From the Vineyard Gazette edition of Nov. 15, 1929:

This is the season of the year when all the Vineyard goes scalloping. The toothsome bivalves spatter and flit along the surface of the water in every cove along the marshy shores of the great ponds that are open to the sea, and may be picked up on the beach after every blow, fresh, sweet and lively.

There is something psychological about this annual onslaught upon the scallops. All along the shores of the great ponds such as Lagoon, and others, may be found great mounds, which, being opened, disclose that they are composed almost entirely of broken shells. This tends to prove that the Indians had the habit of visiting the ponds to feed upon the shellfish long before the coming of the whites. Doubtless this practice was common to many mainland tribes, but it is not apparent that the white successors of these tribes inherited the custom to the extent that Vineyarders have done.

State, county and towns lay down the laws as to when scallops may be taken, and this is, of course, as it should be. But regardless of the law there is some instinct, some voice of nature that whispers to the Vineyarder when it is time to gather the bivalves. This refers solely to the taking of scallops for family use, or individual consumption would be more proper, and strange to say the whisper does not come before the season opens, but some little time after the law allows the taking.

It is the gulls that begin the season. They do not show much activity until the season has been open for a week or two, according to the weather, but usually about ten days or two weeks after, the autoists on the Edgartown road will begin to notice the broken shells on the hard tarvia. The gulls swoop down into the pond, seize a scallop, and soaring aloft, drop it on the road surface where it is shattered, allowing the soft contents of the shell to be picked out with ease. There are occasional quahaugs, crabs and winkles, but the bulk of the shells are those of scallops.

Shortly after the gulls open the season, it appears as if ninety per cent of the Island’s adult population develop a desire for scallops and the fun begins in earnest. They go on foot, in cars and boats. They walk the beaches, wade in the shallows and rake the scallops from boats. They catch them in dip nets, with garden rakes and potato diggers, or, possessing none of these, they use their hands.

Men, women and children may be found scalloping. Tiny boys tug bags or baskets as large as themselves, as they follow father, grandfather or perhaps mother. And these ladies who follow the scallops are not by any means restricted to the beaches or boats. They pull on long boots and wade with the best when occasion demands it. And many of them bear a hand with the shucking of the scallops after the catch is made.

The scallop is the rabbit of the shellfish kingdom, gentle, inoffensive, fleeing from everything and everyone, yet nosing into every place accessible to him as if in search of something. Probably he is. And when captured, he does not sulk like the oyster, nor seal himself in his shell like the quahaug. He does not stretch out a blind neck when it is time for the tide rise, as the clam does, nor attempt any fruitless pilgrimage like the winkle. Instead he protests in a mild way against his capture and retention, opening his shell, as if to look about, and at times, snapping it vigorously a few times. Pick him up and he will nip you sharply if your fingers are between the shells, but generally speaking the scallop is a mild-mannered creature, beloved by all who know him.

Two-thirds of the contents of the scallop shell is useless as food, only the “eye” which holds the two shells together being utilized. In opening the scallop, it is held in the left hand, with the flattest side uppermost, if you can determine which is the flattest side, the hinge away from the operator. The blunt-ended scallop knife is inserted at the slide near the hinge, where a slight gap between the shells allows an easy entrance. Scraping upward, the eye is separated from the upper shell which opens widely, often falling clear. One motion, with a skilled shucker, removes the gills, and other innards that completely surround the eye, and another scrape with the knife takes the eye from the under shell and drops it into a container.

But this is nowhere near as easy as it sounds. The main point to remember in opening scallops is to remove the eye clean without leaving any fragments adhering to the shells. Only a veteran can do this. Speed is the next requisite, that is, among the commercial openers, who are paid by the gallon.

But among the householders who gather the scallops for their own use during that period between the opening of the season by the state, and the date set by towns, no speed is necessary. Entire families may often try their hands at the work and the family cat will be very much in evidence for all cats love scallops.

Compiled by Hilary Wall
library@mvgazette.com