So, there I was

By Georgia Osten
…sitting out on the Intracoastal on a Lovely Friend’s Lovely Dock. We took our granddaughter for a little crabbing excursion. PawPaw bought chicken necks, packed up a cooler of drinks, the cooler of ice to throw all the crabs into, some beach chairs, some pre-made crab strings (how fancy), the nets – we’re ready! We remembered everything except for the cooler of drinks for us.
We had no idea we’d be successful, we haven’t been in over 10 years. It was all about the adventure, it didn’t really matter.

We only set out three strings on our fancy rigs, one for each of us. BAM! Got one, that familiar little pull, kind of jittery, kind of tugging, pulling, you just had to know you had one.

Addyson, has never been crabbing, go figure, she’s been in this family for over 10 years, where have we gone wrong?

Did I mention, nobody eats crabs except for me? Well, Emma does and my other son, Brandon. But, they weren’t here.

As I sat there on the dock over the Intracoastal, in my beach chair, I couldn’t help thinking about when I was a 9-year-old and my grandmother took me crabbing. We’d go crabbing off a dock somewhere in Port Arthur. Granny was terribly allergic to the sun, a big sombrero, always a dress (I never saw her in anything but a dress), her husband’s long sleeve plaid shirt and stockings rolled down to her knees. Oh my gosh, did we ever catch the crabs. I learned it all from Granny. We went crabbing several times when we lived in Tampa too. I’ll never forget the time we carried them into the laundry room and accidentally dropped the cooler, crabs everywhere. It was really obvious days later, we hadn’t found them all.

After crabbing on Thursday, we planned to go to the beach for fireworks, hot dogs and s’mores, so I cooked my crab dinner before we set out for the beach. I didn’t care about the hot dogs, but went ahead and had one, knowing I’d have plenty of appetite for some crabs later.

After all, you don’t eat crabs until you’re full, you eat them until you’re tired of eating them.

GO’s Sand Bucket is only one beach bum’s journal of life at the beach, probably something each of you can relate to. Please feel free to email me with your thoughts, visions and/or feelings of just exactly what the beach means to you. Email:


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