I am a firm believer that God, in the act of creation, left mankind secrets within the natural order that hint at how people can best thrive. By observing the ecosystems around us, which have persisted, adapted, and grown amidst eons of change, we can learn insightful lessons from the universe’s wisest teacher.
Recently, I have taken such lessons from the humble eastern oyster (Crassostrea virginica), a staple of the estuarine ecosystem in which I live. For generations, South Carolinians have celebrated this small but treasured mollusk and broken bread at oyster roasts (and their skin when one is accidentally trampled in the mud). Oyster harvesting is a common family affair that connects us with our waters.
But for many years such harvesting was not conducted sustainably, leading to dramatic population declines. One of my chief responsibilities as a coastal conservationist, therefore, is restoring oyster reefs and their myriad benefits to the tidal zone. This is commonly done by placing shell recycled from restaurants and roasts along the edge of the salt marsh. The labor is manual and the shell heavy, but it is here amidst the muddy, meandering tidal creeks that this small creature took me under its wings.
Baby oysters (called spat) require a hard substrate to attach and grow from. But firm ground is not very common in tidal channels so infamously muddy that one can sink to his waist in a matter of steps. The only hard substrate naturally available, in fact, are the oyster reefs already present along the shoreline. These reefs consist of former generations of the oyster’s kin, both living and dead. In other words, a new generation of oysters builds upon the foundation left behind by the old.
And so it is with human society. Everywhere we are surrounded by the influence of the past: our Constitution, our political and social institutions, our infrastructure, our genetics. If we are wise, we take counsel from our elders, our ancestors, and the voices of history who bestowed these things that we often take for granted.
Every oyster, like every snowflake, is unique in its shape. But though singular in outward appearance, the inner calcium carbonate structure of each oyster is exactly the same, and all oysters form and decay by the same processes. The oyster thus reminds us how human nature too remains uniform across the ages, though our individual appearances and environments may vary. Our ancestors, though themselves unique individuals, experienced the same thoughts, desires, virtues, and vices that we do today. Hence, the benefit of their counsel.
If we are unwise, the insights and institutions of those who came before are disregarded and demolished, like when an oyster reef is removed from a tidal creek. When this happens, the spat remains untethered and aimless, with no place to grow. Most interestingly, should a spat find another hard item to cling to, such as a pier or buoy, it never grows as large or as fast because its nature is to grow only upon its ancestral foundation.
Adult oysters which happen to be separated from the reef are known as “shell hash.” They are often violently dashed to pieces by the waves, which crush them into long, narrow formations called shell rakes. So too with foolish men, the presentists or progressives of today, who wish to tear away the societal foundations that link us together, or those who do not heed the “wisdom of the species” and attempt to seek fulfillment elsewhere outside the limits of natural law and reason. These people build their houses upon sand instead of rock—a parable quite fitting for the coastal zone. When the metaphorical hurricane impinges upon the little tidal creek and “the streams rise and the winds blow,” their homes will fall with a great crash. They are as aimless as spat.
Indeed oyster reefs, as the only hard structure in the tidal system, perform the critical function of shoreline stabilization during such devastating natural events. The calcareous formations produce a bulwark that dissipates wave energy, making them of particular interest to conservationists like me who seek to restore salt marshes threatened by heavy boat traffic and tropical storms. Most comfortingly, should an oyster reef be restored to even the most eroded marsh, the shoreline can fully regain its sediment in only a handful of years. There is always hope for those who seek the rock of truth on which to build.
Oyster reefs are also resilient to sea level rise, another major threat to the coastal zone, because they rise with it. This is due to feedback between the process of oyster attachment and the reef’s elevation relative to sea level; a deeper water column means more space for oysters to form on the top layer of the reef. But because this feedback depends on where the reef already exists relative to sea level, such resilience is only possible when the reef is intact and all its members are in communion. Feedbacks such as this, which allow the tidal system to shift towards equilibrium in the face of disturbance, are resilience manifested.
The term “resilience” has become a buzzword as of late, especially in the conservation field. But the species of “resilience” I most commonly encounter in my daily work is a shallow simulacrum often praised by highly educated graduates living far from home who talk a great deal about community but as new arrivals are fundamentally estranged from those they are trying to help.
What these well-meaning people miss is that true resilience is an emergent quality that arises out of the communion of multiple individuals who live close, stay close, and share their lives with each other. A community’s resilience emanates in a degree proportionate to the intimacy of its members. It rises like an oyster reef built slowly over generations, which begins small and fragile but eventually becomes as solid and stalwart as rock, through human beings who know and support one another precisely because each is known. Resilience cannot, by definition, arise out of disjointed members who may be neighbors by proximity but do not even know each other’s names.
As Wendell Berry has frequently shared in his many works through the years, the communion needed for resilience most naturally comes when individuals share common tasks together. This is well expressed in his recent The Need to Be Whole, where he reflects upon the “working relationships” of his childhood. There, neighbors helped other neighbors on their farms and so shared each other’s lives and livelihood.
Oysters are famous for their water filtration abilities. A single oyster can filter 50 gallons of dirty estuarine water in one day. If the little mollusks have any common task to share, it is this. These oysters fight together against the chaos and entropy around them and work to improve the surrounding habitat by removing pollutants. This is also the calling of every responsible citizen, every loving husband and wife, and every neighbor. We are obligated by responsibility, reason, and our common ties to fight against the evils and difficulties of life, to be lights in our communities, and to propagate goodness. Oysters take seriously the old proverb about “putting one’s house in order.”
But anyone familiar with shellfish harvesting knows that oysters can often become so contaminated that they are rendered unsafe to eat. And even when safe to eat, oysters by their constant filtration accumulate sand and other irritants that make their consumption unpleasant. This is why a common practice before boiling harvested oysters is to “soak” them in fresh water, so that the oysters flush the clean water through their systems and expel their contaminants.
The oyster therefore reminds us of the constant struggle between light and darkness experienced by those who work to improve their surroundings or, as Christians, to advance the Kingdom of God. The task of improvement, in which one must directly see, touch, and feel the brokenness they seek to remedy, always reflexively impacts the repairman in some way. Sometimes it leaves a stain. There is joy to be found in the restoration of a community and a place, but also sadness at its sorry condition, the chain of events that led to its brokenness, and its place as merely one of countless communities suffering under the atomization of the modern age. At the worst, this necessary engagement with brokenness can overwhelm and corrupt the soul. There is a reason why Christ warns that unhealthy eyes can lead to a whole body “full of darkness.” The oyster reminds us of our daily need to reflect on what is true, pure, and lovely as we battle the corruptive forces around us; our need to be renewed by calm, fresh water.
But battle its surrounding forces the noble oyster does as it cleans the surrounding habitat–not just for itself but for the numerous estuarine fish, crabs, and other invertebrates that call their reefs home. Oyster reefs are often referred to as the “rainforests of the estuary” because of their critical role as a supportive habitat for other species. This, lastly, reminds us that man is not limited to communion with mankind alone but has been given the unique ability to appreciate and care for all of earth’s creatures and to restore their ecological communities too. And this, dear reader, brings us full circle–back to the act of lugging heavy bags of recycled oyster shell to the salt marsh edge.
So live like the oyster, eat an oyster, and remember to recycle your shell for the benefit of future generations of man and mollusk alike.
Image Via: Rawpixel
