"So the crabs actually like to eat this stuff?" my eight-year-old cousin Travis asks me, perplexed and anxious to get the crabbing on its way as he clumsily smashes a few black and slimy mussels apart. The "art" of crabbing has been mastered by me, my brother, and all our cousins preceding us; and now I was passing it onto my younger cousin on a clear, sunny July day. I just hoped he would appreciate this pastime as much as we all had…or at the very least catch a crab.
Standing at that jetty on the little beach near my house, the slight sea breeze brings me back to when I was Travis' age, learning the ways and secrets of crabbing at this exact spot so many summers ago.
I've been coming to Rhode Island every summer since I was born, spending the sunny two months with my extensive Italian family that seems to take up about half the state. And each summer, I've spent the majority of my time with my cousins. We've gone through it all together, from the days of sandcastles and crabbing to nowadays spending late nights together and going on road trips…and we always look forward to rekindling our fun once June rolls around and we're all together again.
When I learned to successfully tie a clothes-hanger to a piece of string, crack open slimy mussels found on the wet rocks of the jetty, and put that piece of mussel on the clothes-hanger was a rite of passage for me. Although all my hard work was only dropped down as a delectably seducing meal for the crabs in the water below, the whole process made me feel tied to my family. It was a part of our past, and a part of our future. I learned at a young age to enjoy life's simplicities, and through this simple hobby, I was able to be entertained for hours in the company of my family. My cousins and I would go crabbing for whole afternoons, talking and laughing as we waited for our victims to bite, tallying up our score and at the end of the day letting our crabs free (after a race to see who's crabs were faster, of course). It was through those afternoons our family secrets, our hopes and dreams for when we were" grown up", and everything in between were shared with one another.
In my family, crabbing is quite the tradition. Each cousin teaches the younger ones how to do it correctly, effectively, and especially how to handle the crabs without getting our fingers pinched off. Since I have about seventy cousins, it seems to be a never-ending cycle, as new cousins are always being added to our clan. Today, it was my turn; teaching Travis this fine art and passing the family torch. I only hoped Travis' days of crabbing would mean much more to him than just a fun way to catch some crabs. To us, crabbing was a bonding experience, silly yet monumental enough to be classified as some of the most important memories in my childhood. And with such hope, I continued my teaching.
"Yes Travy, for some reason, crabs like the mussels. You'll catch one in no time, just drop it into the water and don't move it around too much. Be patient!" And I was right; soon a small red crab scuttled out from his home, curious to see what was going on. A free meal? Snag. Pull. And with a little confusion, fast words of instruction, and much excitement on both our parts, Travis had caught his first crab, gotten it out of the water safely, and into a bright pink pail...with my help. And just like that, I felt older. I felt experienced, and so much closer to my little cousin and the cousins before me. As he and I giggled over the crab trying to get out of his temporary home, Travis and I looked at each other with bright eyes and I knew that neither one of us would forget this simple memory anytime soon. Me, Travis, and our little crab.
No comments:
Post a Comment