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TROY GOES CLAMMING storybook for ages 5-8

Story ID:4751
Written by:Richard Laurent. Provencher (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization:Retired
Story type:Story
Location:Truro Nova Scotia Canada
Year:2009
Person:Richard & Esther Provencher
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Richard & Esther Provencher
81 Queen Street, Unit 6, Truro, Nova Scotia
Canada B2N 2B2 Phone (902) 897-2344
E-mail: richardprov1@netscape.net

A Storybook for ages 5-8
Word Count = 774



TROY GOES CLAMMING


“How about you and I go clam digging after lunch?” Dad asked.
“Okay,” his son Troy answered.
Caribou Island was across a bridge, about two miles north of Pictou, Nova Scotia. After parking the car, they headed for a waiting ocean.
The long sandy beach left behind from a retreating tide was perfect for today’s outing.
Near the end of October was the best time for clam digging, although it meant braving a cold wind. Each person carried a bucket to hold clams and something to dig with.
Troy brought a curved shovel.
His father couldn’t wait to try out his new three-pronged homemade spear. He also carried the largest pail.
“You think you’re going to get the most clams,” Troy huffed. “But I’m going to surprise you today.”
Now the tide was fully out. And the sand stretched far behind them.
Above the visitors, Seagulls and Cormorants flew in circles. They too were searching for tasty clams.
Ocean water rippled nearby.
“COOL!” Troy shouted. “Two Ocean Quahogs! Right on top of the sand! I got here first, so they’re mine.”
“Okay, son. Don’t forget this is supposed to be a fun time,” said his dad.
Troy remembered they were often called ‘Sea Clams’. The boy was quicker than a sea gull and rushed around searching for more.
Water spouts shot up from beneath the moist sand. A sure sign clams were hiding so close.
Both dug eagerly, searching for their prize. They kept bumping into each other’s digging tools.
Troy curled his lips, “Dad, see what you’ve done!” He picked up a mashed shell and held it to his father’s face. “This is a waste of a good clam,” he muttered.
He continued to grumble as he dug furiously. Troy had to get more clams than Dad. If only he would stay out of his way.
The boy was happy when dad agreed to walk further along the sand dune.
“Now, this place is all mine!” Troy shouted. Except his hands were freezing in the cold wind. If only he had brought his gloves from the car.
After awhile, Troy looked up and noticed Dad working his way closer to the mainland. “Probably only baby-sized clams there,” he chuckled.
He didn’t notice the tide was beginning to return.
However he kept finding larger clams in this new spot. Time passed swiftly as the boy kept digging even more. Suddenly the ocean was lapping at his boots.
Why is Dad waving? he wondered.
“Just a few more clams!” Troy yelled, wondering if his Dad even heard. He continued to dig under these new waterspouts getting covered with ocean water.
Why is the tide returning so soon? Troy asked himself.
The wind had changed direction, increasing in velocity. Sea gulls circled the returning tide, with “ERK! ERK!” calls sounding more like a warning.
Troy wasn’t paying attention. He was busy digging up a new group of clams.
Finally his bucket was full. Time to drag his heavy load to the car. He had collected quite a few Quahogs, Mussels, and Razor Clams.
Star-shaped and coin-shaped sea treasures lay on top, along with a few red sand worms. They would be useful to scare his classmates.
Once again, Troy heard Dad calling. Now he understood how much the tide closed in around the huge sandy bar.
He answered frantically, “Coming! I’m coming!”
There was a scared look on Troy’s face, as he tried lifting the heavy bucket.
The force from a rising tide tipped his bucket over. And cold Atlantic Ocean water sloshed into Troy’s rubber boots.
“DAD! Help me!” he screamed.
He was sorry to be so bossy with his father. But, all he wanted right now was help returning to shore.
Some distance away, Troy’s Dad rushed towards him.
“COMING!” Dad hollered. Leaping strides across the water made him look like a running deer.
Troy stood still in the freezing ocean, now up to his knees. He was too afraid to move.
His dad arrived, reached over and with a firm grip heaved his son over his shoulder. By now, they pushed through waist high water, towards shore.
Troy had forgotten all about his clam bucket left behind.
His dad guided them back, along the top edge of high points along the sand dunes. Father and son finally reached the shore and safety.
They were wet, cold and exhausted as they fell in a heap on the mainland. Two sets of lungs gasped heavily.
“Time for us to get home and into dry clothes,” dad said.
“D-dad?” Troy asked.
“Yes?” his dad answered.
“I’m sure glad you’re my dad,” Troy answered through shivering lips.

* * *

© Richard & Esther Provencher 2009
All Rights Reserved