The beach is a magical place for Weston.
It is a place where he is finally free from his symptoms of ADHD.
The sound of the ocean waves and the cool, salty breezes seem to calm his restless spirit. He wanders up and down the shore with his bucket searching for unusual sea creatures and interesting shells.
In this relaxed state, he is able to talk with others easily. At school, he has no friends, but here on these magical shores, he makes friends with everyone. Mayo beach is used by commercial clammers where they harvest clams and sell them to local fish markets. They drive their trucks right onto the beach during low tide and begin the process of raking for clams. Weston investigates this man and his interesting profession.
Of course, it isn't long before my charming, young son chats with the large, salty seaman. He asks him questions and offers to help the old salt carry his clams back to the truck.
Weston flutters around the man like a butterfly, watching him perform his duties as a seafood provider. It isn't long before I see Weston run back to get a bucket. Now, I honestly do not know if the man is happy for Weston's help...or just tired of all the questions...but he gives Weston a bucket of clams to bring back home. These precious sea gems are very expensive to purchase at native fish markets and most commercial clammers would never consider giving up such a prized commodity for free.
The gruff, old clammer tells Weston he has given him "the broken ones" since local fish shops will not pay for clams in this condition. As I look through the bucket, I see only one broken clam. I give Weston some money to take back to the clammer. The man refuses to take it and tells Weston to come back on Thursday to give him a hand again.
Weston helps me melt up some butter.
And we steam up the clams until they open.
Like a snake charmer, playing his flute, Weston was able to engage the crusty clammer and inspire him to part with some of his treasure from the sea. As we all sat down and enjoyed Weston's big score, I thought to myself that perhaps we have found yet another antidote to ADHD.....the beach!
For Weston, Thursday can not come fast enough!