Tides by Mary Oliver

Every day the sea
     blue gray green lavender
pulls away leaving the harbor's
dark-cobbled undercoat

click and rutted and worm-riddled, the gulls 
walk there among old whalebones, the white
     spines of fish blink from the strandy stew
as the hours tick over; and then

far out the faint, sheer
     line turns, rustling over the slack,
the outer bars, over the green-furred flats, over
the clam beds, slippery logs,

barnacle-studded stones, dragging
the shining sheets forward, deepening,
     pushing, wreathing together
waver and seaweed, their piled curvatures

spilling over themselves, lapping
     blue gray green lavender, never
resting, not ever but fashioning shore,
continent, everything.

And here you may find me
on almost any morning
walking along the shore so
     light-footed so casual.

Mary Oliver (1935 - 2019) in Provincetown, Massachusetts. Source: Cleveland Arts Prize

Mary Oliver (1935 - 2019) in Provincetown, Massachusetts. Source: Cleveland Arts Prize

Vanishing Sail

The close of the 2017-2018 oyster season was extended by two weeks this year, giving us until May 31 to harvest our final catch. Water temperatures have warmed, shorebird hatchlings have begun to emerge, and oysters all around the Lowcountry have now begun to spawn. The next few months will mark an exhausting period of birth and renewal for our wild oyster population. For us, the next few months will mark a period of reflection, maintenance, and planning. 

The end of oyster season signals, for us, the beginning of summer. And with summer comes a reallocation of our energies to the long-neglected projects that've piled high on our well-intended lists during season.

This upcoming Thursday, to celebrate the summer solstice, we'll be announcing an exciting new project at a special screening of Vanishing Sail--a beautiful film about traditional wooden boatbuilding on Carriaccou Island.

For more details and to purchase tickets, go here.