I promise not to write about shells again next week. But during my recent visit to the Alabama Gulf Coast, I found myself captivated with what washed up along the shoreline. Some of it was trash, but not so much that I was “grossed out.” A bottle cap here, a piece of a flip-flop there. Mostly, as I mentioned in “In Whole or in Part” earlier this week, I found bits and pieces of this and that: shells, rocks, wood, seaweed.

One morning, early, was different. While sinking my bare feet into the wet sand and talking to God—as I am wont to when confronted by such a larger-than-life display of the natural world as the Gulf of Mexico—I came across two perfect specimens. Proud of my finds, I dropped the shells into my pockets and made my way back to the beach house where my husband, “Precious,” and I were staying.

As I revealed my bounty, he said, “That’s great, Baby, but there’s something alive in the greyish one.” I peered deep into that shell’s opening and was greeted by several hairy looking legs and two beady eyeballs. (At least I think they were eyes!) Whatever it was (hermit crab?) immediately shrunk back into its protective covering. I moved the shell to the deck and waited for it to do something. Anything. After a while it moved an inch or two across the splintered wooden planks. About that time our dog, Quay, ambled over to check things out. One lick from her spotted tongue sent the mysterious creature back into hiding. Although I was fascinated, I knew I had to get this living, breathing entity returned to its natural habitat, so I did.

And as I did, I began to wonder . . . Did I have the “right” to take the shell in the first place? Should I have left it where it sat, so to speak, and regarded it only as a bystander? Had I been paying better attention, would I have noticed that the shell was much more than a souvenir?

Amy Lyles Wilson