Sandy
Or, the road to shell is paved with good intentions
With aplomb, my four-year-old has entered the "cool rock" phase of post-toddlerdom. This follows the initial rock-obsessed phase, which sparks about the first time a young child learns how to pitch a hefty stone into a body of water, and generally lasts until the day you die.
Late last week, Felix and Cait went to the playground down the street from our house. He took with him his trusty yellow bucket, which generally leaves empty and returns full of leaves, stones, gumtree seeds, pine cones, or any number of various neighborhood treasures. So it was no surprise when he returned with a bucket full of stones plucked from the field down the hill from the playground.
It was a surprise, however, that one such cool rock sprouted legs and began scurrying around in the bucket.
I am not a stranger to hermit crabs. Years ago, Cait and I stayed in a beach house with her family on Tybee Island, Georgia for a long weekend. My eldest children spent the day playing on the beach, collecting shells. That night, while we adults played Settlers of Catan, one of the shells stood up and scurried across my Longest Road, prompting a whiskey-fueled, madcap midnight rescue operation to deposit our dear intruder back on the beach whence it came.
But what do you do when you find a hermit crab in the middle of the city, an 11-hour drive away from their nearest native habitat in the US?
You call the National Aquarium’s Marine Animal Rescue unit, of course.
Unfortunately, hermit crabs fall outside their jurisdiction. A kind dispatcher suggested I try the Maryland Department of Natural Resources, who in turn pointed me to Baltimore City Animal Control, who, as it turns out, does not rescue hermit crabs.
I then turned to BlueSky to crowdsource a solution. This was the overwhelming response:
No. Absolutely not. No can do. Not an acceptable solution.
While I searched for someone—anyone—who might give this crab a proper home, I drove out to Tipping the Scales, a reptile and “wet pet” shop in Essex, Maryland, to pick up a temporary enclosure. We also got a substrate mix (hermit crabs prefer a 5:1 blend of play sand and coconut fiber), some leafy greens, tap water de-chlorinator, and a few pieces of crab-safe climbing wood.
As the weekend dragged on, our new guest grew restless, constantly pacing the perimeter of her clear plastic cell. I wondered—do crabs feel ennui?
Some further research revealed she was a female Purple Pincher, a species known for its oversized violet claw. We officially christened her “Sandy Claws.”
The next day, on the drive home from the supermarket, Cait and Felix stopped at a sidewalk lemonade stand. While buying a few mint-garnished cups from a pair of precocious young salespeople, they spotted some fallen magnolia leaves nearby—perfect, they thought, for sprucing up Sandy’s enclosure. That same afternoon, Cait also found a proper glass terrarium at a thrift store. One with some real space for Sandy to roam and burrow.
The days passed with no leads. Sandy’s shell still seemed snug, so I ordered a batch of appropriately sized Mexican turbo shells from eBay. As it turns out, the hermit crab specialty-care economy is surprisingly robust—full of handmade crab food, species-specific shell preferences, and endless enrichment ideas for “crabitats.” Apparently, Purple Pinchers are especially fond of turbo shells, and having the right fit is essential to their comfort and health.
Then I started to wonder: hermit crabs are social creatures. How long had Sandy been alone out in that field? How did she end up there? Was she lonely? And what does loneliness even feel like for a hermit crab? Is it a sharp, conscious ache like the kind humans feel? I learned hermit crabs can live up to thirty years in captivity with proper care—thirty years. The longest-lived pet hermit crab was a female named Jonathan Livingston, who lived to be 40. An astonishing lifespan, considering how many are treated as disposable pets. Most won’t make it a single year. But Sandy had already survived something improbable. Whether she was forgotten, released, or simply escaped, she had improbably endured. And now, here she was, beginning what might be a second life. I didn’t know if she could sense the absence of others or feel the difference between solitude and company, but I kept wondering—what do crabs remember of the company of others?
Back at the pet store, picking up more saltwater mix and food, I spotted another Purple Pincher—one half the size of Sandy, with the same signature oversized claw but with spindly legs that looked as if they'd been delicately dipped in orange paint.
I stared at her for a long time.
On the way home, we decided to call her Shelly.
Now Sandy and Shelly live in a glass terrarium in our dining room, a miniature beach ecosystem complete with climbing wood, hiding spots, and a growing selection of shells. Felix has asked that we take his yellow bucket to the beach to collect new shells for them to try. He checks on them every morning and recounts their nocturnal adventures to all in attendance at the breakfast table.
He’s even commandeered the old crib camera from Finn’s nursery so he can keep an eye on the crabs overnight.
If you’ve ever wondered how paid subscriptions support this newsletter, this is your answer. They make room for curious detours, unexpected rescues, and impulsive decisions that turn into tiny domestic ecosystems. Thank you for helping us give one crab a second chance, and another a slightly better start.
I don’t even want to tell you how late I stayed up watching Sandy dig this complex cave, while Shelly picked apart a chicken thigh.
Now See This…
- of is accepting submissions for a new photobook and exhibition. Submit up to 25 images by August 31 for a chance to be featured in the book, an online show, and a physical exhibition at their Detroit-area gallery. $25 to enter—and that fee goes straight toward producing the book. Everyone who submits (selected or not) also gets a $25 credit toward the final book. Submit your work here.
If you're looking to sharpen your portfolio or shape a long-term photo project,
’s online workshop, Finding Your Edge, is for you. It runs August 23–24 through the Fine Arts Work Center. It covers project development, writing, and critique. Tiered tuition keeps it accessible. Full details here.
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I’ll only sign off on this if you name it Katulu. The resemblance is uncanny.