A sound life for shells

Shells, like broken pieces of pottery, hold some fascination for me. When I see either scattered on the ground, I’m compelled to wonder how its previous owner used it. I want to know the back-story of where a shell or pot came from, and how it came to be tossed aside.

Since moving from the Midwest at age 12, I have been fortunate enough to visit many beaches. And from nearly every one, on nearly every visit, I have collected a shell or two, or 10 or 20.  No more do I want these relics from the South Pacific, New York, Mexico, California and Florida gathering dust in baskets or glass jars. So I’ve come up with a very simple way to put them in view. Continue reading

Beach sherds

IMG_6688Shells are my booty from a weekend spent with friends in a place called Summer Haven. (Evocative name. I think I want to call my house Summer Haven. However it is decidedly NOT in the line of a steady ocean breeze.)

Nothing like a beach littered with craft supplies, free for the taking. I have a little memory project in mind for these beauties, or ones very similar to these. More about the weekend, and the craft, coming in the next day or two.

Clara at Summer Haven.

Clara at Summer Haven.