There was usually a strong breeze blowing on the bayside of the island. On this day, however, it was curiously still. Huge, dark water moccasins watched from weeds by the shore, their black eyes glinting. Theresa carried an oyster bag partly filled with pottery shards, old bullets, and various bottles. Hunting relics along the shoreline was a hobby for the hardy and brave. Sometimes in the winter, folks’ hands and feet felt frozen and stiff from the wet mud as they scavenged. During warmer months, there were bugs and critters. Some people who have lived in this area for awhile have magnificent collections. Some have shelves up to the ceiling to hold rare bottles and ancient pottery pieces. A dedicated shore searcher will get out there early in the morning after a storm. That water gets all churned up on the bottom and the waves wash a new supply of treasures up onto the bay and gulf beaches. First one there gets all the good stuff.
Theresa walked along in the dim light right before sun-up. The sky was lit up in orange and pink. Birds began to wake up and call out in their musical tongues. Pale lavender flowers bloomed in profusion on beach rosemary (conradina), thriving under twisted pines and stunted oak. Tall grasses stood still, waiting for the wind to reappear. When that sun finally came breaking across the horizon, Theresa had already found an old whiskey bottle in excellent condition. Seams ran down each side from the rounded cork neck. It was nearly black in color. She smiled, knowing it had been worth it to get up at such an early hour. Then, she saw the bowl.
It’s gently curving form was etched with a scroll pattern. It was gray, made from clay that was abundant in the area. She dug it out of the sand and found that it had been broken in half. She carefully wrapped it in newspaper before lowering it into her bag. The half-bowl sat on a shelf in her dining room along with various other rare aquisitions she’d found over the years. Lots of people noticed the remnant of the bowl and it’s intricate scrolling. Even the edges were intact and folks could see how someone’s fingers had shaped what was the bowl.
Then, the hurricanes of eighty-five came along. They brought an endless barrage of tidal surges and merciless winds. Tornadoes and wind gusts rearranged sand dunes, and buildings. The bay was so torn up, oysters could not be harvested for almost a year, until they rejuvenated. Folks found their washing machines and other possessions blocks away from where they belonged. Toasters and bed sheets hung from the trees.
After one of these hurricanes, Theresa decided it was a prime time for scavenging along the water’s edge. She got up before daybreak and dressed warmly, as there were still some strong gusts across the water.
She carried a thermos of coffee to warm her hands in the wet mist. Seaside goldenrod was blooming and streaks of purple liatris dotted the scrubby oak and pine forest floor. Then, shafts of sunlight raced through the trees, illuminating pieces of glass and bright shells in the sandy mud. And there, just above the water line, she saw a familiar scroll pattern. Excitement mounting, she raced over and bent down for a closer look. And as she scooped it up, she wondered if she was still dreaming. It was the other half of her bowl!
