Until We Meet Again

Quick. How do you pronounce “geoduck”?
If you said “gooey-duck,” you were right.

My parents have been staying with us since Thursday night. They came to celebrate the graduation from seminary of my brother-in-law, Mark. Friday we did the commencement chapel where the grads get some awards. (Mark will have to wait until glory to receive his, which were most amazing husband and great dad—not very academic. Don't get me wrong. Mark is very intelligent; he just has an amazing gift for ordered priorities.) That night we attended a Texas BBQ on campus, where we encountered more food than we could eat.

Saturday morning was commencement. Because I’m part of the faculty, I had to arrive early with the grads, so I drove Mark. On the way there he whipped out his cell phone and called to remind his dad to be sure his three “girls” got the diamond earrings and thank you notes he had left for them on the mantle as a surprise. I had trouble driving after that.

After the ceremony we went to a reception for Mark and a few of his fellow-grad friends. Then nine of us ended the day by going to Traildust Steak House for dinner, where my husband tipped the band to sing “All my Ex’s Live in Texas” in Mark’s honor. (It’s easy for all one’s ex’s to live in Texas when one has no ex’s.) After dinner my husband grabbed my hand and we finished the night with a dance. To my utter surprise, my parents followed, blew past us, and tore up the dance floor. They are 85 and 76 years old, and they left Gary and me in the dust. There is something breathtaking about discovering at my age that your parents, married for 54 years, can dance.

The next day, we had thirteen people here for Mother’s Day dinner. We had five moms, including my mother and my husband’s mom and Mark’s mom. We ate a big ham supper (with pumpkin pie), worked puzzles, and watched classic movies. All in all, we were about as lazy and fat as geoducks. Which brings me back to my starting point.

A geoduck is not a bird. And it is definitely not a species of duck. It is a kind of saltwater clam native to Washington state and British Columbia. And because we go clam digging annually with my family, we were closing down the big family celebration tonight by talking about where we planned to meet next. That would be next month on the Pacific Coast in Astoria, Oregon. That’s when the whole geoduck thing came up. My sister mentioned that we could go farther north and dig geoducks (remember: “gooey-ducks”) instead. Gary and I had never heard of geoducks. They sounded like ducks dipped in marshmallow cream. Or victims of an oil spill. So the relatives had to educate us.

Apparently the word “geoduck” used to be “goeyduck,” a Native American word for “dig deep,” which made its way into the language via Chinook, a pidgin English trading language. Somebody thought it was supposed to be “geo” as in “of the earth,” so the spelling got changed, but the pronunciation stayed the same. The role of geoducks is to dig their way into the sand, grow for up to one hundred forty years, and gain up to forty pounds. Yes, they lie around under the surface and do…nothing. As one blogger noted, “They do run the risk of being caught and eaten, but then, who among us doesn’t?” That danger happens only once every year, though. During low tide. Then people dig them up. But as Mark warned, “They fight back.” I picture myself spending hard-earned vacation time fighting geoducks. Uh-uh.

Mark proceeded to tell us about Evergreen College, where the geoduck is the mascot. He logged on and found a photo for us. All I can say is that if you are offered the opportunity to view a shot of a human dressed as a green geoduck, Just Say No. And be afraid. Be very afraid.

PBS did a documentary on the geoduck: “Three Feet under—Digging Deep for the Geoduck Clam.” Your tax dollars at work. No wonder China and Russia are inching ahead.

As one person wrote of the geoduck,

It looks like a tongue sticking out of the ground.
IT’S GROSS!
In Hong Kong they sell for $100/plate.
Supposedly they taste sweet and tender.
I can't imagine!
Of course—I can't imagine what a regular clam tastes like.
I'm OK living with that mystery.