My dad pastored a church and ran a training ministry for pastors. He preached twice a day every day just to fit in with all the demands for truth. His sermons were broadcast out to sea for miles and miles.
Many commercial fisherman attended our church, and as a result, several of my friends lived on fishing boats, tethered to cables running the boat’s length lest they fall overboard!
The year I was born, 20 other babies in our church joined the celebration! I’m the youngest of five, btw.
Our diet was rich in seafood, admittedly a bit too many oysters, eels, clams and octopus for this gal! I’ve shared the story before of how commercial fishermen would stop by evenings with some of their catch to share. Sometimes their catch would consist of a five gallon bucket full of live octopus. They’d pour it into our kitchen sink and mom would rave over how cool it was. Yeah, to the point of her sticking my little arm down into the writhing slime so I could “experience” the suction. Twas just lovely, I can assure you. (Thanks, mom.)
That was in the early 80’s. Mom and I walked to the beach every day when we found out Dad was taking a pastorate in the midwest, where only wheat made waves. We collected seashells, starfish, beach glass and driftwood for the last times. I still have those treasures….in hand and in heart.
It took me several years to get over the west coast, to quit comparing its oceans and redwoods to the browns and golds of the prairie that I love so much now.
Where did you grow up, and what are your favorite memories of that time and place?