A couple of weeks ago I went to my local seafood shop and picked up the box of oysters for a “shucking & slurping at sunset” neighborhood gathering. The visit sent me roaring down memory lane. I was a boy when I ate my first raw oyster. It came from Choctawhatchee Bay, not more than 20 miles from where I was buying a box that day. Back then the bay was at the heart of a fishing, shrimping, oystering culture that is largely gone today. I got to see it. I even got to taste it. All because my father...

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