A Tribute

Perform an internet search for the words “Ghost Crab.” In merely one tenth of a second Google will generate 1.4 million hits. You know what these little crustaceans are, right? They appear from countless voids in the sand with one claw acting as a scooper/dumper. They proceed to pitch their load and race sideways back to their holes. Watching them becomes hypnotic, especially from my office on the Playita.

You all remember my story about the young man who re-purposed a broom into a kayak paddle? Well, the other morning I discovered that it had been re-purposed yet again into a futbol (soccer) goal post. Its companion was a piece of drift wood delivered by the sea. Countless mounds formed by furious feet bore silent witness to the prior night’s frenzy. The field lay ghostly void of activity.

Well, that’s not really true. The ghost crabs were out, perhaps a hundred or more, all performing the morning housekeeping tasks they were hard-wired to enact. Endless teaspoon sized deposits of sand immerged to be transported a foot away and pitched. The crabs crossed paths, paused for a second or two, then disappeared down their caverns-in-progress. Two tiny eyes affixed atop antenna style extensions afford their owners the ability to sense movement from all directions. Any intruder will cause each to scamper sideways propelled by eight legs independently engaging at warp speed. Within a nanosecond the Playita is empty of ghost crabs. This scenario plays out countless times throughout the day. While I have observed repeated canine attempts to pursue these creatures deep into the ground, I have yet to see said canine immerge with a crab in tow. Nature has chosen to protect these entertaining octopeds. 

      

In Appreciation  

This past week, Diana and I received word that a friend, and Yelapa visitor, had died as the result of cancer.  We met Steve and his wife Karen during their afternoon visit to our pueblo. We shared a cold beverage and lunch at our favorite restaurant, Shambhala. The four-way conversation was animated and warm. We became instant friends. Although Steve’s physical presence was not substantial, he quickly carved caverns of life and meaning into those with whom he came in contact. He was a gentle giant. Thank you, Karen, for sharing him. Thank you Steve for the memory you planted within us.