By Chet
Our carpool group arrived at Slater Mill a few minutes later than the other cars.
The timing, the traffic, a detour around some road work, and a glitch in the car’s GPS --everything seemed to have conspired to make us late for the tour.
Yet, those seemingly independent random events would completely change the course of our day.
The tour was fully booked; there was simply no room for any more visitors.
Gathering our group, we went back to the car and set the GPS for the waterfront at India Point Park.
We left Pawtucket behind in an upbeat mood, filled with enthusiasm and anticipation rather than disappointment.
Crossing over the Providence River bridge, the water came into view. One of our campers, a girl from the landlocked Midwest, looked out at the horizon.
"I have been coming to Rhode Island for four years of camp," she said.
"This is my last year, and I have never been to the seashore."
She went on to share that she has a jar filled with seashells from her travels, adding, "I don't have any from New England."
Perhaps missing the tour of the old mill wasn’t an accident.
Perhaps quantum probability had shifted; the interconnected web had pulled us exactly where we needed to be to fulfill a four-year-old, yet-unfulfilled desire.
At India Point, the campers moved carefully over the rocks to the water’s edge, gleefully spotting a bed of common blue mussels within reach.
These shells, I thought, would make for a simple souvenir.
I kept my eyes on the campers, standing back a bit, and followed behind them from the top of the large rocks at the edge of the grass.
While continuing to watch the campers navigate the large tidal rocks, I glanced down momentarily only to spot an intact quahog shell in very good condition, probably dropped by a seagull.
The upper side was a beautiful blend of chalky white, warm tan, and rich hints of orange, while the underside was stained with the majestic wampum purple—the color historically prized by Native nations for its beauty, spiritual value, and use as currency.
"It will make a great souvenir," I thought.
I quietly slipped it into my pocket, deciding I would reveal this gift just as we were leaving the park, like a final punctuation mark on our random day.
But there is much more to the story.
Brahman and randomness were not done with us yet.
To be continued….
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