Did you ever wonder where all those clams that get fried and steamed come from? How about the clams in that delicious chowder that you enjoy all year round. If you ever had to do the backbreaking work to dig them you would never complain about the price you pay for these wonderful little shellfish gems.
It is hard work to get those meals on the table so the next time you are enjoying your clams think of the men here digging them up, by hand, for you.
I saw these men recently digging clams on the Essex River and they brought back some great and not so great, memories for me. They reminded me of my time digging clams. Oh yes, I have dug many a clam in my day back when I was much younger. It is back-breaking work for the men but when you are just a kid digging at the local beach with your brothers it doesn’t feel so much like work, well, I guess that isn’t quite true. It does feel like work but when you are working with a good team the work goes faster and you do have more fun. We weren’t just having fun there though…we were digging for our supper.
This was another day that I saw one person digging for clams. This is more like what I’m familiar with. This is actually a photo of the neighborhood where I was brought up. Imagine my surprise when I saw a digger on my old beach. I wonder if he was digging for his supper also. When I was a kid, we had breakfast, lunch, and supper…dinner didn’t come into fashion until I was much older and had left home. I wonder how many of you would know the expressions, “singing for your supper.” I digress. Anyways, this beach and this digger bring back fond memories for me, especially now. I recently lost my last and oldest brother my best friend and before him, I also lost my other two younger brothers. I am the sole survivor of the clam digging crew of my family. When I saw this guy digging by himself, I wondered if he was also the sole survivor of his crew.
When we were growing up my Dad was in the military, gone more often than he was home. My Mom was in charge of the four of us kids and in many ways also responsible for my grandmother and grandfather. We shared a two family house. That’s a big burden for one woman but I didn’t realize that back then. I just knew she needed us to help out sometimes and when she asked, you didn’t question, you just did it. One of the things she was responsible for was feeding all of us. Three boys, one girl, two parents. My mom worked as a clerk in the local drugstore, not a high-paying job but somehow she managed to get food on the table most nights. Another lesson learned much later in life. But here is the truth. Some nights we didn’t have food for the table. Sometimes for whatever reason, a late check from the government, or some unexpected emergency that might have needed to be taken care of and so the groceries were moved down on the list of priorities. This did not take away her responsibility to feed us though but she always had an answer. Summertime, low tide, she would hand all four of us kids a bucket and a small clamming rake. Off we would go with the warning “don’t come home until you have enough clams for supper.” The four of us, my three brothers, and I would head to the Collins Cove beach. Girls were not exempt from digging clams in those days. I think sometimes my mom forgot that I was a girl and lumped me in with the boys no matter what was happening. Most of the time I just went along. There were also times my Mom would actually come with us if she had some time to spare. Other times I think she liked staying home alone just for some peace and quiet. Looking back I can’t imagine how stressful the responsibilities must have been for her.
First of all, let me just tell you that clamming is messy, smelly work. You literally are walking around in the mud flats looking for the squirt holes where the clams live and then when you see them you swing the clamming rake and pull the mud up and hope for a good number of clams in each pile. We worked barehanded to pull the clams out and some of the little buggers would pee on us. Nonetheless, in the bucket, they went. We were young so it was not as taxing on us as it was for some of the older people digging. No we were not the only ones who dug for our supper. Many families in those days were doing the same thing. Just trying however they could to put a meal on the table. In the photo above this poor guy is digging in the pouring rain. It doesn’t make much of a difference though because he is getting filthy and smelly anyways. I have not seen many clammers at the cove in many years but it was a reminder of how things used to be for us. The good news was, back then you didn’t even need a license to clam. So we would spend a few hours, depending on how fast we dug, how much time we spent fooling around and slinging mud at each other. Someone would usually get mad and then that dropped our numbers down and it took us a bit longer to fill the bucket. It also depended on how many of us were there. Sometimes all four of us might stay , sometimes a couple of the boys would skip out. It was hard work but we did actually have some fun and being at the beach for any reason was a great escape from being home. At the end of the trip though we always had enough for supper. When we got home my brothers would try to get as much of the sand out of the clams as they could with the outside hose and then my grandmother would soak the rest out in the sink in the kitchen. Between my mom and my grandmother, we would either be having steamed clams, clam fritters, fried clams, or clam chowder for supper. Most likely my grandmother would have also made biscuits to go with the clams. We did not know in those days how lucky we were to be having such fresh, delicious seafood and homemade biscuits. The digging and cooking just reminded us of how poor we were . Now I know the difference and know that we were really the rich ones. How lucky were we to have fresh seafood whenever we wanted, yes, then it was a necessity but now I feel like it was a luxury. Of course, I would not want to do it again today though.
And yes, there were days you might be surrounded by a bit of ocean, with either the tide coming or going…I love this photo above. The man in more water than he wanted to be in. His shovel standing up in the mud to his left and he is sitting on a rock. The only company he has is a few seagulls. They to like to clam or pick some out of your bucket if they can get away with it. Seagulls have no shame. That was also my beach. That is where I spent most of my summer days either clamming or sunning and swimming, alone or with my brothers. Nothing fancy. My house was a bit beyond that brown house and up a side street, within walking distance of this beach. That brick structure is a dividing point between the two sides of the beach. I always stayed on the right side. It was a beautiful white sandy beach.. Now, when the tide is high there is no longer a sandy beach. The ocean goes right up to that wall. Sad to say global warming has taken my special beach away. But I do have the memories which sustain me even today and I visit Salem often. I couldn’t wait to leave when I was young and now I enjoy it so much. So many memories. And as for the clams…on nights when the tide was low we would be there “digging”…but then if the tide was high and funds were low, no worries. My mom had another plan. A back up plan. She made sure we all had our own drop lines, which she handed out to us, and she would then send us to the Beverly Bridge to drop our lines over the rail and wait. This time we were told to bring home fresh flounder for supper. That was a favorite also. Now flounder is quite hard to find but it was in abundance back in the late 50’s and 60’s. Again, we were the lucky ones. There is nothing more delicious than fried flounder flakes. So that is how is was for us when times were tough. Two woman running the house while one husband was off in the military and the other husband (my grandfather) was working wherever job could be found after he stopped selling ice from his ice wagon truck... We never knew at the time where life will lead us we just do what needed to be done hoping that tomorrow would be a better day. The lessons, they came much later. I have learned a lot of them. One more is, everyone of us kids continued to love fish as we became adults and honestly, we all knew when we got it in a restaurant we could tell whether it was fresh or frozen. You can not trick a seasoned “fisherman or women”. I sure miss my brothers today. Sometimes the tough times bring out the best in us as we grow and remember. I only wish mom had taught us how to catch lobsters, now that would have been something to celebrate with a piece of my grandmother’s homemade pie or tomato soup cake with the cream cheese frosting, but that was usually reserved for special occasions. But every Tuesday was her bread and biscuit baking day. Now, referred to as the good old days.
“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment
until it becomes memory...”
