Our Florida Farm Gets a Midden

I've spent five days in the lands of bearded trees, from Savannah to the Florida Panhandle.

The day after I arrived to my grandparents’ farm, Warwick and I took a stroll around the property. With over 100 acres of land there were paths I hadn’t seen since I was a child.

One of those places tucked in the back corner was a sandy stream. As I hovered over it with Poppy’s walking stick, I found a little pile of oyster shells. Many other shells had already trickled down with the current under oak leaves and pine needles.

I bent down and flicked a couple around. I could almost guarantee that many were from my last few visits to the farm, where we shared Little Honeys (Cypress Point), Salty Birds (Pelican Oysters), and Oyster Mom oysters (his favorites). They were smaller, with purple hues and perfect teardrops, and signified the husbandry from Spring Creek that I knew well.

Later that day when I asked my grandfather about the shells, he confirmed, "like a true redneck, yes, I paved the path." We laughed and sipped our wine a little less fancy that evening.

We may have to let go of this farm soon, and despite every emotion I feel about my heritage here, it makes me proud that through years of happy memories we have made our own family midden, a small heap for someone else to find.



-Virginia

-Virginia