Sunday, March 17, 2013

Day Eleven - Steuart and His Grandmother

Excerpt from Chapter One of The Wayward Gifted


. . . he thought of how he enjoyed throwing a line of cord far out into the bay with a smelly, rotting chicken neck tied to the end. He did this early in the morning as he crabbed the old-fashioned way with his grandmother who refused to use crab baskets.
“It’s not sporting if you trap them,” she’d say. Steuart didn’t object because Ida’s way was the most fun. He loved standing shirtless with his back straight, feeling the warmth of the sun behind him, and the coolness of salt-water lapping softly against his ankles. He loved the morning breeze coming in across the bay as he waited for a little nibble, pulling the cord tight. That’s how he knew a hungry crab—maybe two, feasted on a hearty breakfast at the end of his line. This was the signal for Steuart to slowly reel-in the cord, while motioning for Ida who ran quickly and quietly with the long-handled net ready to scoop up the crabs that were too busy feasting to notice either of them. He thought of how his toes squished into the sand as she pulled and lifted the net filled with crabs and how just as quickly, with a huge grin and a laugh, she’d turn the net towards the water and release the crabs into the bay. “Steuart Dahlin’, I don’t think it’s their time yet. Do you?”
“Not yet Grandmother—looks like we’ll have to find them another day.”
“Maybe tomorrow, maybe next year. Those lucky crabs are safe for now. . .