Yesterday the Gulf was as rough and pounding as the Atlantic. The waves were relentless, and the tide, not quite a rip, but we went in the water to try and body surf and before we could catch the first wave, we were 50 feet south of where we’d gone in. There was no swimming back, you had to wade in the shallows, and even then, it was a battering. Shelling was, as Star put it, like shooting fish in a barrel. You just plucked them from the cut-away dune, or waited for the dunes to calve like ice bergs, revealing a fresh strata of shells. I have conches and olives, augers and scallops, tulips and whelks. I even found a couple of cones, but they aren’t in the best shape.

It’s all good. Last night the storms came in from the Gulf, lightning and thunder through the night. This morning, the gulf is mostly flat, the drifts of shells that were there at dusk have been covered by sand, and the beach is soft and flat. To live by the sea is a charmed and charming life, I think.