Old Bay

The other afternoon was beautiful so I decided to sit outside on the boat dock while I did some needed reading.  About a half of chapter into it Bro. Berny walked down to the dock with a white, five-gallon bucket in his hand.  "I need to check my crab traps" he said, and he asked if I wanted to handle the net in case any tried to escape.  That sounded great to me.  I hadn't been crabbing in years.  He pulled up the first one, which was attached to the side of the dock where I had been reading.  You could tell by its condition that this trap has been in the business for a long time.  Twisted wires and bungee straps held together panels of moss covered grates, yet with all those years of operation the devise still served its purpose; there were crabs.  Eight in all had found their way to the fish head, but only three were "keepers", which was perfect; one for Bro. Berny, one for Sis. Cindy, and one for yours truly!

As you can see, those blue claws are about to have their lives spiced up.  The smell of Old Bay seasoning invokes wonderful memories of many crab feasts, but it isn't a great experience for the crab, it's the smell of death, as with various activities in many peoples lives.  Some love the smell of beer but the brew will eventually destroy their liver, or their family or their life.  It's the smell of death.  The smell of burning rubber may be evidence of a fast car on a city street until that young man who is showing off meets with a tragic end.  Be careful of what smells attract you, they may end up being the smell of death.  Your Death!


Chuck