Reflections on Working on a Shrimp Boat, 2012
23 December 2014. A cold front came through Houston this morning, dropping the temperatures to what Houstonians consider "chilly." I'm balancing my free time with writing, reading, napping, exercising, cleaning and recycling, and anything other than what might be considered "work." Going through my files, I found this reflection from my day-long volunteer work in a warmer July 2012 with Zach Moser and Eric Leshinsky of the Shrimp Boat Project, doing more harm than good with their efforts to harvest shrimp in Galveston Bay. They asked me to write a reflection, included here. What I didn't mention is that I lost a very important piece of wood that day, used to separate live shrimp from the other haul. Imagine someone working so fast that in his haste to throw some crab away, he throws the separating board instead. Yeah, I didn't mention that.
Spending a day on a shrimp boat awakened me (literally, cognitively) to the early morning routine that sustains so much of the fresh seafood industry that we take for granted as we live and dine along the coast, and especially an hour north where we can revel in our air-conditioned restaurants or stop for five minutes along the road to buy fresh shrimp from the vendors who’ve made the drive. I have to respect any laborer who arises hours before the dawn for his keep; for the guys who know how to make a stubborn engine finally turn; for those who know even the basic knots any more in our Velcro world. There was so much energy so early in the morning -- getting to the boat and getting it ready; getting out to the right area of the bay, listening to radio chatter from the other dozen boats before the twilight marks legal starting times, the rush of the boat as it crisscrosses the water dragging the net, and the frenzy of separating all the animals that were caught up with the net. This is a work not for the slow-minded. This is a work not for the lackadaisical. This is a work for people who are alert to their environment, quick on their feet, and quick with their hands. It’s a work for the diversity that makes Houston so great -- Hispanics, whites, Asians, African-Americans each with their turf and doing pretty much the same work day after day.
It’s also a job for people with some pigment in their skin. Pale northern Europeans should be warned to prepare for lots of exposure, or choose another profession. Without romanticizing any of it, I felt spending a day on a shrimp boat made me respect the shrimpers considerably. It is labor, after all -- serious labor where weather, mechanical breakdowns, seasonal reproduction fluctuations can make or break a crew’s take-home pay. Personally, I’m safely ensconced in a white-collar new world professional job, where I sit in comfortable chairs, call others to fix the A/C, have someone make my copies. I’m not sure -- in another life -- if I could have ever had the temerity to go out on the water day after day and risk my daily take-home on so many old-world variables. But I would like to think I could do that. Spending a day on a shrimp boat made me respect the folks who have been shrimping in the gulf for so long and the folks who do it still today. It helped me understand an important and too invisible piece of the industry that supplies part of the diet of those of us living on the Gulf Coast. It helped me appreciate what can be a simple joy of a man working some with his hands, getting dirty, and spending time talking with men doing the same.
Be strong, and courageous.
Dixi et salvavi animam meam
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My purpose that warm July was twofold: to get some experience working manual labor and to understand more about the culture of the Gulf Coast. Shrimping has been an important part of human history here for centuries and not enough has been written about the women and men who have and continue to awake several hours before sunrise to troll back and forth throughout the day so the rest of us can have our fresh shrimp. The first reason is more complex -- though from a working class family, my father and mother always worked either retail or service once married. Except for minor summer stints cutting lawns and working with a professional plumber in my college years, I have no actual labor experience. My students often come from families or they themselves work in labor. I felt it would be important to experience, if only for a few hours, the life of the body.
Shrimp Boat Project 2012 Reflection
I’ve been to Galveston dozens of times, and my routine is pretty much the same every time -- drive over the causeway as quickly as I can, admiring the scenery of the bay as I drive 65, seeing only water and the occasional family with their poles or nets in the water. I continue along Broadway and decide to go to whichever beach suits our needs for the day. I get wet; I get sunburned; I return home. To me, the bay and the gulf at large have been simply a destination for my own recreational needs, and I’ve rarely thought about the people who live on the island and the people who work there.
Spending a day on a shrimp boat awakened me (literally, cognitively) to the early morning routine that sustains so much of the fresh seafood industry that we take for granted as we live and dine along the coast, and especially an hour north where we can revel in our air-conditioned restaurants or stop for five minutes along the road to buy fresh shrimp from the vendors who’ve made the drive. I have to respect any laborer who arises hours before the dawn for his keep; for the guys who know how to make a stubborn engine finally turn; for those who know even the basic knots any more in our Velcro world. There was so much energy so early in the morning -- getting to the boat and getting it ready; getting out to the right area of the bay, listening to radio chatter from the other dozen boats before the twilight marks legal starting times, the rush of the boat as it crisscrosses the water dragging the net, and the frenzy of separating all the animals that were caught up with the net. This is a work not for the slow-minded. This is a work not for the lackadaisical. This is a work for people who are alert to their environment, quick on their feet, and quick with their hands. It’s a work for the diversity that makes Houston so great -- Hispanics, whites, Asians, African-Americans each with their turf and doing pretty much the same work day after day.
It’s also a job for people with some pigment in their skin. Pale northern Europeans should be warned to prepare for lots of exposure, or choose another profession. Without romanticizing any of it, I felt spending a day on a shrimp boat made me respect the shrimpers considerably. It is labor, after all -- serious labor where weather, mechanical breakdowns, seasonal reproduction fluctuations can make or break a crew’s take-home pay. Personally, I’m safely ensconced in a white-collar new world professional job, where I sit in comfortable chairs, call others to fix the A/C, have someone make my copies. I’m not sure -- in another life -- if I could have ever had the temerity to go out on the water day after day and risk my daily take-home on so many old-world variables. But I would like to think I could do that. Spending a day on a shrimp boat made me respect the folks who have been shrimping in the gulf for so long and the folks who do it still today. It helped me understand an important and too invisible piece of the industry that supplies part of the diet of those of us living on the Gulf Coast. It helped me appreciate what can be a simple joy of a man working some with his hands, getting dirty, and spending time talking with men doing the same.
The next time I drive across the causeway, I will slow down. I will slow down some and look to see the boats out on the water.
Be strong, and courageous.
Dixi et salvavi animam meam
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Twitter @comstone
Professional Blog
