Clam Fest Clam Shack (artistic recounting of events)

Clammy smell

Clammy hands

Clammy skin

Clammy thoughts

Now,

A time to rejoice at the abundance of clams, devouring our fleshy benefactors.

An entire festival dedicated to these profitables that once flourished in our economy.

But..

Who supplies these clams to the hungry crowds?

Lone combatants.

Known for their strength, endurance, and precision on the mountainous, backcountry terrain.

“Volunteer for a shift or two to raise booster money!”

Athletes, forsaken of their element

tucked away into the back corner of the clam shack.

“We need to raise money for the ski team!”

Those who thrive in the cold,

subjected to the heat of a midsummer's day.

Of course you have taken a shift. You will work to gain money for your team.

You are not self-serving, nor

Shellfish.

Haul in each customer

and

shuck them

of their money

It's hot here, but the heat does nothing to protect your sweaty gloved hands from the bitter bite of these clams-

frozen solid, to stay fresh for this day.

You imagine the frigid clam you clutch is hard-packed snow, at the top of a white mountain.

You drive your poles into the ground. You drive the clam into the egg mix.

You maneuver your arms to block a gate. You maneuver your arms to block a cloud of flour that has risen from the breading table.

You reach down low to catch the sensor at the finish line. You reach down low to collect a fallen clam, now contaminated by the dirt floor.

Work now, in the heat so we may

Shell-ebrate, in the snow.

The Clipper Chronicle