Ward was born the year after his grandfather had the throat cancer surgery. When he was a boy, T. It was pictures of boats, netting and rigging just so. When he was 10, his grandfather named a boat after him. No one ever named a boat for you unless you were old or dead. But there it was: The Captain T. When he was a teen, his summer job was washing oysters.
When T. When the bay and his family were all but destroyed, he came back. And then T. He motored into the waters of the next county, where such things are allowed, and began experimenting with technology that could leave four generations of Ward family oystering obsolete.
Ward pilots his uncle's boat from one of their two long-standing bottom oyster leases in Apalachicola Bay. The fishery was declared a disaster in and since then oysters have become scarcer due to high salinity and an increase in predators.
The right answer is under three domes. Try to follow while the cups whizz by, shifting, swirling. Shell 1: An empty oyster bay. But also history. Shell 2: A slick farming industry that could render the Florida oysterman finally, permanently extinct. Shell 3: The government, doling out money and regulations that might do more harm than good.
But the sheriff cars are wrong. Those oysters are from Texas. These days? Almost nothing. In , the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration declared a fishery disaster on the bay and it has continued to diminish since. For almost 30 years, a legal battle has raged over water usage. In , Florida sued Georgia in the U. Supreme Court. Florida said Georgia was using too much water, leaving too little for Florida. Whether the court sides with Florida or Georgia, any decision will likely result in more litigation.
Amid the water battles came the oil. Some think oil killed the oysters, others that dispersant used to bead and sink the oil did it. After the spill and in advance of tar balls washing up, the oystermen petitioned the state to open the oyster beds.
In May , T. The small bar used to be prolific, the bottom carpeted with clusters of brawny eastern oysters. He bent and hefted a snail, wound up and chucked it far inland. It was a good throw, T. That predatory southern oyster drill would die before it made it back to water.
Ward holds up a southern oyster drill that he pulled off an oyster at one of his two decimated bottom leases in the bay. These saltwater snails used to be held at bay with fresh water; increased salinity in the estuary has meant they can plunder oysters all year round.
Oyster drills love the saltier water. It means they can inch into the bay from the gulf, searching for food with their siphons. They brought in a single bag between them. Ten years ago, that might have been upward of 30 bags. Why would I give up now?
I grew up wanting to be like my dad, and he grew up wanting to be like his dad. Across the water, not far, but technically in the next county, T. Embracing the fastest-growing form of food production in the world, he is trying oyster aquaculture. One foot in oyster hunting, one in oyster farming, his story sits where hidebound tradition butts up against new technology. Ward walks into 13 Mile Seafood Market, which his family owns, with a basket of local oysters.
In Native American cultures with access to these saltwater bivalve molluscs, pottery painting and other art proliferated. Folks had more time on their hands with all this abundant animal protein at their feet. In the early 19th century, oysters were a cheap, working-class mainstay in New York and London.
The United States once produced more oysters than all other countries combined, million pounds of meat per year, much canned in big factories. But somewhere along the way, this workhorse food became a delicacy. As demand increased, disease, overharvesting and fishery mismanagement sent stocks plummeting, causing prices to skyrocket. Ward shows a freshly shucked wild eastern oyster from one of his bottom leases. His family has been in the oyster business for four generations, but it is no longer a consistent source of income.
Today, Americans eat about 2. They protect against shoreline erosion. A case could be made that they are as close to eating plants as it gets in the animal world. Diners are not thinking about shoreline erosion and ecosystem health as they apply Tabasco or fancy mignonette, sleeves of saltines at the ready. Natural, yes.
But 95 percent of oysters we eat today are farmed. Ward, his daughter Ryan, 2, and his wife Melanie take a break while working at 13 Mile Seafood Market in downtown Apalachicola. He followed the 2-year-old along the wooden wharf, past the Miss Martha, named for T.
An American flag snapped overhead in the brisk marine wind. He wants her to grow up on the water, the way he did. She loves to be out on the boat, but who knows?
Out at the oyster house, the cavernous storage room is empty except for ghosts. These days just a handful go out looking for oysters.
There are ghosts of the 50 people who used to work here — the tongers, the women who shucked, the housemen and truckers — but also family ghosts. His family ended up owning half the lease beds in Apalachicola Bay, leases that never run out so long as the fees get paid. To establish a lease, they had to survey and mark a barren piece of bottom and plant it with shell to make a productive bed.
Buddy was a big guy, firm handshake, looked a man in the eye. Growing up poor, Buddy worked hard and passed that on to his five sons, Olan Jr. Olan Jr. The oyster business has always been tough. In , Hurricanes Kate and Elena buried the oyster bars, loads of oystermen pulling up stakes and moving to Louisiana. And it got wiped out in in Hurricane Dennis, roads buckled and closed, major Eastpoint oyster houses reduced to rubble. Buddy lived just one more year but got his way.
Lawyers and insurance, Tommy replied. He would fight for the seafood industry. In Tallahassee, he met Melanie Dufrayer. While dating T. When Tommy got bladder cancer in , Melanie and T. They moved back permanently and abandoned their studies. Now Melanie Ward, 26, works most days at the market, helping tourists in flip flops buying snowy fillets of grouper and snapper packed in ziplocks. The town is still famous for its oysters, but every day locals and tourists have to settle for Texas oysters when the meager local catch is exhausted.
They both just want to be the boss. Ask T. His dad was an oysterman, his granddad still tongs every day. The last time he went out there, he said, there were 75 boats.
Baby oysters need to adhere to something, preferably oyster shells. The Chesapeake Bay was decimated by disease and overharvesting, but also because millions of bushels of oyster shells were dredged to supply material for road and construction projects. The silty bottom provided no habitat for the next generation.
He followed the 2-year-old along the wooden wharf, past the Miss Martha, Equally yoked dating, named for T. I beg you to stop, remove yourself from the situation, and seek Godly counsel — Equally yoked dating what you think you want to hear. Baby oysters need to adhere to something, preferably oyster shells. A case could be made that they are as close to eating plants as it gets in the animal world. So how do you become Equally yoked dating member? Who are these people on the sites? Who are these people that are viewing your information and picture? The oyster business has always been tough. The Bible is an incredible piece of work stretching over thousands of years from different writers from all walks of life. My charge is to help.
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