Ever since I could remember, my Father would go out scalloping every October through March. He would wake up around five o’clock each morning and watch the weather, gather all his warm clothing and every now and then grab a snack or two. My mother would usually go with him, which left me by myself. Although, I would often spend the nights at my Grammy or Aunt Wanda’s house because I was too young to get to school on my own. I remember constantly wanting to go with my parents, if for just one day, I could go with them. I wanted to know what they did out there all day. I figured they spent the morning sitting around pulling dredges. It sounded so much easier and a lot more fun then spending the day in a classroom for six hours.
I’m not sure why I never actually went out on the boat with them, but I was taught the so-called enjoyment afterward. I was told to go to the shanty one Monday after school to help out my Dad and spend more time with him. I couldn’t wait. I showed up all smiles and wide eyed and couldn’t wait to get my hands on a few of the scallops and start helping. My dad spent several minutes going over the actual steps of what to do and I will admit, it grossed me out a little, but I did it anyway. Then came my turn to try it, and with shaking hands I took out the knife and cut in.
I never really realized how hard and unattractive it was to actually open scallops. Seriously, while holding a rigid sharp scallop in the palm of one hand, and trying not to let it dig into or cut you, you must place the knife through the top of the shell. And, here’s the difficult part, scrape over and along the top of the shell to remove it from the muscle, the only part you actually eat. This act will open the two rigid, sharp shells from each other exposing the ‘guts’ of the scallop that must be removed and flung into a near by trash bucket. However, you must always remember to be careful doing this for every now and then you can tend to fling juice and ‘guts’ if you move to fast, not pleasant! After doing so, you remove the muscle from the bottom shell and place it into a little bucket. I managed to get about 2 and _ scallops and thought I was doing pretty good, until I looked over at my Dad’s Tupperware bucket and saw the growing pile of scallops he produced. He had looked back at me smiling and said: "What’s that?" Of course, he was looking at my poor chopped up scallops in my empty, lonely, looking bucket. He informed me that you couldn’t use what I had opened and picked them up with his knife and swallowed them raw! I will tell you now, it was definitely a Kodak moment and I only wish that someone had taken a picture of my face. I can only describe it as one of sheer horror and disgust. I was then teased while being told that I had to eat every white, slimy, raw scallop that I had cut, or else. That sure made me more cautious about what I was doing and I made sure that not one would enter my mouth unless it was served on a hot plate with juicy bacon wrapped around it. Needless to say, that scallop season lasted longer than I expected.
I felt like I was faced with a challenge I wouldn’t normally expect. I mean, who would’ve though of a girl, especially me, sitting in a shanty with boots and an apron on flinging ‘guts’ into a bucket and actually getting dirty and causing grit under my nails. It’s not so easy opening each scallop right with out ruining the best part. It, in a way, became a new hard-core skill I had gained and overcame. I was taught that I could do anything. For, once you get past and overcome the dirt and grit, you’d be amazed at what you can end up with…. Dinner!