Dancing With Seagulls

www.manderstanding.com



  For the last two decades, biologists from around the world have been racing to the South Carolina coastline to witness one of the oddest migrations of seagulls since the infamous Lake Titicaca incident of 1982. Each November, during the week of Thanksgiving, seagulls flock by the dozens to the beaches off Myrtle Beach or Hilton Head Island. Unknown to biologists is why they do this and how they choose between these two seemingly unconnected locations. Known by a fortunate few members of a less-than-famous family is the real reason for the migration. This is the true story of how one family from Ohio drove the scientific world to dance with the seagulls of South Carolina.

  It all started with an idea from my Mom: leave our home in cold and gray Cleveland every Thanksgiving and spend the holiday with as much family as possible. The only real question was where the entire clan would spend the week. After much mass debating, we settled on South Carolina and would rotate Thanksgivings between Myrtle Beach and Hilton Head Island. It was the best choice we could have made. South Carolina in November was warm during the day, cool at night and then there were those perfect ocean breezes.

   On the final night of one such vacation, we all went to dinner at a local Italian restaurant. Being the classy Mid-Westerners that our family is, we took all of our leftovers back to condo not fully realizing that our drive back to Ohio was the next morning. With our bags packed and our cars loaded up, we did our usual final walk through to make sure we didn't leave anything behind. Because my family is awesome and my grandfather wanted to make sure he had all of his beer, we checked the fridge. To our surprise were a dozen leftover boxes of spaghetti. Not wanting to just throw out all of this amazing food, my ever thoughtful mother suggested we take it to the beach to see if the seagulls would eat it. We left the cars at the condo and walked the fifty or so yards down to the beach one last time. What happened next would leave such an indelible mark on my family and biologists to this very day.



   With the girls watching from a short distance away, us men walked down towards the water. None of us noticing the many sets of eyes already watching our every move, and already calculating theirs. We stopped just yards short of the surf and started to open up the boxes of leftovers: spaghetti, penne, alfredo and even breadsticks. All were destined for unknown greatness and glory. My grandfather seemed to become aware of the pending disaster and began to backup away from the rest of us. Slowly. Quietly. His military training taking over. He started to run.

   Unbeknownst to the rest of us, the first gull dove towards our offering. We were too busy wondering why my grandfather was running towards the girls with his hands covering his head. What the hell was he running for? Then we heard the first squawk. We now knew why he ran. The devilbirds began their crazed descent toward the Italian smorgasbord with lightning quick speed. We ran toward the girls, toward safety. The only thing heard for miles were our screams ... and the laughter coming from the girls. We were bobbing and weaving and arms were flailing all over. There were so many of them. Everywhere you looked was an open mouth, a wing, a hungry white blur. It was a pasta massacre. There was marinara everywhere. Meatballs were pillaged. It was pure carbohydrate carnage. Seagulls flew away with long strands of spaghetti hanging out of there beaks. Fights broke out over breadsticks. Many a good noodle was lost that day on the beach. To the victors went the spoils and the victors never had a better meal. We reached the safety of the girls and headed back to the cars, laughing the entire way. The only thing anyone could talk about during the drive home and for the next year was the seagull feeding frenzy. We laughed until we cried whenever it was brought up.

  Every Thanksgiving spent in South Carolina since that day, my family would make an Italian feast fit for a king the night before our departure and make an offering on the beach for our feathered friends. We would, in fact, save all of our leftovers for the seagulls. There would be pancakes, sandwiches, seafood and our favorite, chicken wings, all served with a heaping portion of spaghetti. Our antics even evolved to buying loaves of sliced bread and throwing balled up slices behind unsuspecting family members as they walked on the beach. Seagulls would divebomb them and snatch up their treats as we laughed from a safe distance.

  Our tradition, which sadly ended with the passing of my grandfather, will be something I will pass down to my own family. The laughter we shared on the beaches of South Carolina are a distant memory that still feel like they happened only yesterday. Being able to create a tradition out of a singular event and have that tradition be such a driving force in the memories of my family is something to cherish. Times change. Family moves. But no matter what, we will always have our dance with our seagull friends. And when you hear biologists inquire about the strange seagull migrations off the coast of South Carolina, you will know why.

From the Judges:

I feel like I should be applauding right now. That post had the potential to be so poorly written, but you certainly have a way with words. This is a prime example of why some blogs have tons of followers, and tons don't. You could have very easily called this something stupid like 'When Seagulls Attack', and written it out like a comedy scene. Instead, you turned it into an epic battle of man vs. bird, and it played out like a wonderfully directed movie in my head. Bravo!

-Tessa Taboo

Wow! You had me the entire way. I had no idea where it was going, but it went somewhere great. You summed up what a great tradition is, "Times change, family moves. But no matter what, we will always have our dance with our seagull friends." Truly gave me a sense of who you and your family are... excellent job!

-Daddy's in Charge?

At the beginning, I was thinking "Where on earth is this going?" But somewhere along the lines, it picked up and then it really went! Your writing was fantastic - Tessa said it very well. The story all came together in the end, and it worked.
I also love the tie-in with the biologists and the migrations. It just cracked me up (but my husband's undergraduate degree was in Ecology, so maybe I'm just a nerd).

-The Spaghetti Westerner

You have such a way with words that I clearly imagined the whole thing in my head! This is so beautifully written that I felt like I was there to share the experience with your family. I love how you started and ended it in a way that wrapped it all up so nicely for your readers.

-Bay Area Mommy

I guess I'll be the black sheep of the judges panel this week. I thought it was a very touching, well-written post; however, I somehow was left wanting to know more about you. For me, the end felt a little trite, but only a little. I liked the way you tied the intro to the ending. Good post.

-From the Bungalow

I couldn't help but laugh as I pictured the men running up the beach being chased by rabid seagulls. I too was concerned in the beginning, but was pleased at the end result. You do indeed have a way with words and storytelling. Great post and what a great tradition and story to share with your kids!

-You Know It Happens At Your House Too (Guest Judge)