CRABFEST

     Saturday when I was a kid was my favorite day of the week. That was true for a lot of reasons, but certainly the fact of not having to go to school was at the top of the list. I didn’t hate school, but I wasn’t a great student. I mean, I wasn’t exactly a poor student; I just was on the mediocre side, filled with a vivid imagination that sometimes overrode my interest in real life.

     But with reference to the Mickey Mouse Club, Saturdays were “Anything Can Happen Day,” for those of you who may remember the 50’s and 60’s MMC. I never knew exactly what was going to happen. Sometimes nothing exciting in particular other than having a day to go on adventures with my friends, through the woods, walking the railroad tracks, Saturday afternoon matinees, bike rides, games of hide-and-seek. 

     However, summer Saturdays could bring all sorts of good things in addition to no school. For instance, once in a while my parents would decide to go to Tuckerton to visit relatives, but more importantly, to go crabbing. I loved it! I was never a good fisherman, but crabbing was much simpler.

     My aunt, my 2 cousins, and my grandmother would go with us, and we all packed into our two-tone green ‘46 Plymouth sedan, and make our way through the Pine Barrens on route 539 until we finally reached our destination. The anticipation of going crabbing off one of the docks was as good as going to the circus as far as I was concerned.

     We’d drop my grandmother off to visit with Aunt Annie (her sister) and then go to the dock of one of the clam houses along the inlet. My dad would bate the crab lines with the meat from the winkle shells along the side of the clam house and the fun would begin. 

     We’d drop the lines into the water and within a few minutes we would be pulling them up one after another, and my dad would scoop the crab net under them and dump the crabs into the bushel basket that we brought with us. When the basket was full, it was time to head home, but on the way my dad would stop and buy a dozen clams to eat. 

     The crab fest would take place in our kitchen. My mother would boil a large kettle of water with some seasonings, and while that was happening, my dad would be opening and eating raw clams at the sink. 

It took me until adulthood to appreciate that delicacy. 

    When all was ready, newspapers were spread all over the kitchen table and we would all share the crackers and nut picks and feast away.