Sunday, June 24, 2012

Shell of Existence

Beach at Wallops Island
I stand at the edge of the ocean as the cool water surrounds my feet. The sand slips away beneath them, grain by grain, as the sea reclaims the water. There are only a few people around me, those in with whom I came, but nobody dares to make a sound. Nobody wants to be the person to break the silence. It’s as if the sea is whispering to each of us, and we all have no choice but to listen. Eventually we walk down to see what life forms we can see with a little bit of searching. Although I set out to search for life, it was not until the end of the walk that I realized: it was not the life of others I was searching for; it was my own.
            As I scanned the beach for signs of a creature, all I could see was the remains of the once living. Scattered along the beach were the shells of the simple scallops with their rigid symmetry. Among them were the clamshells with discolored lines, which tell the clams age. Every now and then there was the cute little moon snail with its smooth spiral.  I was surprised to have stumbled upon a spiraling whelk shell, and I held it up to my ear to see if the ocean would speak to me. As if this shell was my private communication line to the sea. As I looked at these shells, I pondered how rugged these shells that seem so fragile must be to survive years in the harsh environment of the ocean. I thought about Rachel Carson, in The Edge of the Sea, when she states, “The animals were mortal but the shells they built have endured.” These shells that were scattered must have tumbled about in the force of the ocean, yet they still stayed in one piece. She compares the animal to its shell stating that the animal was “mortal,” but the shell has endured. She illustrates that the shells the animals make to protect themselves will long outlive the animals that create it.
            As I pick a few shells up for further inspection, sorting through ones I wish to keep and wish to give back to ocean, I wonder what is my shell? What will I create that will endure long after I am deceased? Will I create anything as strong as a shell that can provide protection for its creator and will last years after? Will I be lucky enough to be a whelk shell? Will people hold the reminiscence of my life up to their ear to hear my final words? Will they listen? Or will they simply hear? Or will I be an oyster that people only glance at, identify, and then move on? Only time will tell.
By Megan Kelsall

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