Crabbing the Chester River 2.0

I was calmly woken up by my husband at 4:23 AM with two words: "it's time." This wasn't the first time I had gone crabbing with them, but it was the first time his grandfather came with us. The patriarch of the family, well into his 80's, he still stands tall and has semi-easy movement. He's usually wearing a U.S. Marine Corps ball cap and his leisurewear includes khakis, a tucked in polo, and a sweater - what my husband wears to work on any given day. He sees me wearing a sweatshirt and immediately tells me there are raincoats in the back as raindrops spit from the sky. It's supposed to be over by the time we arrive to the boat slip, so I'm not worried.

And we all - my husband, my father-in-law, my grandfather-in-law, and myself - load into the truck to drive off into the darkness of the morning. 50's XM radio plays, Neil Sadaka as the host. We talk a little bit, gruff voices still waking up. We sip on coffee. And we stare into the darkness ahead through the rain.

It feels different this time - with my husband's grandfather here, I feel like I'm a fly on the wall, peeking into a routine summer Saturday morning where it's usually just the men. They'll start saying something with a tone more rough and direct, but then soften when I chime in, remembering there's a woman here too. And I don't take it as an insult, but rather that I'm saying just with my presence, "You don't have to be so serious all the time."

By the time we load up the boat and get out onto the water, it's still raining but barely, and cotton candy clouds have appeared in the sky. Pop Pop takes his position as captain, I sit beside him, and my father-in-law and husband get things ready. Once we find a good location with the water at the perfect depth, the line goes into the water and we start from the top. Watching my husband dip crabs with his dad spotting and his grandfather driving, it felt like a sacred experience. How many times had he told me he was crabbing in the same way, in the same place that we were right now? I sat on the bow of the boat just watching - watching as Robby submerged the net quickly into the water, scooping up the crabs the way he had been taught. Watching him quickly flip the net with the crabs into the shallow tray where they stayed to be measured. Watching his dad with a sharp eye catch the first sight of each clam bag to distinguish through the murkiness whether or not a crab would be there. With each muddy thwack and spray of water and sand, the clam bags would go up and over the reel, then back down to the bottom for another round.

The rain holds off. The wind picks up, and the clouds slowly scatter to reveal a bright blue. It actually feels like the first day of fall, the air light of moisture with a hint of a chill. After each crab is measured, I notice my father-in-law would squeeze the shells. I found out later that was his way of sorting them. My husband told me there are four categories of crabs: Jumbo, Ones, Twos, and Paper shells; and their category depends on their size first. Paper shells, as you can figure, are the ones with soft or freshly molted, shells.

I dip every other time, and got the quick, "You gotta dip 'em, don't stab 'em, and get low" tutorial before my first turn. Although I mostly catch females - which we are required to throw back - I still only miss three total. Just like last year. And they are the ones we can keep. My neck hurts by the end of the morning, the muscles in my arms and shoulders are fatigued from tensely and tightly holding the dipping net.

We sipped on coffee and had donuts for breakfast, and by the time we get back to shore with a little less than a bushel of crabs, we are tired and stiff. The ride back is quiet with my husband nodding off beside me and Pop Pop nodding off in the front, his knobby, tanned hands gripping the truck manual. With the windows down and cornfields rolling past, it feels just like it should feel: no pressure, no need to say anything. Just listening to the wind, and occasionally Neil Sadaka.

And just like last year, the time on the water with family seemed to put everything into perspective: simple is always better. Don't say more than you need. Your actions speak to your character. Your ability to laugh is important and valued.