During the spring tides of full and new moon, the sea level drops from a high of 2.5 metres to a low of 0.1 meters, leaving the lagoon as a series of large puddles and sand flats. Locals gather to tend their seaweed plots and chip anything vaguely edible from the rocks and pools. Even the cows make it down for a wander and to drink from the fresh spring water that flows in rivulets under the beach sand to the ocean.
Boats are left to rest on their hulls and starfish are stranded, curling their arms in protest.
Kids dig holes to gather skippers, shells and crabs. Their desire to capture and control brings to mind a poignant paragraph from
Beachcombing at Miramar (by Richard Bode)
Once we possess another creature, we alter forever the inherent nature of that creature. As children we think we own a crab. As adults we think we own our husbands, our wives, our sons, our daughters. But the only life we own, truly own, is our own.
