People cleaning oysters on a boat for Grey Lady Oysters, the company Gus Bachner worked for this summer. (Photo courtesy of Grey Lady Oysters)

On an oyster boat, you are occupied with important tasks at all times. One is the cleaning of oysters. This is the essential last step before a harvest, in which fully mature oysters are cleaned by hand after being selected based on quality and appearance. On a medium-scale farm like the one I worked on this summer, with only one boat and two oystermen, I cleaned anywhere from 600 oysters to over 1,000 on the busiest days. 

To clean an oyster, pick it up in one hand and scrub off any dirt with your nylon brush. If you see a barnacle, scrape that off with your metal paint chipper. Flip the oyster over and then give the top a good brush. Once clean, put your oyster in a separate pile and start on the next dirty one. You have hundreds of these to get through, so don’t spend too long trying to get them perfectly clean. Once you’ve cleaned a few dozen oysters, use your dust pan to scoop them into bags, which go back in the water to keep the oysters wet. After four to six hours of this, you should have gotten through enough oysters for the day’s harvest.

One thing this process forced me to do, besides efficiently clean oysters, is think. With nothing to do but scrub, chip, and shovel, self-reflection was not so much a choice as it was a reality thrust upon me. One thought could float around in my head for hours, bouncing between piles of oysters and occasionally drowned out by the screeching of birds that roosted on the floating traps. On most days, as I passed oysters from one hand to the other, I was occupied by a distressing sensation. Although I enjoyed the work I was doing, it did not match my preconceptions about what my summer ought to have looked like. 

As is common among WashU students, I had convinced myself that a summer internship was essential for my future. Because I was not working for a member of Congress or helping run a campaign like other Political Science majors I knew, the plans I had for myself seemed lost. It is difficult to watch your expectations morph into something unrecognizable, and in my disorientation, I failed to understand the true value of the opportunity at my fingertips. Drifting between oyster traps, feeling the sun rise and fall overhead, gazing out at the windsurfers and water-skiers, watching the red and green drifts of seaweed coast along the ocean’s surface — these are scenes of serenity and beauty that were somewhat lost in my distraction. They are also things I will probably never have the chance to experience again in the same way. 

What is obvious in retrospect is that my hours on the boat will remain one of the most formative times of my life. No, it was not direct career experience, but I believe it offered something equally, if not more, valuable. This opportunity taught me resilience, patience, and responsibility. It introduced me to a world where every oyster matters a great deal and to the perspective that satisfaction can be found in the very process of things. For these insights I will always be grateful. 

 I would like to say that I had a sudden awakening this summer, and that once it dawned on me that my disappointment was unfounded, I threw my hands up to the oyster gods and thanked them for showing me the light. The truth is, however, that having hours upon idle hours to reflect did not immediately lead me to a positive mindset. For all the time I had out on the water, I was far too occupied with arbitrarily judging where I should have been instead of appreciating where I was.

Now that I am a month removed from the experience, I can fully appreciate the value of my time on the boat. Back at WashU, the experience of being out on the water is a dream I want to return to and start over again. I want to seize the occasion and recognize from the beginning the skills and memories I would gain as an oysterman. Above all else, I want to express the danger of losing touch with yourself and the opportunities in front of you. 

You will not always end up where you expect to be, and you cannot always do the things you first set out to do. Sometimes, you will find yourself in circumstances that seem so extraordinary as to be unbelievable. What you cannot allow yourself to do is dwell on what could have been and miss what is before you.

I do not discourage you from applying to summer internships or from striving to achieve your goals. I only suggest that if you are ever lucky enough to find yourself on a boat in the middle of the ocean, with a pile of oysters in front of you and all the time in the world to appreciate the beauty and opportunity at hand, do that. Everything else, I suspect, can wait till the end of the harvest.