Monkey balls!

Our group of friends has a Memorial Day tradition: camping at Assateague Island National Seashore. Each spring, as the allergies subside and the weather takes a turn for the pleasant, a large group of us heads out to the coast for a long weekend of camping, bugs, weenie roasts and tequila shots. We also go clamming.

Clamming is difficult, but rewarding, work. It's not for the faint of heart, as it involves burrowing your feet into slimy mud while waist-deep in brackish water. However, for every punishment in life there is an equal, and just, reward. This is never more true than in the art of clamming.

The heat of the day and the grossness of the mud are off-set by the coolness of the water, and the tranquil feeling you get from standing in the middle of the Sinepuxent Bay. And let's not forget the satisfaction of procuring fresh shellfish to share with the rest of the camp.

Didn't I just list two rewards, with only one punishment? Fear not, the universe is adept at self-correcting such imbalances.

So as we are shuffling through the mud, toes eagerly seeking the round, hard, rock-like texture of a buried clam, we discover that there is another life form lurking in the deep. Round and hard, but slimy with prickly little hairs, this *creature* is neither plant, nor animal. Most vexing is its ubiquity, and the high number of false-positives it generates.

Basically, you stumble into what feels like a clam, only to retrieve a hairy, quivering, unidentifiable ball. Is it a seed? A pod? An egg of some sort? Or is it a Monkey Ball?!