Kelp, Also Known as Devil's Apron

In our experience of processing the first two batches, I discovered the residue that dried sugar kelp leaves behind - a soft, delicate, sweet, umami, salty powder - that would collect in the smallest piles under the crates as they'd shift from stacking and re-stacking. Sugar kelp gets its name from the sweet mannitol that comes to the surface of the blades when they dry. As we dragged our third batch into the front yard, I knew what I was after. On a hot, clear Sunday, I found myself tapping the crates of dried stalks on our brick patio and into a sheet- sweeping the dust into a small, hopeful pile with a silicone barbeque sauce brush. The wind would pick up slightly as I did this, and I'd newly wonder each time if my pile would survive. My mind drifted to the thought of Justin, traversing across the Atlantic at age 10 on a sailboat with his father and a few other sailors. 6 weeks on the open ocean under the sun- how much time he must have spent thinking about the wind and what it might decide to do next. To be at the hands of an entire ocean- I often wonder how much of the quiet, thoughtful patience you can see in him today was shaped by that trip- the kind of patience a person carries when they understand there are forces at play well beyond the perception of their control.

I might not have otherwise had the patience or undergone the necessary dismantling of my pride to sit and collect this stuff if not for these wildly humbling chapters of 2020. Time constantly seems to stretch and shrink in new ways I hadn't noticed. I thought of my mom's fish shop in South Texas where I'd sit on the ground in a room that wasn't quite indoors or outdoors, either- and watch cutter ants carry bits of leaves into their beautiful, fresh mound- an enormous box fan striking its furious tone, knowing what it was up against- deafening in its resolve as my mom worked in the storefront and I watched the ants. That fan would often lull me to sleep on a cot in the corner of that room that I'd rest on during nap time. I remember a red strip of plastic corrugated roofing that formed part of the wall- the sun would shine partially through it, casting a deep glow, restless and also sedative. Being at Lazy Point is the only place on Earth I've found that brings me right back to that back room of the fish shop, without fail. Maybe the only spot left out here that hasn't been veneered, where people can come as they are. The only spot, I've decided, that I really like out here.

My mom and I would drive to the Texas Gulf Coast to pick up fresh fish when I was 4- I remember standing tall on the big concrete step of the loading dock as we'd wait for the truck to back up with the catch. We'd drive it back to Goliad to her shop. My parents met at the University of Texas. My daddy sold shrimp from a truck in Austin in the 70s before I was born. Multiple Sclerosis robbed him of his body - he died when I was two, and my mom continued the business. She told me once that he used to sell shrimp to Ladybird Johnson- he was the best around. How about that.

Wendy- bareboat courtesy of Sail Montauk. Gardiner’s Bay, 2018

Sugar kelp is also known as Devil's Apron. I think for a bit about what the Devil might make if she were standing over a stove with a spoon in her hand. I imagine something punishingly exacting and delicious in the way that leaves a person feeling very guilty but without much regret.

Dust from the Devil’s Apron. Fourth batch, 2020

We’re creating in spite of the current odds, in spite of what we imagined ourselves to ever be, and in spite of anything we've trained for and worked to be in this world. This venture has us learning and re-learning that the end products and goals we imagine and plan for are often not the only thing of beauty to come from the process. Goals and ambitions are in a continual state of re-examination; as I look in the rearview mirror, I see more of them being left behind.

I managed to collect about 3 ounces of dust from that 525-pound batch. In those 3 ounces lie a beautiful discovery that I might not have otherwise noticed. 3 ounces of anything, under other circumstances, is barely even enough to bother getting out the broom to sweep it away. The pace of the East End in these times is perhaps the only gift that helped bring any of this into focus.

My collection complete, I stacked the crates up for Justin next to the grinder. I watched the dust that I had tried so painstakingly to trap as it flew freely out of the top of the grinder in a constant cloud. As the kelp was pushed through, the dust came unbound from the surface of the blades - freed from the fate of mechanical churn and into the sky, untraceable.

Dust from the Devil's Apron