This Month's Story

…the dark clouds moving in add a harsh background to the colors of the scene and make a graphically splendid picture. Most of the boats are still in sun and well lit, but behind them there is blackness. …There is a continuous shifting of the shrimp boats in front of this spreading mass of dark power, the boats moving about almost heedlessly as if they are automatons in a mindless pursuit of shrimp, unaware of the approaching menace…

It’s June and today is the first day of shrimping season. Stretched across the horizon from west to east the shrimp boats are out in front of our house in force.

It’s a large fleet; I hear estimates of 500 boats and that this is less than last year. Whatever the number, there are a lot of boats out there and they make an impressive show.

The string of towns along our coast is unusual in that, like coastal villages in the Mediterranean, each town has its own small fleet of shrimp and oyster boats. Our fleet is docked in various places along the shoreline of Bayou Caddy, whereas Pass Christian, Long Beach, and Gulfport have their fleets in their community marinas.

I’m taking a break from laying new dirt in the side garden and I’ve been sitting in the shade on the front porch to rest, drinking some sun tea and watching the show. It’s a good show and, since it only comes once a year, I’ve decided to really stretch out and enjoy it.

I’ve seen the first day of shrimping season before and always my first question is how do they keep from running into one another? I feel like some type of macabre voyeur waiting to see some boat run across another boat’s lines, but it doesn’t happen.

Its early morning; not quite ten o’clock. I had started moving the dirt at about seven to avoid the heat. The weather report says that it will reach up in the nineties today. Shoveling dirt is not very exciting and in this heat I prefer to sit and watch shrimp boats.

Stretched out in front me like this, the broad scene is like a gigantic screensaver on my computer, but the noise of the engines of all these boats belies any thought that this might be an illusion. This is real. There are a lot of boats out there and on those boats there are a lot of people working hard, very hard, to harvest the shrimp.

The boats do make a lot of noise.

It’s a pervasive sound, blending into a broad hum that changes in pitch as the boats move about in front of me. It is far from a static scene; here there is a little clump of boats for a while, then they are gone and another clump forms over there. They move about as they work as if unsure where they should stay.

I see black clouds are starting to come in from the west. These are big clouds. Mean looking clouds. The large fleet I see sprawled before me will have some rough going in about an hour. It shouldn’t bother the large boats but it may give the smaller ones some trouble.

But from where I sit, these dark clouds add a harsh dramatic color to the scene making it a graphically splendid picture. As I watch, the clouds become more invasive. Most of the boats are still in sun and well lit, but behind them there is blackness. Even this blackness is not still; becoming gray, then black again as the clouds move ponderously forward.

There is a continuous shifting of the shrimp boats in front of this spreading mass of dark power, the boats moving about almost heedlessly as if they are automatons in a mindless pursuit of shrimp, unaware of the approaching menace.

A short time ago as I was working in the yard, a neighbor drove by towing a small shrimp boat and yelled “did I want any shrimp?” I said yes and he pulled his truck and boat up by the side lawn. His face was beaming as he opened a couple of large coolers in the boat and showed me their contents.

They were both filled with ice and shrimp!

They were nice shrimp and I gladly helped him cull out five pounds for me to keep. As we did this, he told me about his morning’s work. He had set two thirty-minute casts and had pulled in about one hundred- and-twenty pounds of shrimp.

This seemed impressive to me until he started to tell about the time he took to prepare, fuel, launch, get out, set up, turn around, get back, pull the boat out and return home. I figure that the whole thing equated to about a five-hour trip to get his two thirty-minute casts.

But he was happy and I guess that is what really matters. And looking at my shrimp, about a thirty count (i.e., thirty shrimp to the pound), I’m happy, too. I pack them in a bucket of ice and water and put them in the refrigerator in the garage.

Many of the shrimpers out in the sound are like my neighbor, amateurs or semi-pros that go out only at the start of shrimp season or on weekends. As you drive along the back roads of Waveland, Shoreline Park or Claremont Harbor, each yard appears to have a small shrimp boat such as my friend’s perched on a trailer.

Many of these small shrimpers keep a certain amount for themselves and unload the rest at a dock wholesaler or local middleman. Others sell their catches from the boat or have a local outlet. At this time of year you see small refrigerator trucks selling shrimp on the highway or hand-painted signs saying “Shrimp” and an arrow pointing to the back of somebody’s house.

This rush to harvest the shrimp on opening day is very efficient. Perhaps too efficient. Within two or three days the majority of the shrimp will have been removed from the Sound and the vast fleet I’ve been watching today will be gone three days from now (the season lasts from June through December). The problem with this two- or three-day harvest is that the shrimp do not get a chance to get large and a good average counts range from 35 to 40 per pound

It’s too hot. As I sit on the porch, I decide to call it quits for the day and let the garden either dig itself or wait for me to come back tomorrow.

I head back inside the house to the cool, quiet of my office. Jennie, my Weimaraner, follows me and agrees that this is much better. She quickly installs herself in her customary recess under my desk.

I start typing as the naval clock I bought in Hamburg years ago strikes six bells; eleven o’clock. I decide I’ll work for another hour.

Looking out the office window I can still see the shrimp boats and, if I listen carefully, I can hear the muted sounds of their engines. But now there is another sound, intermittent, but when I hear it, it drowns out the noise of the boats.

It’s thunder.

The sound grows in volume with the gradual darkening of the sky. It seems to bloom out every few minutes in low rumbles that sometimes roll on in long, slowly diminishing echoes. Then silence, and then it starts again; each time it stops and starts it’s a little louder. It’s serious thunder and Jennie starts to get nervous under the desk. Her nose touches my bare foot, a sign she is scared.

From my window, I can see some of the boats disappear behind a rapidly moving rainsquall; many are gone from sight altogether. Sheets of rain are starting to hit the house. Those boats that I can see, however, have not stopped working. The men want their shrimp. The boats keep moving.

I wish them luck.

Although I can see my shovel sticking out of the wet mound of topsoil in the yard, I’m not going back out today. I’m going to finish writing this and then go in the kitchen, make some coffee and see if there is any of Stella’s pound cake left.

Bring all ingredients to room temperature (this is important as it promotes the fluffmess of the cake). Lightly grease a very large tube pan and set aside. Reserve 1/3 cup sugar for egg whites. Separate the eggs.

Cream butter thoroughly, adding sugar gradually. Continue to beat for 10 minutes. Add egg yolks, one at a time, beating well after each addition..

Sift flour 3 times and then add alternately with the whipping cream and vanilla. Beat for another 10 minutes until mixture is very light. Beat egg whites separately until frothy and gradually add in 1/3 cup sugar. Fold egg whites into the batter.

Pour batter into tube pan and bake at 300° F for 1 hour and 45 minutes or until it is done (crust should spring back to touch). Let cool in pan for 10 minutes and then turn out and cool on rack. Do not try to remove before cake has had a chance to properly cool.

(I like it plain, but Stella sometimes serves it with a lemon glaze. Plain goes especially good with fresh sweetened strawberries and whipped cream.)