The Party at the End of the World - Setting Free the Lobsters From Out the Lions' Den - Part 2

"All the dams will give at the end, 

At the end, at the end of the world.

Will you swim for me?"

Rainer Maria from the song "Catastrophe Keeps Us Together"

For days the rain had been turning the grounds around our home into something that more closely resembled an Amazon rain forest than a mountainside.  Suffice to say the so-called "inclement" weather didn't bother us - although it made for the Lions Club canceling their lobster sale for the morning of the 25th of May.

Not to be deterred, the omniscient map of the internet found us a seafood store nearby to where we ultimately decided to do our release party (well, a party for the lobsters, for us it would be more of an adventure, or maybe a calling).  Calling the audible to shift the destination away from Norwalk (as was originally planned - to see the beginning of this adventure please reference this page HERE), let's name the location we decided upon as, "The End of the World" - not as in the apocalypse or armageddon, but that place down beyond and past the point of all other places, where what one sees over the seas seems to show there is nothing beyond but water and sailing and the deep.

Our small tribe (alas, we found no takers to join us for this little trek to freedom so it was a crew of three - Mama Bird, The Archer of Light - once known as The Little Man - and your faithful columnist) drove upon our trusty metal steed Hepseybeth (a workhorse of a white pickup) to New Wave Seafood (http://newwaveseafood.com/) around 11:30am on that very same Saturday the 25th of May.  With a vague plan of action in our minds, we wandered inside to see who of the double-claw variety we might procure.

(As an aside - did you know that often lobster claws purchased at restaurants are ones removed from a lobster who is then kept alive to regrow that claw?  Of course, a one-claw lobster would not survive long in the wild and so sadly, they'd be out of our realm of rescue)

It's an interesting world this, for that same host of omniscient map also started placing doubts and fears into the mind.  That if one releases lobsters at shore they will be unable to get back into the ocean due to the tide coming in.  That if one releases them in shallow water, they will not survive.  That if they came from Maine and they go into Long Island Sound they'll not be able to handle the warmer temperatures.  That if they have been in captivity for a long time they will not have eaten and they should be fed before being released.  And for a moment, we wondered all these things and whether we were we making a mistake trying to release these creatures back into the sea...but how is there a mistake when creating the opportunity for life over death?  But that's the internet for you - it'll make hypochondriacs of us all. 

Admittedly, the expectation in me was that to tell a fisherman, in his shoppe, that we're not looking for tartar sauce and lemon to go with our purchase because we're not planning on eating these creatures...would be met with a scoff and a doff.  How grand then, to find that expectation met with the surprising reply, and thus the adjustment of perception - which is a true gift of any day, Saturday or otherwise.

Upon entering, The Archer of Light boosted into these arms, and we walked over to the giant tanks of lobsters and began peering inside.  While we were watching the scuttle, Mama Bird waited to ask questions about what we had been reading.  We noticed in the floor-to-ceiling refrigerations that there were small containers of chopped clams.  Would we need to feed our quarry before setting them back to the rocky craig of the bottom?

But how does one choose who goes into our cooler and takes the short trip to freedom and who stays to be most likely (for let us not discount that there may be others out there whose Saturday afternoon could have sent them this way, to also bring forth a crustacean or two back into their aquatic homes) left with little in life but to boil alive in a pot and be dressed for their funeral between corn-on-the-cob and cole slaw?

After walking to the other end of the showroom floor (for isn't that the bougie thing to do in a restaurant of fanciful duress - select who we will send to their maker on a silver platter and butter-drawn plate...it leads one to think the next time we do this it would be worth the weight in gold to walk into some five star restaurant, sit down, and choose our lobster to only reply, "to go please, and not cooked, thank you kindly, ciao bella we're bringing this poor creature back to his or her family" and no, we're not leaving a tip) to view one smaller tank in which the lobsters were crammed in on top of each other (the larger tanks obviously are where the trucks dump them in, this smaller unit the display for customers) we walked back toward the larger tanks only to find one lobster, on the floor, staring up at us.

In the imagination, one wants to picture this claw-bound guy (and the gender here is important for later on in the tale) having heard the words to The Archer of Light that we're going to take some of these lobsters back to the ocean and in hearing was prompted to leap up and out of the ten thousand gallon tanks and onto the floor and to raise the claws in the air and say, "Me, me!"  Oh to have the security camera footage of such an escape from Lobstertraz.  But, it is more likely, that one of the workers, seeing that one of us is still young, let one of the two-claws onto the floor so as to make for one of those magical moments in this not-quite-the-same-as-an-aquarium.

Moments later, Mama Bird returned with one of the fishermen - well call him C. (for Captain because the ring to it feels true) to whom she had explained our goal for the afternoon.  He listened, and told us the story of how when his son was younger (his sone was now a teenager) that when C. would bring lobsters home for dinner he had to bring extras that they could set into the ocean because his son would wail and wail about killing the lobsters.  And each time, Papa C. would oblige and he and his son would send some lobsters back into the water.

With his experience, C. was able to answer some of the other questions, too - no we don't need to feed the sea spiders before setting them free, no we don't need to go out on a boat in the middle of the body of water to release them, and that the temperature was just fine and dandy for them to return without worrying about dying.

From there, however, the most shining example of his goodness lit up - as he and Mama Bird went to the tanks to pick out lobsters, he made certain that of the four we planned on taking (including the previously mentioned waving at us from the floor guy) that the mix was one male and three females so as to give the opportunity to help repopulate the area.  Sure, one could look at this in the cynical manner and state it is because he wants to have a larger catch, but in reality it was out of respect for the creatures, and what they mean to the overall habitat, that he made such a wise, and dare we say noble, choice.

With four lobsters packed into our red cooler, and a loaf of bread selected by The Archer of Light (for his belly was needing feeding if not the lobsters) we set off, with a bill of but thirty dollars (here's where the "you could have spent that money on something better comments would come from) and four confused soon-to-be-swimming new friends.

***insert road trip music, angled shots out of passenger windows, and the interlude so as to help pad the fact that our film needs to reach the ninety-minute mark for full distribution***

Once we reached The End of the World, we unloaded the red cooler, our pair of scissors, and climbed the stairs and over the wall to the shoreline.  Thankfully, the tide was not so far out nor so far in that the logistics of beach-combing would be difficult.  We also came across a lovely Russian family - Mama, Papa and their son, all of whom looked intriguingly at our cooler, and then smiled as we lifted a lobster out of our magic bag, more expectantly to be filled with soda and chips.  Mama Bird explained our plan to them, and invited them to join us in the releasing of the claws.  They happily agreed and thus six of us traipsed down to the tidal edge.

There's something still prehistoric about picking up a lobster by that place just in front of its tail and lifting him or her out of a cooler - the tail curls, the claws go up for battle.  It reminds me a bit of being seven and playing Pitfall on the Atari and having to escape the Scorpion.  Even with rubber bands keeping those pinchers held in place, they are coming atcha.

So with scissors at the ready, and lobster facing the water, we snipped two yellow rubber bands and placed the girl onto the beach as the water slowly lapped up to her feet.  For a moment she sat there, the slow waves rushing over her - imagine stunned, confused, do lobsters dream?  Would they think it a dream?  Do lobsters as a species not yet realize instinctually to not go into the box, even if it has food, because none of those lobsters ever return?  Would releasing four lobsters back into the water lead them to spread the word, the horrors, of what they saw?  Could releasing four lobsters start a worldwide decline in lobster catching because the lobsters would finally learn?

For a moment all of those fears we read, rushed back to mind and led the heart a-flutter a little bit.  Was she not going to understand how or why to re-enter the water?  Were the waves rushing against her such an unusual experience that she'd freeze-up and we really needed a boat to carry them out to deeper waters?  Would we need to cross the "No Trespassing" sign and clamber (ha, a lobster, *clam*bered...) out onto the chained off dock to at least give them a one hundred fifty foot head start?

But then, those spindly legs began to shift, the body angled off to a side, and as if catching a ride on a surfboard we couldn't see, our lobster friend quickly scurried ten feet, twenty feet, fifty feet (but seemingly with no feet for the refraction of the water made it seem as if she were but gliding into the sea)...and then beyond where we could see her.

With great aplomb, we soon released the other three and waved as they, too, went back to find their ilk, and relay the stories of what they had seen in the lands of the humans.  Where on this given day, rather than eat them, we found solace in their antennae and curiosity in their eyes, and realized that while this was but a small gesture, it was most certainly worthwhile - especially for those whose lives would continue.  Continue for on this day, in this moment, rather than use the sharp edges to harm, we humans used our shiny little claws to snip the rubber bonds of the slow march to the cooking pot, and set a few of our kindred, free.

Next year, we'll do this again.  Maybe then, you'll join us for the story.

***

So, I'd like to do a little experiment.  And a little self-promotion.  I'm hoping you'll help me out with the experiment and forgive the self-promotion.

Over the years, I've published four chapbooks - two full of short stories, one novella, and one book of poetry.

The chapbooks are published as a part of the seraphemera books quiescence series.  Yes, seraphemera (http://www.seraphemera.org) is our publishing house.  The books are all handmade, with silk-screened covers, satin bookmarks and are individually numbered in the stamped dust-jackets.  The books are as beautiful as the words inside and vice-versa (I do hope in both directions).

You can read more about them here:

http://www.seraphemera.org/seraphemera_books/Moorash_books_of_four.html

On that page is a link for each book that will lead to some writing samples from all four books.

We normally sell them for $20 each.  Thus these four books would normally cost $80.  I'd like to see what happens if I offer them as a set for $50 (and $4.95 to cover shipping - There's an additional shipping fee if you're an international purchaser - sorry).

Now, before you move on to the next article on Patch, leave me a note here as to why you are or are not going to take me up on this offer.  Say things like "I'm not interested" or "Too expensive" or "I already have them" or "I don't read" or "You're still using paper to publish?  Give me a Kindle/iPad/Nook version" or "I really dislike when you post your writing" or "I didn't know you had these and I'm going to check out the samples on the link in the post" or...whatever else might be accurate.  I'm looking for some straightforward feedback to understand a little more about how both myself as a writer, and seraphemera as a whole, interacts with potential and current and future readers.

For anybody who does post a response, email me at three at seraphemera dot org or PM me and I'll email as a thank you a pdf of one of the stories in More to Follow.

Thanks!

Marc