Editor's note: Katie Oxford is on the ground and in the boats in Louisiana, reporting from the heart of the Gulf oil spill disaster. This is her ninth column from the scene.

At the bridge over Falgout Canal I met Jared Plaisance and Josh Saucier loading crab cages on a truck. All wire, no content. They’d just returned from Lake Raccourci and Lake Mechant.

“We have 150 cages here,” Josh pointed, “600 more to pick up.”

They paused momentarily for a picture, then set about their business with grim expressions. I thanked them and wished them luck.

“We need it,” Josh responded. “You catchin’ crabs?” I asked. “No-oooo!”

I continued toward my destination swearing that I could not, should not, “WILL not,” pull over again. Such a rare opportunity waited at the dock just south of Theriot, Louisiana. Arriving late would be ungrateful and exceptionally rude. I punched the accelerator.

At 9 a.m. sharp I reached the end of the road, literally, at Jug’s Seafood. I saw where one boat, already with occupants seated — seemed to be quivering, ready to launch. I grabbed camera gear and jogged toward them.

“No need to rush!” someone called out. “We’re waiting for a few more!”

“I’m Chris Pulaski,” a man said, smiling warmly and extending his hand, “with the National Wildlife Federation.” He introduced me to the others: Jared Voisin with Motivatit Seafoods; Douglas Inkley, a senior scientist for the National Wildlife Federation from Reston, Va. and another fellow who’d boarded the boat with a big camera and was deep in conversation. “Joe Vasquez, Fox News,” he said.

The host of this trip, which was to take us out to an oyster boat, was Motivatit Seafoods in Houma, Louisiana. Motivatit was founded by Ernie Voisin in 1971, but eight generations of Voisins have been involved in the oyster industry since 1770. I’d spoken with the President and CEO, Mike Voisin, a few days before thanks to a friend who was a friend of his.

Voisin kindly listened while I explained that I’d heard some of the oyster bed owners had been encouraged to go in and harvest beds still open and move them to other areas so they might survive.

“If possible,” I requested, “I’d love to see this process.”

A few seconds later, I was repeating the request to his son, Kevin, who also listened patiently and then said, “Let me see if we can’t get you out on the water.” I felt like a kid at Christmas.

Their sales and marketing coordinator called two days later, giving me information. She said that Jarod Voisin, (Mike’s nephew) would meet me at Jug’s Seafood. “There might be another boat going too,” she offered. I told her it didn’t matter if there were 20 — I was thrilled and very grateful to be on one.

On the dock, just after 9 a.m., Bonnie Ghosh with the Associated Press joined our group. Then two young men — maneuvering a small green boat into the water with a name painted on the back “Tony Boat.”

Everyone now present, the two boats were set to go. And go we did. The bigger boat took the lead carrying the two with the National Wildlife Federation and the two with media.

Following close behind in the Tony Boat was yet another Jarod (also with the National Wildlife Federation), the owner of the boat, Francois Ancelet, who said he was an emergency medical doctor, and myself.

A doctor who can drive

Riding atop my brother’s Hobie surfboard was a smoother ride than in the Tony Boat. Imagine a ribcage with a motor on the back. The Tony Boat could scoot and with a driver like Francois, by golly we did.

He gunned the engine and the Tony Boat lurched forward like a racehorse out of a starting gate — throwing Jarod and his video camera almost in my lap. It was the kind of boat ride that just makes you feel young again, I thought.

It wasn’t long before we reached Lake Mechant, where four oyster boats were working the area. Our lead boat nosed up to the stern of one of the oyster boats and Joe hopped aboard with his camera, then Bonnie. Later Douglas, the scientist, would jump on too. He would throw his head back and gulp down an oyster or two — like Popeye consuming a can of spinach.

Meanwhile, I watched, transfixed upon the workings of the oyster boat and the four men on board, working hard too and scarcely looking up.

These guys weren’t moving oyster beds, they were oyster fishing, and unlike the crab fishermen I’d met earlier, they were making a catch.

“The bucket works like a hair clip,” Francois explained. “Scooping along the sea bottom, then bringing the oysters up in that basket, or some call it a pot.” A basket that seemed as forgiving as one holding yarn.

The basket dipped up and down in the water like a tea bag, “rinsing the oysters off,” Francois explained, then hoisted them up and dumped the catch out onto a tall table. The men sifted through and, using small hatchets — separated the oysters.

“They call this process grading," he told me, meaning making oysters single. The oysters are then taken to the processing plant at Motivatit Seafoods.

While this is a mechanical explanation, let me tell you that up close and personal, it’s anything but. The rhythmic movement, the sound, the song rather, of an oyster boat out on the open water, working — can be mesmerizing.

For me, it felt spiritual. You just know you’re watching something special. Like Mother Earth mating with Poseidon.

I couldn’t get this close and not board the oyster boat too. Once on, however, it was hard getting off. In fact, when it was time for our party to depart, I cupped my hands to my mouth and jokingly called from the stern, “See you guys later …I’m stayin’.”

In a different way, I later realized, it was the perfect time to get off. In getting off the oyster boat, I was also stepping off of the Louisiana bayous and back roads for a while. It seemed the time, clearly the place. As my grandmother used to say, “It’s always good to leave the party when you’re having a good time.”

Traveling through Louisiana these last few months had been no party. It was a journey of a lifetime. Like the bayous and estuaries, Louisiana now runs in my veins too.

As the Tony Boat blew back to the dock, I thought about the poetic nature of oyster fishing, the nature of the oyster itself. That oysters are important. Not important in the way the scientist from Virginia might explain. But how someone who’s loved the Gulf since birth from someplace deep within me might explain.

There’s honor in wearing one’s feelings on your sleeve, or as in the life of the endangered oyster … on a shell.

Other Katie Oxford columns in this series:

At the Gulf's bedside

Let's do the hustle

An unexpectedly grave concern

The Little Girl in the Church

Oil pain seeps into the radio

Tempers flare on the Bayou

Beauty amid the golf oil spill

The ant man from the Louisiana marsh