"Shell" Is a Verb

I’m a hobby addict. But there are no meetings for me with people urging me to “keep coming back.” Instead, there are more and more hobbies beckoning. And as each one comes along, I heed the call: needlepoint, beading, dancing, knitting, the list goes on.

Sometimes I wish I were more like my brother who has one major passion: fly-fishing. He ties flies, he practices casting, he reads books on the subject. It’s his thing. Granted there’s a downside. He tends to go on and on about fly-fishing, telling anyone who will listen about a bucktail fly he’s tied and how it did in the stream nearby.

“I don’t buy synthetic fur to tie my flies.”
“I’d like to make a shadow box with this fly.”
“I caught a beautiful rainbow trout with this one.”

I’m happy for him, really I am, but does he have to go on like that?

I’m kidding, of course. I think it’s great when people find something that sparks their interest, something that fascinates them in a particular way, something that the next person might find tedious, silly or even lame. So I’ll go out on a limb here… I love to go shelling.

For some people “shell” is a verb, which means “to look for shells.” I can picture you now: thinking “o-kaaaay” as you slowly move your mouse over the icon to close the tab. But let me explain… I love walking along the beach with the sun on my back as my eyes stay trained on the tide line, constantly adjusting, seeking out different shapes and colors. It's like a treasure hunt.

My heart leaps. “Is that a shark eye?!” I nudge it with my toe. “No, just a slipper shell.” (Slipper shells are tediously commonplace.)

When I shell, there is nothing other than the sound of the waves, the sand beneath my feet, the sun, the breeze, and the chance of discovering these unexpected treasures. And when I find one, I feel like a kid again.

It doesn’t hurt that I find shells fascinating, too. Did you know that some of them have an orientation? Like people, some are left-handed and some are right handed. Some types are almost always one orientation, so if you find one with an opposite orientation, it is extremely rare. Who wouldn’t love a right-handed whelk?

On my first day at the beach, I get so excited to be out hunting again that I will pick up almost anything I find. “Oooo, a scallop!” Exactly how many calico scallops does a gal need in this day and age? A LOT, apparently. At least, I do. Because each one is unique. One might have an interesting pattern; another might have deep purples with a burst of yellow. Each one is improbably beautiful.

And each one goes in my bag. Yes, there’s a bag. Not just any bag, mind you. A shelling bag. It's mesh and has a clip, so I can attach it to my clothes in order to keep my hands free for scavenging. The mesh helps the shells dry out and gets rid of the sand as I walk down the beach.

After a day or two, when I’ve got a pile of shells in my hotel room (what must the maid think?!) I become a little more discerning. “ANOTHER fighting conch? Eh.” Two days before I would have told the local grocer - or anyone, really - “I found a really nice fighting conch today.” (I bet the locals get that a lot.)

You may be wondering what I do with all these shells.


At the end of my trip, I have what I call a shell reckoning. I coined this phrase to describe the process of sorting through my shells and picking which ones I will take with me. (Yes, I bring them home.) Sometimes my shell reckoning feels a little like Sophie’s Choice. The jewel box with the spines or the jewel box with the rich color? How on earth can I possibly choose? But choose I must. There is only so much room in my carry on.

Although I tell myself I merely have an artistic appreciation of nature's bounty, my obsession has gotten worse over the years. I’ve bought stands for some of my shells. You know, to display them. This in itself requires serious shell reckoning (as only certain shells are worthy of a stand) and serious thought ("Will my murex fit into the three prong stand?”).

But I draw the line at shell craft. (Shell craft: a hobby in which people use shells in their craft projects. Shell crafts include, but are not limited to: shells glued to picture frames or treasure boxes, shells used to fill vases or lamps, shells painted to look like creatures, etc.) I do not do shell craft because shell craft is for dorks.

I also do not buy the shells themselves. As much as I might love to have a perfect junonia shining atop my stand, it is the relaxation of looking and the thrill of discovery that I enjoy.

On my last trip, I clearly remember walking along the beach and spotting a six-inch whelk. A six inch whelk! That feeling – like I had won the lottery. The shell lottery, that is

Well, there I go again, talking on and on about shells… I guess I’m a bit like my brother after all.

“Did you know that some mollusks bore holes into other shells?”
“Cone shells can be extremely poisonous.”
“I don’t buy the shells themselves.” No, just the stands.

So, perhaps I’m not a hobby addict after all. I’m more of a shell addict. There are still no meetings for people like me, but there is an ocean and a tide line and they beckon me to “keep coming back.”