on the back lawn, right in front of the water under a powder blue sky. Picture perfect spot.

Seth and Angela and restaurant team were set up to grill Island Creeks with an ancho chilli butter and also created four toppings for us: straight mignonette (from the Boarding House), Thai lime dipping (the Pearl), tomatillo salsa, and regular salsa (their new ceviche bar and Peruvian restaurant, Corazon del Mar -- opening in a week or two). The Thai lime dipping was an unbe-lievable combo of garlic, cilantro, lime, Thai chillies, sugar, and fish sauce. By the end of the weekend, we were calling it Green Love. Just addictive stuff. We shucked for both the mid-day and afternoon sessions under pretty gorgeous weather which took a turn towards cloudy gray at the end. We kept at it and by the end of the day, had run out of about 5,000 oysters for the weekend. (But one quick phone call home and we had 25 more bags sent to us on the ferry -- thank you, Lisa). We also had an incredible crew of fans stop by the float -- many of whom wanted to buy the t-shirts off our back and wish us well. Jim Clendenen came by to pour wines with us for the afternoon session; we made friends with a huge oyster fan named Ted from Kentucky; my pals Alex Hall and Mike Blanding stayed the day; and Marlo Fogelman (Marlo Marketing Communications), Glen Kelley, and Janice O'Leary (from Boston Common magazine) swung by as well.

We managed to escape with a few farmers' tans and plenty of extra bottles of wine in us. A quick nap later and it was dinnertime once again. This time, we hit American Seasons, owned by Orla and Michael LaScola. This was a more intimate dinner (literally since two tables held all 8 men and myself) but we managed not to disturb too many other diners. We split two more magnums of Zinfandel (this one was called The Prisoner and at 15.2% alcohol, did most of us in) and ate another wonderful collection of dishes. My braised pork shank could have fed an army (well, ok, just myself and Berg... CJ gnawed at the bone) while the meatloaf "sandwich" topped with foie gras won for hands-down flavor.

Again, our night turned a little rowdy and we found our way over to the Straight Wharf for a late-night dance party. The videos are priceless, but alas, too damaging to share.

Sunday, we found ourselves up and at 'em for the final day of Wine Fest and a rainy, foggy morning. The weather had us stuck indoors and without a grill at the Yacht Club but we made the most of it and kept things light with a few Mexican wrestling masks to entertain the oyster fans.

More wine and a pitcher of sangria appeared on our raw bar but once again, we escaped alive and finished the second session at 2 p.m. at which point Shore & CJ walked the raw bar boat through the streets of Nantucket and over to the Boarding House (in case you're wondering, the boat was hand-made by by a Duxbury local and yes, it's heavy).

Once the raw bar and grill were re-set-up on the Boarding House patio we shucked for the Festival wind-down party. More of those fantastic sauces, more shucking, and more wrestling masks were in order. By the end, Skip looked as tired as we all felt and just kept saying, "The tide is going out on this one." One final meal at the Boarding House bar turned up a tasty plate of gnocchi, amazing French fries, a crispy, thin crust pizzetta with roasted grapes and arugula, and yes, a few more cocktails.

After we ate, Angela walked me over to Corazon del Mar, the couple's newest restaurant set to open in a few weeks. The concept is a Peruvian spot and ceviche bar and the aesthetic is gorgeous: think Mexican Gothic and romance. Really beautiful, two-story place.

One more night out meant one more stop at the Straight Wharf (with a pit stop at Captain Tobey's) and a round of shots for everyone at the bar. I finally got to catch up with Gabriel Frasca (who requested a few late-night oysters) before we shut down the bar and all stumbled home. It was one long finale to end a sweeping weekend of fun.

Of course, the 8 a.m. flight home wasn't nearly as idyllic but we still put in a pretty full day of work yesterday. And now... we catch up on sleep and officially say hello to summer.

Spring Fever

It is officially go time. The last few days have totally changed the dynamic at the farm. There's seed arriving daily and the growers are pumped. I got to the farm yesterday and found Mike George laying face down on the dock -- he was messing with the silo in his upweller which already has tons of little seedlings in place. It's tricky this time of year since the wind is still blowing hard east and can easily pick up and carry the seed out of your hand. But he was happy to show off his new babies.

It set the tone for the day which turned into an exciting one. After a few hours of culling, Skip came by and gave the team a little pep talk about the upcoming summer crew and our respective roles. And then we had a visit from Blue Ginger chef, Ming Tsai. He was pretty chill but tasted a few oysters and then went along his way. Pretty sure he liked what he tasted though.

A2, Will, and I opened a few oysters after some more culling and then went back to land for some lunch. We picked up a few friends along the way. Don Merry, Mark Bouthillier, Dave Grossman, the suits, and our crew all ate up at Snug Harbor on the patio and chatted about the new website (coming soon!), our visitor Ming, and just the general beauty of the day.

Skip told us he was getting some seed in yesterday but we haven't seen his yet. He's expecting to get millions of seeds this year which is incredible (he gets them for his own farm and his father, Billy's). I can't even fathom how we keep track of it all but I suspect I'll have my head wrapped around it pretty quickly in the next few weeks. We've got two new crew members starting next week so I'm gearing up for what should be a ton of work. And, ok, a little bit of fun.

Laughing so hard it hurts

As Dave and I were catching up on Friday night, I looked at my hands and realized that after a long shower and a 20-minute grooming session, I still had dirt caked under my nails. Me (holding up my hands): Look at this. How can you stand it? That and I leave smelly oyster gloves by the door and my oyster boots on the stairs. You're officially married to an oyster farmer. Dave: I've been married to a farmer for months. I draw the line when the dog barfs up an oyster shell. Me: Good enough.

Between him and my cohorts, last week was a painfully funny one. Joe of Jeeves worked with us through Thursday and by Wednesday after the tide, I think I'd had my share of laughing fits. Besides picking on me for being old ("You're halfway to 62!") and for touching a dead skate ("You touched his butt! Butt hole toucher!"), they rapped, joked, culled, and swapped stories together all week. But it kept me laughing and the days flew by.

Friday, we worked a half day and then Berg, Steve (of Jeeves) and I hopped in the truck for an Island Creek field trip. Steve had found out about E&T Farms in West Barnstable which farms fish and vegetables in the same environment (called aquaponics) and he and Berg wanted to see how it's all done. We got down there and met up with Ed (the E of E&T) who gave us a quick tour. In the front of the building, he's got about 8 tanks of koi, tilapia, and bass and behind that room sits the greenhouse where he's hydroponically growing lettuces, tomatoes, squash, chard, and microgreens. The waste and water from the fish tanks is piped over to the greenhouse where the plants are grown on racks that are hooked directly up to the water source; when the fish are in their tanks, the plants need no other nutrients. The water is then collected and sent outside to a meadow of cattails that Ed says they sell wholesale. From there, the water is treated with baking soda to neutralize everything, and then it's used to refill the fish tanks and start the process again. It's a pretty incredible system and I was interested to see how much he's able to reuse and recycle his water and waste. Ed sells his fish to a few places in Boston and around the East Coast and the veggies go to Cape restaurants and a few farmer's markets down there. They also have some honey bees -- Ed has a nifty little tattoo of bees and some honeycomb on his shoulder. That's true love right there.

I didn't have my camera Friday so I can't show off Ed's place but if you're on the Cape this summer, keep an eye out for him at the markets.

I've also got some pics and stories from the B&G Oyster Invitational from Sunday - I'll get those up in the next day or so but in the meantime, check out Go Shuck an Oyster's recap.

Getting ahead of the weather

Yesterday was a raw, choppy one where the clouds started thin and slowly worked their way into an impenetrable ceiling. Our float rocked all day long while A2 and I did our best to get ahead for the week. Culling wasn't a problem - it was keeping warm. But we had the heater on and for an hour or so, passed time singing Bob Marley tunes a cappella (turns out, A2 has quite the voice). Berg, meanwhile, spent the entire day dragging and pulled up around 40-50 crates. We helped him unload his crates onto the float at least three times and at the end of the day, ended up hauling all of the TBC's (to be culled) back to land and onto the truck. We'll most likely spend today at the shop since waters are sure to be too rough for us to get out there; we're expecting rain and a strong south wind for most of it. Plus, at least one of our boats, the Bat (short for Bateau) is going into the shop today. We weren't the only ones prepping. As we made our last trip to the float to pick up all of our finished bags, we saw Greg Morris put-putting his way into the marina -- the boat was so loaded up, all we could see was an orange wall of crates and two forms covered in yellow and orange shoveling water out of the bottom of the boat.

"The thing about April," Christian told me a few weeks back, "is that you get these gorgeous days, these 65, 70 degree days. And then, you get slammed with cold weather." Clearly he, and T.S. Eliot, know a thing or two about it.

We're on a float

Yesterday I arrived at the marina to find our house transplanted. It had been moved onto the water on Wednesday afternoon (with only a few minor hiccups) and attached to a mooring out in the bay. While it was definitely exciting to get out on the water, I was faced with a whole new set of challenges and adjustments.

In the morning, Berg and I loaded up the boat with some crates along with a battery-powered radio and some water pumps. Essentially, everything we've been doing (culling at the house, CWB back at the shop) has been streamlined and instead of carting crates from one location to another, everything will happen on the float. That means oysters come right out of the water, onto our culling table, and from there get washed (with sea water which gets pumped up with a tiny, gas-run pump) and bagged on the float. Our only transfer happens at the end of the day when we take the bags back to the shop to put them in the cooler.

This also means that we are out on the water all. day. long. Except for a few shuttles back and forth for lunch and our bag drop (read: bathroom stops), I spent the whole day out there. The views are so much better -- instead of staring at a falling down building, we've got 360 degree views of the Duxbury Bay and the beaches. The moored end of the house faces the wind, which for now is coming from the northeast, while the opposite end is protected and faces the south and looks directly at the Oyster Dude's summer house.

We've still got some wind to deal with out there so it's not all sunny skies just yet. I was freezing for the better part of the morning but we've got a heater and the hardest part, as promised by Skip, is the boat ride out in the morning. By afternoon, it was nice to be washing out in the sun.

Cory came out to help since A2 had the day off yesterday so we got our bags done by about 4. What better way to celebrate our first day on the water? A case of Buds and a party on the float. After we loaded our bags onto the truck, the suits came out to join us for a beer, as did some of the growers, like Graham and Don Merry plus a few of our friends from the Maritime School. It was a great way to kick off the summer... which suddenly feels like it's right around the corner.

Cohorts

"This day better go in your blog," Berg shouted to me as I was about to drive off today. "Why?" I yelled back. He was smiling. "Because it was spectacular!" It's true. Today was one of those days where everything just came together... despite the fact that it was sort of a sh*tshow.

I got to the farm around 8 and met up with A2 and Claudio. A2 announced that we needed to get bags in before the truck left for its daily deliveries. That meant we'd cull as many crates as we could for an hour or so, then head to the shop and wash and bag before 10 a.m. Up at the shop, we ran into CJ, the Island Creek driver (otherwise known as the Oyster Dude). He was waiting for our bags before he took off for his daily adventure, er, deliveries. By 1 p.m., we'd already put 50 bags into the cooler. Heck of a lot to get done before lunch. After a quick stop at Frenchie's for a bite, A2, Claudio and I got busy culling and spent the better part of the afternoon working on crates for tomorrow while Berg and Skip went dragging. At the end of the day, we had 43 crates hauled up and a pile of oysters waiting to be bagged tomorrow. Definitely a kick-ass day (despite the fact that it actually snowed for about ten seconds).

A few years ago, Dave left his job in publishing to become a bartender. It was a decision he didn't make on his own but we respected it and eventually he found his way to the Publick House where he still bartends on Thursdays and Sundays (he's since taken on a pretty killer day job at a music booking agency, too). At one point, when I was doing the daily grind behind a desk, I told him (somewhat jealously) that he and his "band of merry misfits" were just hanging out, wasting time. He'd found a group of buddies to tide him over until the next serious point in his life. The fun they had at the bar (and outside of it) actually helped him get through a lot and most of those guys have since stuck around to become good friends. Last week, as I was telling Dave about some shenanigan involving Berg, Don, and A2, he just laughed and shook his head. "Looks like you've found your own band of merry misfits.

He's right. We're already infested with inside jokes and I find myself doubled over in laughter at least twice a day. It's a blast. And I have them to thank for it.

Which is why I can't help but sum them up in some totally pointless but entertaining way.

Andy Yberg (Berg, A1, Steak Sauce) Likes: Surfing, soccer, the earth, Billy Joel, U2, mayo on his sandwiches, Frenchie's cubanos, Jack Johnson, Planet Earth, his roommate Gelly (whose name I probably misspelled), red bandannas, lobstering, grinding. Dislikes: Disorganization, laziness, phone calls.

Andy Seraikas (A2) Likes: Lost, Lost blogs, Hootie and the Blowfish, Akon, Kanye, karaoke, grilling, Polish horseshoes (usually together), that college song by that Asher guy, the Sports Guy, cooking, making up new lyrics to old songs, golf, his roommate Gelly, ghost stories, peanut butter and jelly, going to the gym, Dislikes: Country music, being serious,

Corydon Wyman (Cory, Don, the Don, shop manager, part-time massage therapist) On Tuesday, Cory gave me an in-your-face reminder that I work with a bunch of guys. It went like this:

A2 and I are standing in our waterproof Grunden's washing oysters. Some loud, snappy dance tune is playing. A2 turns the hose on me and sprays me with water in tune with the beat.

Don: Erin, one day, you're going to feel something like that on your leg and you're going to look over and it'll be me, urinating on you. Me: (doubled over laughing) Don, why would you do that to me? Don: What? It's not like it matters. They're waterproof.

Likes: Phish, Umphree's Magee, Boomtown, getting excited, cleanliness in the shop and everywhere else in his life, long walks on the beach, seals, being organized, extracurricular activities, "hate, hate, hate." Dislikes: Attitudes, tanning salons, church.

Here's to a spectacular day.

Magical pigs and oysters

I swear I won't make every post about the weather... but this is getting to be ridiculous. As Dave put it the other day: "Typically, it rains every weekend and we get nice weather when we're stuck indoors." Right. Well, the minute I start working outside, the opposite rings true. Sigh.

I will take a short break from our regularly scheduled oyster programming to talk about pigs. Dave and I were at Cochon 555 on Sunday night - it's a traveling cooking event where 5 chefs are each given one of 5 heritage breed pigs and cook with as many parts of the pig as they can; they're then judged by a panel as well as the public on what I consider the only criteria worth noting: the most mind-blowing taste experience of the night.

Dave and I were part of the public tasting/judging so we only got to try a handful of dishes from each chef (and watch this really intense pig butchering session from the sidelines) but the consensus on the floor and in the judge's room were pretty spot on: Matt Jennings from Farmstead restaurant in Providence won the prize. We had his stellar pork carnitas tacos which were nicely balanced with pickled onions. So good for a small bite. Another bonus was the VIP reception upstairs. We found a lot of our foodie friends up there who were judging (Tim & Nancy Cushman from O Ya, Ken Oringer, Barbara Lynch, Amy Traverso from Boston Magazine) plus the competitors (Jamie Bissonnette, Tony Maws who was toting around his kid Charlie, Joseph Margate of Clink, Matt Jennings of Farmstead, and Jason Bond of the Beacon Hill Hotel & Bistro) as well as a pork tasting where each heritage breed was lined up side by side so you could compare and contrast. This was the best takeaway: getting to taste the flavor profiles and differences between the Berkshire (familiar, nutty, creamy, firm), the Tamworth (leaner but still considered a good "bacon hog"), the Red Wattle (darker, tender meat), the Yorkshire (sweet and salty), and the Yorkshire-Duroc cross (good marbling, really rich). They were supplied by farms from around the country, including the Adams Family Farm in Athol. We also got info about the Endangered Hog Foundation; they're helping to preserve 9 endangered hog breeds and probably came up with Dave's favorite quote of the night: "We have to eat these pigs to save them."

As for the oysters, they're still going strong. Yesterday, I started to ask Skip about the origin of our oysters. He told me they come from two different broodstocks (the parents) and that they start as tiny eggs which are then fertilized and actually have the same qualities of fish at this point. They then go into a larval phase and through a metamorphoses that changes their whole digestive system and that's when they become oysters, officially. This is a really simple, dumbed down explanation for what I imagine is a much more scientific process that I'll have to study up on. The seeds are coming in a few weeks and once that happens, the farm will be a zoo. Looking forward to it ... but enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasts.

The Brown Frown

My fourth week on the farm was a rough one. Not sure why, exactly. Could have been the crappy weather, or it might have been our new friend the Brown Frown: seaweed. It gets bad this time of year and makes dragging really rough. Berg went out on Monday afternoon and had a hard time getting crates up since the drag just got filled with the stuff. We were pulling it out of the cull all week.

We did get out on the tide twice and had a killer day on Tuesday (meaning, we hand-picked more than 20 crates of oysters before the tide came up). But then Wednesday, A2 went home sick; Thursday was frigid plus I was exhausted and at one point tripped with a crate in my hands and landed face down in the crate. Not fun. I can add 8 more bruises and a sore neck to my list of injuries thanks to that one. Yesterday was better for morale but we still dealt with crappy weather. A trip to Tsang's (Duxbury's only Chinese restaurant where lunch portions are heaping and cheap) for lunch and a few cold Buds at the end of the day helped make up for it all.

I think Thursday was officially my worst day on the farm. Being comfortable and warm is by far my biggest challenge. If I can get warm, the day flies and we have a blast. But Thursday's weather was impossible to feel good in. It was that perfect New England combo of cold, rainy, windy spring weather that goes right through you. Paired with my exhaustion, it made for a miserable day. As Billy keeps saying, it'll get better. He swears.

On top of it all, I'm staring at oysters all day! Do you know how many oysters we look at daily? I might count one day. It's enough to drive any sane person bananas. I'm starting to go 'ster crazy... ba-dum-bump. Seriously, though, all we do is come up with ways to make each other laugh. We've got "I'm on a Boat" by the SNL guys on repeat throughout the week and A2 and I have been finding new ways to annoy each other. He's become like the little brother I never asked for. But in a good way.

Thursday night, I had dinner with Greg Reeves, the chef at Green Street Grill. We ate at Sportello (for my Improper column) and afterwards, went down to Drink for a cocktail. Greg, I found out, majored in environmental science and minored in oceanography at UNH so we had a really cool chat about the weather. He was teaching me a little bit about the wind and pressure systems and this really great discussion came down to how closely the weather is tied to our food. In fact, so many of my conversations these days come back to where our food comes from. From the potatoes that went into my gnocchi last night to the coffee beans we brewed this morning, every ingredient passes through the hands of a laborer at some point. Every ingredient has a Brown Frown. Everything is harvested, then sorted, cleaned up, processed, and neatly packaged to be sent out into the world. Hours upon hours, days upon days; it takes so much time and energy to get one simple ingredient from the farm to your table. It's more work than I ever imagined until I did it myself. And I'm dealing with a high-end product. Imagine trying to do this project with something as everyday as potatoes? I'm finally understanding how far removed I've been from the food that I eat. Just four weeks in and I've developed a whole new appreciation and fascination for how this country is fed.

But I'm still at the beginning and settling in. I'm sure the year will be full of discussions like these. And probably full of crappy days, too. One day in four weeks? All in all, that ain't so bad.

Al...most... there...

Today made it clear that we are so, so close to summer. It was about mid 40s by the water and warm enough that by mid afternoon, the whole suits crew (plus Cory and Mark) was eating lunch on the patio at Snug Harbor Fish Co. (Granted, they were bundled up in scarves and blankets.) A2 and I joined them for a bite before heading back to the shop where there was way less wind and plenty of sunshine. We washed and bagged in the driveway - could have stayed out there all afternoon. We're getting closer. I can feel it.

I have to quickly show appreciation for my favorite comment so far. This one comes to us from A2's mom. A2: Call your mother!

I am the mother of A2 and am thoroughly enjoying your blog. What a wonderful opportunity you have been given! I know it's hard work, but it seems very rewarding. From what I've been told, everyone has a good time working at ICO. My grandfather used to farm cranberries in South Carver. I think I should try that out and do a "Bog Blog".

Would you please tell A2 to call his mother as he was supposed to two nights ago?! Also, remind him that he promised to send me some oysters.

I hope to meet you some day.

~ Katherine

Honestly, for any other moms reading out there, I work with the most respectful, disarming, and genuine guys a girl could ask for. They've been perfect gentlemen. So thanks!

The Cull

I've gotten a lot of questions about culling. Essentially, we're sorting the oysters but there's a lot more to it than that. At least, it feels like there's more to it since we spend 4 hours a day doing it while standing on our feet. We have a couple of tools, like the three-inch ring, a flathead screwdriver, and our gloves (which are thick and lined for the winter; in the summer we'll wear a lighter pair). Music fuels us, as does a mid-morning coffee break; we do what we can to break up the monotony of moving oysters from one place to another. As for the cull, we're looking for size, cup depth, healthy oysters (any that are nicked or broken go back to the water to repair themselves), and of course, funky stuff (ie: the two-minute time waster). When you tip over a crate of oysters, you'll get about 200 bivalves plus a dozen other odds and ends on the table. Stringy, brown, mud-caked seaweed, neon-green kelp, quahogs, scallops, hermit crabs of every shape and size (they've been turning up a lot lately), broken-off horseshoe crab tails and shells, live spider crabs (A2 hates those), an occasional piece of garbage, and even the lonely chicken bone. Yesterday we turned up a tiny flounder. Today, we found a heart-shaped oyster, my second since starting on the farm.

One of the perks of this job, as Skip reminded me yesterday, is that I get to take home as many oysters as I can eat. I brought home about a dozen and a half for Dave and I to snack on before dinner tonight. Besides a stellar, interactive appetizer, it gave me time to practice my shucking skills. Over our oysters, we chatted about my total lack of skills. Me: I think maybe I'll finish up the year and then go work as a shucker at an oyster bar. It could fulfill that "working in a restaurant" urge that's been nagging me for awhile. Dave: Yeah, well, you should probably see how this year goes first. I mean, of all the possible options you have ahead of you, working in an oyster bar has never really come up before. Me: Yeah. I guess I should learn to shuck oysters well first. Dave: Or you could just go back to being a writer... you know, like you always wanted to be. Me: (slurping back my 8th oyster) Riiiggghhhttt.

I'm starting to get the hang of shucking even though I cut myself once. We whipped up the Island Creek mignonette and put the puppies on ice. I was drinking a Harpoon Quad (courtesy of our pal Liz who smuggled a few bottles into Highland Kitchen for us when we met her and Adam for dinner there last week) and really liked the dark, Belgian-y style with our oysters. That heady maltiness really punctuated the the sweetness of Island Creeks. I strongly recommend it. And speaking of strong, the Quad is a killer at 12%. Consume sparingly.

One last note: I'd love some more tips on where to find Island Creeks (or any really truly spectacular and way-above-average oysters out there). I'm going to try and amp up the Eating. Oysters. section so if you've got them on your menu or want me to put an idea out to the world, please send them my way: murray.erinb at gmail.com.

The Seafood Show

The International Seafood Show was in town all weekend so Team ICO was in overdrive with buyers' meetings, working the show, and loading in and out. I went over twice - Sunday for a bit and Monday afternoon for the shucking competition. The place was a zoo; the convention center is as massive as an airplane hangar filled with seafood and industry purveyors and their crazy elaborate booths. One corner featured every possible seafood related processing tool (a vacuum for the sea! it'll even slice, dice, and shrink wrap!) while ICO was set up with its shucking boat in the shellfish area. I actually saw a motorcycle designed to look like a shrimp. And the crowd was totally unexpected. Lots of suits, some chefs, and a random smattering of super leggy women...though I'm still not sure where they fit into the picture.

Dave got to see some of the action and meet my crew on Sunday. It was also the day of Southie's St. Patty's Day parade which once again I managed to avoid (seven years in Boston and I still haven't been), so there were plenty of green beads and hats lying around. Monday was a little more entertaining; I worked on the farm in the a.m. and got to the show by 3. My pal Rowan Jacobsen was MC'ing the shucking contest -- I've never actually seen one of these before and apparently there's a pretty intense shucking circuit. The man to beat? A Wellfleet guy named Chopper. Yes, Chopper. He won the world competition last year (right?!) and as we walked up to the contest we actually caught him stretching.

There were 2 heats: east coast oysters, then west (two very different species, the west coast variety being more difficult in this case). The dozen or so shuckers (including one rock star woman from Virginia) picked out 12 east coast oysters to get started. They had to shuck and present them like they would in a raw bar so speed counted but so did tidiness. Before they started, I heard Chopper tell the woman sitting in the front row to watch out: she was sitting where his shells would fly, down and to the right.

I think the anticipation was more thrilling than the contest. I mean, these guys were quick but I kept waiting for someone to slice off a finger. Chopper shucked in one quick motion: slip the knife in, pop the shell off (and into the audience) slide it around the side, cut and flip the meat. Just like that.

Rowan spoke about the different methods (some go in from the side, others from the back) and called out the contestants' progress. Pat McCluskey represented Island Creek and held his own but Chopper eventually won both rounds full minutes before anyone else was finished. I didn't time it but I'd say he went through a dozen in less than three minutes. We didn't stick around for the awards' ceremony but I walked away with a new appreciation for their work. Back at the booth, Mark (Skip's previous farm manager) taught me how to shuck a few and I swear it took me ten minutes to get one open. (Sorry Uncle Jim. It's been a long time since our last Christmas lesson.) I jabbed myself a few times but after 3 or 4 oysters it started to get easier. Matthew suggested I start shucking a dozen every day when I'm done with work to practice. I may make my way onto the circuit yet. Better watch yer back, Chopper.

Meanwhile, back at the farm...

Monday and yesterday were a little less action packed but full of culling/counting/washing/bagging. A2 and I did the bagging while Berg went dragging yesterday. I've gathered that when the wind blows south, like it will today, the water gets too choppy to go out so Berg takes in as many oysters as he can when he goes out. Me, I'm happy to stay on land and cull and bag for now. Even after 8 hours of sleep, I was exhausted yesterday. Oh, that reminds me.

Current list of aches and pains: 2 sore wrists/forearms (I'm guessing early onset arthritis) 2 swollen hands 5 nicks on hands from shucking About a dozen bruises across my thighs (from hoisting the crates up) 1 tight back (but it's better than last week) 2 tight hamstrings (but those are from my Saturday run, which I was completely winded by unfortunately)

I'll continue to keep track since it'll probably get worse. I should also link my Twitter account to this blog somewhere. Lots of funny moments throughout the day. Yesterday, A2 and I were inspired to start a new band called The Cullers - we've got two songs that sound an awful lot like the Killers ("I've got shells but I'm not an oyster"; "Count like you mean it"). A2 is on vocals and harmonica; I'll be on tambo. We're still working on Berg.

Supposed to get up near 60 today. Looking forward to a sunny afternoon. If you're stuck indoors, just think of me and my guys, dressed like Oompa Loompas, hoses and crates in hand, belting out oldies at the top of our lungs.

Three days of culling and CWB; one more trip to the tide

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday we put in some solid work to get our bag numbers filled. As a team, the Andys & I get a specific bag count each week (each bag has 100 oysters) which we'll usually get done by Thursday.

Essentially, when we cull, we weed out any oysters that have chips in the shells or aren't fully grown. We also separate them by size and return any that are too small -- or too big. Though sometimes we keep the good jumbos and bag them, too (some restaurants prefer them big). To cull, we stand inside the Plex (ie: garage, house, float) at two long tables that are propped on orange crates so they're about rib level. We dump a crate out onto the table and just start sorting, tossing out any clunkers (open shells) and other junk and separating the good oysters into empty crates. Sometimes we get little crabs or hermit crabs in the mix; sometimes clam shells or barnacle covered rocks. Most of the crates we culled this week were dragged from the bottom so the oysters were covered in dirt which is why we wear orange rubber coveralls and thick, lined gloves.

After getting our bags done for the week on Thursday, we went out on the tide early yesterday morning to collect a bunch of netted bags from the lease (the leased area that Skip farms). These bags are about a quarter full of oysters that had been returned from a cull a few weeks back. They're put back so they can repair themselves from any nicks or dings on the shell (oysters can heal themselves in a few days when the temperature's right). It was frigid yesterday but once we got out on the mud, I was fine. Covered head to toe in waterproof gear (most of which is lined) and wearing those thick gloves, I could have sat out there all day. It was coming back in going into the wind that was brutal. And if you get even a drop of water into your gloves when it's that cold out, you're pretty much screwed (which I was at the end when I dunked my hand in the tide by accident - lesson learned).

So, a little about my crew. The two Andys (Berg and A2) are essentially my two pals for the day. Berg is the farm manager and keeps us in shape. A2 and Berg know each other from their days at the University of Rhode Island (I think they graduated last May. Needless to say, I am ancient in their eyes.) Because we spend a lot of the day standing, sorting, washing, bagging, the banter between these two can range from epic quoting sprees from the Office or some Seth Rogan movie to educational dialogues about how oysters retain carbon. It's fascinating, actually. And really fun. Yesterday, one went something like this. Berg: You're like a roaming water buffalo. Only, you just stand there. A2: No, you are. You're like a... a... Berg: What? A2: I don't know. I couldn't come up with anything. So, Berg. Tsang's for lunch? She wants to go. [They've started calling me She or Her] Me: I'm starving. Berg: Alright, I know you want to go to Tsang's. Let's get done with these bags first. A2: (under his breath) Yes.

And on and on we go. Probably not the greatest example of their work but it all sort of blends together into one comical day-long conversation.

We did make it to Tsang's for lunch and because I've been Twittering from the farm, I got my first taste of the Suits v. Boots controversy. The guys in the office: Suits. Us: Boots. I twittered something about hitting up Tsang's for lunch and immediately got messages from Matthew and Shore (Suits) wondering why they weren't invited. One week in and I'm already causing trouble! I had no explanation - but Berg did. It's a two-way street, guys. Invite us out for lunch now and then and we'll do the same. Ok?

I'm kidding, sort of. The Andys love to joke about it but at the end of the day, we went over to the office, called a truce and opened a couple Harpoons. Fitting way to end the week.

Out on the tide

Low tide was around 5:30 tonight so after a full day of culling and bagging (amongst other things), we went out on the tide to hand pick some oysters. This shot is from photog Dave Grossman who came out to chat while we were picking. By the time he got out there, the light was going and it was getting cloudy (rainy day coming up tomorrow) but he managed to get one in.

Quite a day for Skip's crew. Berg was out dragging most of the day while A2 and I culled and bagged. We were interrupted when Rob, director of the Maritime School, came by to tell us he was moving our float. This is the Oysterplex, a huge house that sits on a float. Usually it's in the water but it came out in November and will probably go back in some time in April. Today, they needed to move it about ten feet over to allow room for them to move their own floats out to the water. So A2 and I hung back and watched as this giant contraption picked up the float and, after getting stuck in the mud, moved it over. Apparently little things like this can totally disrupt the day.

Beautiful day for the most part. I think it reached the 50s for a bit. Nice to be outside when it's like that so I'm hoping we get lots more in our near future. Also got a chance to try a few oysters fresh out of the water with Skip. Really plump, briny, and delicious. I think I'm going to love this job.

Am hoping to have time to fill everyone in this weekend. For now, know that my back aches and I'm slightly sunburned... but happy as a clam.

Day One

Survived it! It was a little touch and go this morning - awful, awful weather. Probably the worst weather day we've had in months. Started off with sleeting rain and during my 45-minute drive down to the farm, it turned from ice to snow to whipping rain. Awesome first-day weather. Really. Just perfect. For a minute, I thought someone was trying to tell me something. But ... then I got to the farm. It was 8 a.m. (they have me on a totally reasonable schedule from 8-4), and I was bundled up in my hooded coat, jeans, long underwear and Hunter boots. Immediately, I parked in the wrong spot. Billy Bennett, Skip's dad and one of the growers, is God at the farm (so I was told by Andy... I mean Berg). Billy owns and runs everything. And the exact spot where I parked my car is where he backs his truck up to the side door of the shop. Thankfully Cory (Corydon, the shop manager/man-in-charge) showed me where it was safe to park and then brought me to the shop where I met the legendary Bill and quickly understood why everyone loves him. Huge smile, great handshake, soft, friendly eyes. Just like Skip.

My two colleagues, Berg and A2 (Andy & Andy) were in the shop as well. We caught up briefly and then I hopped in the truck with Berg. Thankfully, it was one of those days where you just. don't. go out on the water - really choppy, very high tide, and totally unpassable. Phew. Instead, we went into the Oysterplex (that sorting house I showed you before) and got to work.

Now, to be honest, it's taken me a few hours to relax and process everything (I've also had a few glasses wine - to warm up, ya know?) so I won't go into it all. But the basics involve this: we spent about 4 hours culling (sorting oysters by size, weight, etc) then we went over to the shop (it houses a table saw and we were tasked with cutting 68 24X24 inch plywood boards into 19x24 inch boards in order to make upwellers... which I'll explain later). A2 managed to keep all of his fingers intact and I didn't take anyone to the hospital (win, win). After that, we headed back to the shop (a barn next to ICO headquarters) and proceeded to CWB (count, wash, bag). Honestly, it's as simple as it sounds. We wash the oysters, count them out, and bag them.

I can explain in further detail tomorrow. For now, check out my semi-ragged boots. Fashionably mud-covered, right? The problem was, I couldn't feel my feet for most of the morning... and by mid afternoon, I lost feeling in my fingers. So... you know... those are things to work on. Oh, right: I also had to cut my fingernails (mud+long nails=disgusting mess).

The plus side? I had the best hot shower of my life tonight.

More tomorrow, I promise.

Goodbye, cushy gig.

The very last Friday of my all-too-short two weeks off is quickly waning. I'll be giving up this view until further notice, sadly. One last sunset from the comfy throne of my palatial home office. Well, palatial compared to the former bedroom nook that I used to work from. (My ever-thoughtful father-in-law once gave me one of those lamps that simulates sunlight just so I wouldn't suffer from seasonal depression. Now I have 8 windows. Soon I won't need any.)

Haven't had this kind of Friday in awhile. The kind where you're not quite sure what Monday might bring. It feels heavy for a Friday but I'm actually crawling out of my skin with anticipation. Still not sure I have a clue what to expect. Hopefully it'll include an even better view.

16 degrees

That's the current temperature. A week from now, the weather man tells me it might (might) get up to 45. I'm not holding my breath, Pete Bouchard. This is what it looks like outside of my office right now. One foot of snow and at least three days of sub-freezing temperatures in front of me. I'm usually tough about cold weather. Sure, I whimper and whine when it first hits me but I have no problem running Rex around the block in 20 degrees (as long as I'm covered head-to-toe, face included). He suffers more than I do. This morning our walk went something like this: Me: Come on buddy, just jump over the snow bank. Rex: (pouty face) Me: It's not that bad, just suck. it. up. Rex: (sigh. pouty face. whimper) Passing neighbor: You know, his paws are probably freezing. Me: Um, I'm sure he's fine, thanks. (guilt sets in). Ok, Rex, back inside. Rex: (tail wag) I figure, as long as my wardrobe is temperature appropriate, I won't end up looking this pitiful.

Ok, ok, I meant adorable.

My other issue is the whole early rising thing. Up until now 8:30 a.m. was wicked early for me. (I'm not ashamed. I used to take full advantage of my 10 to 6 office hours by sleeping until 9:59 every now and then. Total guilty pleasure.) So, I told Dave the other night that in order to prepare for this impending 4:30 wake up call I would spend my last week off waking up at 5 a.m. He thinks I'm being ridiculous. "Why wouldn't you spend this last week sleeping as much as humanly possible? I mean, you'll be taking a nap at like noon," he said last night. Like most of our conversations, it continued this morning with my well-thought-out reply (I was up at 6 a.m. thinking about it): "Because, honey, it's like training for a marathon. I have to build up to what will eventually be a long, evenly paced run of early mornings."

He shook his head and walked away. Right now, I guarantee he's in the shower trying to come up with some clever retort.

While he's doing that, I'll be napping.

Rowanizing

I made it to Thursday night's New England shellfish dinner at Rialto and am so glad I did since that's where I met Rowan Jacobsen. His book, The Geography of Oysters, provides a thorough education of oysters and North American terroir. Not a bad gig: He essentially toured the country trying oysters at every turn and, with tremendous detail and thought, explored the flavors imparted by each waterway he visited. Put on by the Tour de Champagne, the shellfish dinner had a smaller turnout than it should have. The chefs, Ryan Hardy from Aspen's The Little Nell, Jody Adams, and Peter Davis (Henrietta's Table) all did outstanding dishes. Hardy, poor thing, had lost his luggage on the way to Boston so he was wearing one of Davis's chef's jackets but was in great spirits - we'd met in Aspen at the Food & Wine Fest last June and he looked happy to be back on the East Coast (he was the chef at the Harbor View Hotel on Martha's Vineyard before moving to CO).

Shore was there at the beginning of the night and introduced me to Rowan, who clearly has a soft spot for Island Creek. He and a few chefs did a blind, East Coast oyster tasting last April and ICO won hands down. He gave us a sneak preview of his upcoming book -- hopefully I'm not giving anything away here. It covers the history of oysters and during his research Rowan learned about an archaeological dig happening off the coast of South Africa which has uncovered what he calls the planet's first oyster bar. Dating to about 164,000 years ago (give or take), the remains prove that humans were using tools to open shellfish at the very beginning of our evolution. Rowan's theory is that an oyster (ok, seafood) diet might even be one of the reasons human beings' brains were able to evolve; seafood is packed with DHA and omega-3s, which are known to help human neurological development.

I mean, holy sh*t. Can the difference between humans and primates really be oysters? I'm looking forward to the book (out in Sept). Honestly I've never studied evolution but it all seemed to make sense after a few glasses of Champagne (and really, what doesn't?). My brother-in-law, Tom, is an evolutionary biologist and a professor at Yale and while he's currently somewhere near the coast of Antarctica perhaps when he gets back, he can help me sort through all of this... Tom, think you could give me a quick primer on say, the last 200,000 years?

Thanks, Rowan, for a truly enlightening evening.

A drive through Duxbury

Thanks for all your notes, comments, and links. Lots of love for the first week of Shucked! Two quick things: I have no idea why but I'm now on Twitter (@erinbmurray) and so is the Oyster Dude (@Oyster_Dude). Please, please follow CJ on Twitter. It's ridiculous. Also, I'll occasionally post pics from photographer David Grossman who has done an awesome job chronicling the ICO life. Thanks for providing visual aids, Dave! My mom, Dottie, came up to Boston on Sunday for a quick visit so yesterday I drove her down to Duxbury to show her the new digs. Despite my attempt to totally freak her out with this move (as she puts it: giving up a perfectly good job to go work outside), she has been nothing but supportive from the start. And she's really trying to like oysters...really, she is! My dad, Kelly, on the other hand took a little longer to come around. We put it into terms he could accept (I was attempting to be the James Michener of the oyster world) and he finally admitted that it all sounded pretty cool.

Mom and I got to ICO Headquarters around lunchtime and found Shore in the office...in slippers. Mom was instantly impressed. He showed her the shop, set up in the barn next to the office, and the piles of equipment out back. Skip rolled up to say hi for a minute and he and Shore gave Mom a quick primer on oyster speak. "It'll take me awhile to get the hang of the language," I said but Skip reassured me that I'd catch on quick and that before I knew it, I'd be handling everything, including the boat. Mom admitted her biggest concern, which was how cold my feet might get. "The coldest part of the job is the boat ride out in the mornings," Skip said. "But it's manageable. Just like riding a ski lift. If you can handle that, you're fine for the rest of the day."

Shore, Mom, and I hopped in Shore's car and he gave us what I like to think of as the $50 tour of Duxbury (he grew up in town so he's full of informational tidbits, like historical sites and celebrity houses). We started down Parks Street, where the offices are, down to Bay Road and past Kingston Bay. From there we could see the Myles Standish memorial at the top of a hill just past the bay. We continued down into "bustling" Duxbury Center (where there is a Dunkin Donuts but true to town code, has toned-down logo colors) and followed Washington Street to a little parking area by the beach where the entire bay stretched before us. Shore pointed out the leased acreage of the bay marked by buoys sprinkled across the water. It was eerily empty but for a two farmers dragging from their boats; they use a dragging tool, or rake, which pulls oysters from the ground into a basket that is then hoisted into the boat with a winch. "Just wait until you come back this summer," he told Mom. "It's the calm before the storm."

We drove down to the marina (which didn't look quite this busy) passing Snug Harbor Fish Co. "You'll eat lunch out here every day," said Shore pointing to the cafe's sunny deck. We pulled up in front of the sorting house which had been pulled out of the water and sat in front of the still-under-construction Maritime School building. Normally, the house is set out in the water like this but it came up on land in December and will go back out towards the end of March.

Inside, we found the two Andys busy culling. Yes, the guys I'll be working closely with are both named Andy. One (the blonde) was wearing several layers, a blue skull cap and a pair of Hunter boots while the other was decked out in a green fleece and jeans. (Note to self: find better way to identify than "blonde" Andy and "the other" Andy.) Not sure about you, but I've been wondering about what I'd wear on my first day of work for months. It was about 34 degrees and sunny yesterday, probably close to what it'll feel like in a few weeks. Finally, I had a template: lots of layers and rubber boots.

We chatted for a bit and blonde Andy told me to come equipped with good tunes. Music and a couple cups of coffee clearly get these guys through the day.

Continuing on our tour, Shore drove us past the old ship captains' houses and out to Powder Point across the longest wooden bridge in the country. On the other side was Duxbury Beach which is "like South Beach" in the summertime. Driving back over the bridge, he pointed out the back river (great water skiing) before driving us back out towards town and up to the office.

For me, the tour was a tremendous help; it gave me my bearings, a point of reference... and a better clue on what to wear. Plus, Mom was happy to see I wouldn't be too far from heat, electricity, and a bathroom.

Back at the office, we said a quick goodbye and headed up Route 3 towards Hingham for lunch. Mom had been craving a lobster roll but settled for a massive lobster club and after lunch, we wandered past a few storefronts to get back to the car. "Look!" Mom said, grabbing my arm. She pointed to a window where a pair of green Hunter boots sat beneath a sale sign.

And that pretty much made the day complete.