Mose's boat. (Bo'ett)

Mose did not have a boat. In Gullah Speak he had a bo'ett. Mose and I often went oystering together. I would tong the oysters and dead shell from the salt creek bottoms. Mose would use a piece of iron bar to break up the shell, remove the single oysters. Mose called that piece of iron his "curling iron". I try to get him to say "Culling iron". Mose refuses, his Gullah speak is the "De riteway". Mose brings the fire bucket on our journeys, keeps a small fire going to warm our hands. Sometimes when we are "Oystering" the salt water freezes on the wooden handles of my tongs. It is hard work tonging for oysters. One day we work for hours, catch little. I say "Moses, what am I doing wrong?" Mose say "Nothin wrong mon, you done put nuff shell on de bo'ett for fifty bushel oyster." Some days we did not make much money Moses and me. But we made good friends.

Mose bought a fiberglas boat really cheap. The keel had been scraped away for a foot or so. I tell Mose I can fix it for him. Billy, owner of the crab dock orderd some Fiberglas mat and Polyester resin for the job. Over at Moses's house in the black district, the boat is upside down in the back yard. I shape a piece of two by four wood with my saw and knife to fit the size of the missing keel and fasten it into position. Mose is watchig, curious. He say "You do this before?" I am surprised by the question. "Yes , Mose I know about boat building, fiberglasing". Soon the job is finished. Several layers of fiberglas mat and polyester resin has repaired the damage, looks good as new. Mose is pleased, it shows with his broad smile. We go into his house share a few glasses of vodka. Mose has lost his wife. His daughter and grandson live with him. They treat me like a prince for helping their Moses.
180

oneighty

whatsit?

for years. wife be Gullah speaker. She has learned English since then..No, Mose was real, the bo'ett is real the story is real. McClellanville, South Carolina, The Sea Food Capital of the World..The folks there think BIG!
We were fishermen there.
180

an interesting character Tell us more about him?

I was 26, recently engaged to be married, and in Houston to meet my future in-laws for the first time. They are Cajun. The only Cajun I have ever met is the future Miz t. Up until now, I am pretty much a city boy.

My in-laws are called "mom" and "pop". Since I no longer have either, I'm OK with that. I stayed in their home, sleeping on a sofa bed in the small den. At 6 a.m. on Saturday morning pop shakes me awake.

"You lak oysters?"
"Sure."
"C'mon. We go get some oysters. Wear yo jeans and tennis shoes."

I hurriedly dress in the half-light of dawn wondering:
1. If the coffee is ready? (It is.)
2. Will one of my fiancee's sisters walk in while I'm getting dressed? (They don't.)
3. Why is there a particular costume required to go to the market for oysters?

When I walk out in the driveway and see that pop already has a large aluminum jon boat on a trailer hitched to his pick-up I begin to understand that we are NOT going to a market. Pop and my future brother-in-law, Big John, are already in the truck waiting for me. We drive about an hour to Buffalo Bayou and launch the boat.

Besides us, the boat contains two large washtubs with inflated inner-tube "collars" around them, a cooler, and a bag of cheap white cotton work gloves. We wind around the bayou to a narrow channel almost invisible from the main body of water. Pop kicks up the motor and we pole about 30 yards through the channel into another little bayou. We anchor in the middle.

Pop says "Le's go get 'em. Here's some gloves. Dem shells is sharp. Don't cut yosef. Take dis lil hammer. Ah show ya what ta do."

We slide over the side into warm, murky, thigh-deep water. Big John ties one tub to his belt and Pop ties on the other one. He shows me how to feel around with my feet until I hit a clump of oysters. Reach down and pull them up. Swish the clump around to get the mud off. Take the little ball peen hammer and knock off the empty or broken shells. This is called "culling". Toss the cleaned, culled oysters into the closest washtub. By noon we have two washtubs full and haul them over the gunwales into the boat. Time for lunch.

Pop opens the cooler and there are half a dozen coldbeers (One word in Texas, I discover.), a couple of oyster knives, and a large bottle of Tabasco sauce. 5 minutes later I know how to shuck oysters. We dine on coldbeers and salty oysters with a healthy splash of Tabasco.

When we get home with our catch, the future Miz t. and her brothers and sisters (6) are there, and assorted aunts, uncles, and cousins. We all set to shucking oysters at an old picnic table in the back yard. We have raw oysters, fried oysters, baked oysters, and shrimp & oyster gumbo.
And a few more coldbeers.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to like these folks.
Thanks for jogging my memory 180.
:hi:

You have captured the magic! Beautiful. Trof knows the secrets!

My wife and her family including three cute sisters (Count them) lived on a salt water creek leading to the inland waterway. I was in the navy then. Was not long before I bought a little shrimp trawler. Damn I wish I could go back. I became a swamp creature down there!
180

Pop also took me on my first shrimping expedition.
Had my own shrimp net down here for a while. Finally decided what with all the time, effort, and expense it's cheaper and a hell of a lot easier to just drive over to Billie's Seafood ("If it swims, we got it!") on the Bon Secour River and buy 'em right off the boat.
Gettin' old and fat and lazy.
;-)