My first two houses were pretty uneventful. My first was set on the edge of a field with a big old brick farm house behind it called the “Sleeper Farm” named for the family who had for a long time, owned the land. I dubbed  it “The Hollow” because I won’t lie – it was a bit creepy. But it made for GREAT photography.

My second was new. Boring. Plain. It even felt a little stuffy. Maybe it was my bunkmate at the time that gave it that feeling…

But this house? It is so full of character. It’s rich in history. The discoveries, good and bad, are never ending. The field that leads up to our quarry on the other hand? NIGHTMARE. Tires, big cement blocks, garbage, an old set of ladder-style stairs… and clam shells?

We live exactly one mile to the coast. Our town’s harbor in a straight shot is less than that from our driveway, but my zig-zagging running route puts me from my house to the shore line in 1 mile. Okay, maybe seagulls brought them by, dropped ’em off.

But wait. A PILE? There’s at least 50 clam shells in this one pile!

Someone had clam dinner and didn’t invite us…