From the blog series: From the Bay — Stories Behind the Shell
On Sunday, July 6th, we hosted one of our most beloved events — the Sip and Shuck aboard The Scarlet Lady. The skies were clear, our friends at Deep Sea Headquarters were smiling as they loaded supplies, and our oysters were iced cold and ready to be enjoyed.
These are the moments that make the hard work worthwhile — when Salty Bill and I get to share the fruits of our labor with family, friends, and fellow oyster lovers.
On these tours, we talk about the process behind the plate. But I often wonder:
Do people really know what it takes to get oysters to that plate?
The Week That Tested Us
The week leading up to the Fourth of July was one of the most demanding we’ve ever experienced.
Orders were at an all-time high. Our crew was prepped, cages selected, plans laid out — but storms were coming. Monday’s weather made it unsafe to harvest, and Friday was the holiday. That left us with just three working days to do it all.
We braced ourselves.
Keith, our farm manager, and his team harvested every single day. Toni, our Mariculture Operations Manager, had her crew processing oysters like a well-oiled machine. For three long days, I logged no fewer than 13 hours on my feet. At night, I washed piles of oyster gloves while the team pushed through with gritty determination.
I watched them stretch their backs, shake out sore hands — and keep going. On Thursday at 5 p.m., we realized we still had a couple thousand oysters left to process. Many stayed late, exhausted but unwavering. Toni volunteered to come in Friday morning — the Fourth of July.
And she did. With her boyfriend beside her, she showed up ready to work. Salty Bill and our son William, home from San Diego, jumped in too. Together, we processed every last oyster we had harvested, and they were delivered.
We filled every order — except one: the oysters needed for Sunday’s Sip and Shuck.
Harvesting Through the Storm
Later that evening, we took a breath and joined the celebration at Stout’s at Cinnamon Shore. We served oysters from our pop-up bar, enjoyed a lively ’80s cover band, and met visitors from across the state.
But we still needed 300 oysters. Salty Bill and I decided to make a quick run to the farm Saturday morning. A storm was rolling in, but the show had to go on. We coordinated with Keith and Toni to find the best cage to harvest from.
As we headed into darkening skies, I looked at Salty Bill steering confidently into the approaching storm and thought:
“What are we doing? Why are we doing this? This is dangerous.”
In that moment, I had a choice — to shrink back or rise up. I stood next to Bill at the helm, wind and sea spray in my face, and said with a smile:
“This is the #oysterlife.”
Bill jumped without hesitation into the water and pulled the bags. I counted out what we needed. We returned safely, oysters in hand and on ice — and with a deeper sense of purpose.
Sacred Sunday and the Sorrow That Lingered
By Sunday morning, the sun was out. We began the day with church.
But while we had weathered our own storms, others were facing far worse.
That same week, devastating floods struck the Texas Hill Country — lives were lost, homes destroyed, communities upended. We island people understand the power of water — how it gives life and how quickly it can take it away.
After the service, Father James called a meeting. “What can we do?” he asked. A fundraiser was scheduled for the coming Wednesday. With heavy hearts, Bill and I turned our focus back to preparing for the Scarlet Lady tour.
Why We Do This
This Sip and Shuck was extra special. Our son William, a sous chef in San Diego, was home for the holiday.
Our daughter Hannah was on board with her camera, ready to document the day.
Father James and his wife, Laura, generously volunteered to help us shuck.
We welcomed longtime friends and made new ones, too. Everyone pitched in — Hannah capturing the moment, William grabbing a shucking knife, Father James and Laura ready with towels and tools.
Beth and Kendall Owens serving the sips and mingling with passengers. And slowly, the “Why do we do this?” question began to answer itself.
When Community Shows Up
We donated an oyster gift basket to the Hill Country fundraiser. When I dropped it off, I was stunned — it looked like every business in town had contributed something.
That Wednesday night at The Gaff, the bar was packed.
People gathered to bid, eat, and enjoy live music. Vendors donated food. Locals offered their time and talent.
State Representative Todd Hunter was there. Bishop Reed showed up. Members of our Clearwater team showed up.
Our whole town showed up.
It’s hard to put into words the pride I felt — being part of an island community that leads with heart.
The Quiet Work Behind the Beauty
Why do we do this hard work?
No one sees the wet gloves, the aching backs, the last-minute shortfalls, or the boat rides into dark clouds.
No one sees the quiet donations, the silent prayers, or the deep fatigue beneath the surface.
But that unseen, gritty work makes sacred moments like these possible. It builds something lasting — not just a business, but a family, a team, and a community that reaches far beyond the plate. I am overwhelmed with admiration and gratitude.
The people I work with every day are the strongest, grittiest, most hardcore humans I know.
I’m honored to call them teammates — and friends. In a week marked by storms, sacrifice, and sorrow, our crew showed up, our neighbors stood together, and our oysters became more than food — they became a symbol of resilience, remembrance, and the quiet power of showing up for each other.
