One White Rubber Boot...

By Fritzi Presley   I was born in Long Beach, Mississippi. Our home was at 124 East Beach...we lived on the water...no, literally...if we weren't fishin', we were crabbin'...if we weren't crabbin' we were sailin'...if we weren't sailin', we were swimmin'...well, you get the point...we even managed to squeeze school into our schedules...Catholic, of course.
 
I was so proud of bein' born an' raised here, that, even as a little bitty kid, I made mental notes of its wonders.  Drivin' down the beach highway...sometimes, there would be one "lonely" white, rubber boot...a shrimper's boot...lyin' near the dashed line, down the middle of Highway 90.  The pick-ups that bore their teemin' loads to the many thriving shrimp markets an' restaurants always had 2 x 2's crammed down the corner holes in the sides of the bed, right out there by the tailgate. Shrimpers would hang there boots upside down on the sticks...to let the salt water drain from them, after a hard day's work. Sometimes, when the beds were heavily burdened with bountiful fare, a boot would wriggle its way up...an' be lost...lost to them...but not to me...I saw it on the highway...a tribute to an unknown fisherman...a hard-workin', family-lovin', God-fearin' fisherman...
 
Even as a little child, i would ponder that boot...I would think of the shrimper.  Poor guy, he lost his boot, an' would hafta buy another pair...then, i would think...well...if he lost the right one THIS time, maybe he lost the left one LAST time...an' now...he would have  a pair.  I'd rather think that, than that someone had to spend his moeny to get another pair...I worried about that...as a child...
 
An avid sailor, practically from birth, I would oftentimes, observe the shrimpers, goin' out an' comin' in.  Goin' out in the evenin's...comin' in with the sun. They were majestic to me, in a salt of the earth kinda way...I admired the shrimpers, oystermen and the fishers...as bein' strong men...members of the most noble of professions...providing sustenance for our families...a most delicious sustenance, to be sure.
 
 Growin' up Catholic, an' before the Second Vatican Council, yet, it was required of us to make the SUPREME sacrifice of not eatin' meat on Fridays or on days of fast an' abstinence.  My entire childhood, I failed to see the logic in that deliberated deprivation.  Somebody in Italy must have never had Gulf seafood...or Mamma's creole cookin'.  On the contrary, Fridays were quite the treat.  Mamma's filet gumbo...no meat...no meat stock...I vaguely recall some old French sayin'...that was in the context of no meat broth on Fridays...or you were in cahoots with the devil.  Fried shrimp, boiled crabs, oyster stew, stuffed flounder, shrimp creole, fresh fried soft shells...some sacrifice, huh?
 
I know I speak for every native son an' daughter of the Mississippi Gulf Coast when I say...Thank you.  Our thanks to every fisherman, oysterman an' shrimper, for the sacrifices you have made to carry on the traditions of your fathers, that make us proud to be from the Mississippi Gulf Coast....that, for generations, have made us proud to be counted among YOUR FRIENDS.  After all we have been through together, we know somethin' no one else in this great nation will ever know...the true meaning of community...an' all of our unique, beachy hometowns, that grace our shores all the way down our scenic coastline...breathe as one...our hearts beat as one.  We have weathered the storms...together. We play hard...together...We work hard...together...an' when the day is done...there lies, somewhere, near the dashed line in the middle of  Highway 90...one "lonely" white, rubber boot...

Fritzi Presley describes herself as a survivor, "I survived Katrina, losing only "stuff". Miraculously, I survived cancer, becoming a better person for it. Sadly , I survived the deaths of my wonderful husband and amazing son, making me strong!!! And, now, the oil spill aftermath...making me determined!"