Clamming in late November is a bit chilly, but the clams don't seem to mind. Leslie and I weren't expecting any company for dinner, so I had plenty in a half hour.

Because we think in terms of increments of dozens, and because we figured we needed a "dozen and a half," and because this may be the last clamming trip of the season, the last clam, the 19th, was returned to the bed.

I scooped out a pocket of mud that quickly filled in with water, then gently dropped in the clam. Leslie noted I made a clam bed.

The clam was about 10 years old, it could live another 30 if it manages to escape starfish and me. I hope I'm still clamming then.

If not, I'm hoping someone else is, using the same rake I'm using now, occasionally thinking of the hands that used to hold the rake, using the same methods taught years before.

No better reason to be a teacher.

Photo of Irish clamdiggers, 1882, is from the National Archives.