Summer 1949
I was just thinking about our moving to James Island in the summer of 1949. We moved into a small 2-bedroom house about 30m from the high water mark on the beach. There was a steep stairway off one of the bedrooms up into the attic and Terry and I had a bedroom up there with a tiny little window that looked north up the straits and Sidney on Vancouver Island. None of us had ever lived on an island or a beach before and it was all very exciting to explore this strange place.
The beach was like a magnet and we spent most of our days there picking up rocks and shells. Of course, not having any previous experience we didn't separate empty shells from the homes of living sea life. A wall of shelves was along one wall of the other space in the attic and we didn't take long to fill them completely with all our new treasures.
As the hot days of summer passed the aroma in our home became stranger and stranger. Mom could not figure out where it was coming from and we, the 3 boys, were clueless! Finally, one hot day, Mom ascended into the forbidding territory known as the attic to see if that was the source. Guess what? It was! All our lovely sea shells had died, and were rotting in the heat of the attic in summer.
That was the last time we were allowed to bring sea shells or creatures into the house.