On occassion, there are rules that, at first glance, don’t seem to make sense. For example, some friends recently visited me on the lovely island of St. Croix in the US Virgin Islands where I have a home. My pretty island sports numerous white sand beaches, and, like me, my friend Abby couldn’t wait to do some beachcombing.

Like many Caribbean islands, there’s an abundance of interesting objects that wash up during high tide. There’s multi-colored sea glass, the rough edges ground down by years of rolling about in the waves: green, blue, brown, aqua, white, and on very rare occasions red. There are sea fans that appear to be made of lace and smoothed chunks of blonde driftwood. Here in St. Croix we also have something special called “chaney”, pieces of pottery and china that are said to have been tossed off ships because they were broken and importers didn’t want to pay taxes on damaged goods. Many of these pieces remain vibrant and beautiful despite centuries in the sea.

Then, of course, there are shells. It’s hard not to be amazed by nature when staring at a beautifully coiled shell. I will admit here that I have spent much of my life picking up shells and taking them home to display. However, I’ve now learned the practice is not sustainable.

“I saw that we aren’t supposed to pick up shells,” Abby said, looking a bit deflated as we roamed a rocky stretch of beach just outside of Christiansted Harbor.

I nodded. “I know.”

“But why?” Abby asked.

I considered her question. The oceans are so vast, the idea of taking home a single shell seems insignificant in the extreme. Still, the reasoning is sound. It’s all about real estate. Crab housing, as it were, and I managed to prove the rule makers were not crazy.

Some of you may have had hermit crabs as pets. We step gingerly in my home because the little guys often come through the doors and wander about. Some of them are quite big. Recently I found one as big as my hand trudging through the backyard. The problem is that as they grow they need bigger shells to move into.

The other day I noticed a crab toting a shell that appeared too small. I thought about his predicament that afternoon when we spotted two beautiful black-and-white magpie shells. The snails that had once resided in them were long gone, so, yes, I brought them home. But I didn’t put them on a shelf. Instead, I placed them on the floor in a corner of the porch. I flipped both shells open side up and left them there.

I could not have been more thrilled the next day when my crab friend was walking around wearing the smaller of the two shells. He’d flipped both of them over and decided the little shell was perfect. Then he left his old shell right in the same spot.

In the interest of crab happiness, I will now leave most shells on the beach. But since my land crabs don’t mix well with water, I’ll continue to place a few on the porch, because even nature needs a little help now and then.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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