Still, quiet and serene. We gaze across the vivid blue Swanport River Estuary toward Great Oyster Bay in Tasmania. A gentle breeze ripples the sparkling water as billowy, white clouds crown the distant mountain range of the Freycinet Peninsula and National Park. Weathered wooden posts and long oyster frames stretch into the bay all around us.

Dave sloshes through the shallow water to a table about 50 yards from shore, carrying me in his arms with my left arm tightly hugging his shoulders. He tells me he can see baitfish frantically churning around his boots.  Everyone, except me, is dressed in neoprene chest waders so they can stand in the waters of the estuary.  Our guide unfurls a starched white tablecloth over the table built on concrete stilts, just in time for Dave to set me on one end of it. He’s been carrying me to exotic places like this for thirty-eight years now and it’s getting a little harder to do, so we are both glad it isn’t any farther out into the bay.

“How many oysters do you think you can eat?” asks Martin. “One of my groups did 90.” We look at each other and do the mental math…that’s almost two dozen for each of us! Brian and Dave think that might be do-able. Marissa and I gulp, imagining seven or eight will be plenty.

The guys wade over to the oyster racks and we all listen as Martin describes the oyster farming business at Freycinet Marine Farm. “We are standing in the brackish water part of the bay. The oysters in these racks are young and medium sized. The owner will sort them by size and then take several racks out into Oyster Bay so they can further mature in deeper salt water.  He’s got about four million oysters that he farms now.”

Everyone bellies up to the table (you might say I’ve bottomed up), as Martin pops the cork off a bottle of champagne, pours it into our glasses and sets out lime slices and a citrus sauce to accompany the oysters.

He pulls up a medium sized oyster, slides his knife through the muscle, deftly flips open the shell, and rinses it with a quick dip into the bay before detaching the creature and handing us the delicacy on a half shell.

We take our time, wanting this to last forever. My eyes feast on the spectacular surroundings. My ears hear the enormous outdoor quiet. A tern, as if on cue, swoops down, dives, and catches a small fish.  Black swans circle in the smooth water behind us.  The sun and breeze are gentle on our skin.

I turn to Dave with a quizzical smile, “Isn’t there a famous saying about oysters?”

“Yes, it’s a line from Shakespeare, I think. ‘The world is my oyster’”.

Why am I not surprised? He’s been my walking encyclopedia for over forty years now.

The world is my oyster. I like that. The world is ours to enjoy. To embrace in spite of obstacles or difficulties. It’s ours to open and explore.

And, who knows? If you Get Out and Go, you may find a day like today, and the memory of that will be a pearl.

If we can do it…you can do it.