"A Touch of Genocide, We killed In Ocean City."

A swarm of bees showed at my apartment complex. I found it amazing to watch them. I found it such a unique sight I told my neighbor. Bad idea. The first thing they do is call someone to come over and response is to kill them. It seems there was enough poison from last year to kill this years swarm. With a shortage of honey bees I can't see how people think its okay to kill them, but that seems to be the twisted thinking of American Suburbia. I guess after the boy and the clam story I should know better. Every time I share something unique to people it might be death sentance.  2nd edition, My bad. its my birthday spent it alone. no excuse. THOR oh and I'm 43.

“A Boy and a Clam”

     This is a story about a nine year old boy who grew up on the East Coast and was visiting the beach on Ocean City Maryland. Ocean City is the closest beach resort to the Washington D.C. area, it is fourteen miles long and four miles at it’s widest, and during the height of the summer there maybe up to a million people vacationing at one time. On the beaches there was nothing but skin and sand from the boardwalk to the surf. The beach was broken up by large jedies to keep the sand from eroding every two-thirds of a mile. Within these areas, groups of children gathered to play. This is where we find our little boy playing in a group of boys around his same age. They spend the day; body surfing, building sand castles, or digging sand crabs. Today our little boy is out beyond the surf doing something not many people do; he is swishing back and forth digging his heels into the sand under his feet. When his foot hits something hard, he does something which no one does; he flips upside down diving to the bottom. Now there are only two things under the sand a crab and a clam; furthermore, a standard practice for the dealing of each one. If it’s a crab which only the most boisterous of personalities would bring it to the surface, letting out a great roar when rising above the water, and tossing it the unfortunate terrified crab out into the surf. A clam is handled in much the same fashion. The clam is shown to the diver’s fellow swimmers the thrown far out into the sea. This little boy does some thing that no-one has done before. He takes the clam in, pausing where the water reseeds, and the sand is at its hardest. He raises the clam above his head, and drives it down with all his might smashing the clam on the sand. Suddenly he is surrounded by sea gulls winging, squawking, and diving in their mad rush to retrieve the flesh of the clam. In this frenzy they approach much closer than they ever do ever do even when baited or pursued. All the other boys are fascinated by this display, and ask the boy to show then how to do it. The little boy who is normally a loner or outcaste is the center of attention and the resident expert on the surf digging of clams. People of all ages begin asking for information, and he displays his knowledge with great pride. He’s on top of the world. After a while he tires and sits to take a snack. He sits in the sand eating cheese puffs and gazing up and down the beach, still in his euphoria from his great triumph. As his gaze wanders farther, he can see the gulls from every corner of the fourteen mile island now hovering over the coastline. The feast of their lives is being served by the crowd. The boy is suddenly horrified. He realizes he has created a mass slaughter. He begins running up and down the beach yelling, “Stop! Stop! You’re killing them all!” The people just laugh at him or ignore him; for he’s just a little boy. Finally, exhausted, frustrated, and crying he goes to find comfort with his father, yet he himself does not understand his son’s change in mood. The boy is left in his private misery, only he knows what he has done. Later that day when the beach begins to clear the boy and his father go out to dig some clams for dinner. Hours before you could find a hand full in a few minutes, now it takes them both forty five minuets to find a dozen. In fact, most of them are large Quahogs found under six feet or more of water. The clam population has been decimated in one day all in the glee of destruction, spectacle, and the ecstasy of feeding the gulls. During that winter hurricane Agnes rolled up the coast. The beaches which had long rolling breakers were swept of their sand; for there were no clams to hold it in place. The beach was now a steep incline. The waves crashed against the beach without the gentle slope that had been there for centuries. Maryland spent the equivalent of 200 million dollars today to push the sand back in place with great giant bulldozers to no avail. The power of one idea is great. This one a mere whim was one of destruction. This story is true. I know, I was that little boy. I now have another idea, one of creation and just as powerful.

“Peace-UP!”

Thor