Darren Turner, 51, and his nephew John Turner, 30, oyster together, nearly everyday and split the profits. Before the bay collapsed both men could make a couple hundred dollars a day working the together, now the best they can hope for is about two bags a day ($100-120) split between them. “My wife pays the bills,” John says, “I bring home dinner.” This day they made $72, Darren took $22 and gave the other $50 to John. “He has kids, I don’t,” Darren said.

Darren Turner, 51, and his nephew John Turner, 30, oyster together, nearly everyday and split the profits. Before the bay collapsed both men could make a couple hundred dollars a day working the together, now the best they can hope for is about two bags a day ($100-120) split between them. “My wife pays the bills,” John says, “I bring home dinner.” This day they made $72, Darren took $22 and gave the other $50 to John. “He has kids, I don’t,” Darren said.

 Shannon Hartsfield, President of Franklin County Seafood Workers Association, is the fourth generation in his family to make a living off the sea, however he has not commercially harvested oysters since 2012. “You used to come out her and make 200 or 300 dollars a day. I used to make a real good living.” Now the oysterman are limited to 3 bags of a oysters a day (about $50 a bag) and few make this that. Now Hartsfield primarily works with the University of Florida, monitoring their research sites in the bay. He is not able to make a good living off Oysters.

Shannon Hartsfield, President of Franklin County Seafood Workers Association, is the fourth generation in his family to make a living off the sea, however he has not commercially harvested oysters since 2012. “You used to come out her and make 200 or 300 dollars a day. I used to make a real good living.” Now the oysterman are limited to 3 bags of a oysters a day (about $50 a bag) and few make this that. Now Hartsfield primarily works with the University of Florida, monitoring their research sites in the bay. He is not able to make a good living off Oysters.

 Kenny Reeder, 42, has spent his entire life, with the exception of six months working in his parents oyster house, making his living on a boat. His wife Sherry works on the boat with him. When the bay was still rich with oysters he would tong and she would shuck. Now she mostly keeps him company, there isn’t enough work for two people on a boat.

Kenny Reeder, 42, has spent his entire life, with the exception of six months working in his parents oyster house, making his living on a boat. His wife Sherry works on the boat with him. When the bay was still rich with oysters he would tong and she would shuck. Now she mostly keeps him company, there isn’t enough work for two people on a boat.

 Darren Turner, 51, and his nephew John Turner, 30, oyster together, nearly everyday and split the profits. Before the bay collapsed both men could make a couple hundred dollars a day working the together, now the best they can hope for is about two bags a day ($100-120) split between them. “My wife pays the bills,” John says, “I bring home dinner.” This day they made $72, Darren took $22 and gave the other $50 to John. “He has kids, I don’t,” Darren said.

Darren Turner, 51, and his nephew John Turner, 30, oyster together, nearly everyday and split the profits. Before the bay collapsed both men could make a couple hundred dollars a day working the together, now the best they can hope for is about two bags a day ($100-120) split between them. “My wife pays the bills,” John says, “I bring home dinner.” This day they made $72, Darren took $22 and gave the other $50 to John. “He has kids, I don’t,” Darren said.

 An oysterman tongs the bottom of the Apalachicola Bay. The bay has been divided into different ‘beds’ which are open and closed to allow for the bay to replenish. Typically when a new bed opens there are enough oysters that men working the bed can easily reach the two bag limit imposed by the state. This bed, the winter bank, opened a little over two weeks before this picture was take and few, if any, oystermen were able to make their legal limit.

An oysterman tongs the bottom of the Apalachicola Bay. The bay has been divided into different ‘beds’ which are open and closed to allow for the bay to replenish. Typically when a new bed opens there are enough oysters that men working the bed can easily reach the two bag limit imposed by the state. This bed, the winter bank, opened a little over two weeks before this picture was take and few, if any, oystermen were able to make their legal limit.

 Darren Turner, 51, and his nephew John Turner, 30, oyster together, nearly everyday and split the profits. Before the bay collapsed both men could make a couple hundred dollars a day working the together, now the best they can hope for is about two bags a day ($100-120) split between them. “My wife pays the bills,” John says, “I bring home dinner.” This day they made $72, Darren took $22 and gave the other $50 to John. “He has kids, I don’t,” Darren said.

Darren Turner, 51, and his nephew John Turner, 30, oyster together, nearly everyday and split the profits. Before the bay collapsed both men could make a couple hundred dollars a day working the together, now the best they can hope for is about two bags a day ($100-120) split between them. “My wife pays the bills,” John says, “I bring home dinner.” This day they made $72, Darren took $22 and gave the other $50 to John. “He has kids, I don’t,” Darren said.

 Florida State Law Enforcement agents inspect oyster boats arriving at a seafood wholesaler where they sell their catch. Due to the sharp decline in the oyster population of the bay, the state and local authorities have placed strong restrictions on oyster production. During summer months, oystermen can only work on the water from sunrise to 11am. They are only allowed a maximum (which they never reach) of two 50lbs bags per person and all oysters much be at least 3 inches. Cheating is common and fines are steep, $550 if caught.

Florida State Law Enforcement agents inspect oyster boats arriving at a seafood wholesaler where they sell their catch. Due to the sharp decline in the oyster population of the bay, the state and local authorities have placed strong restrictions on oyster production. During summer months, oystermen can only work on the water from sunrise to 11am. They are only allowed a maximum (which they never reach) of two 50lbs bags per person and all oysters much be at least 3 inches. Cheating is common and fines are steep, $550 if caught.

 78 year old Harley Allen has been in the seafood business for 55 years, since 1978 he has owned and operated Allen’s Seafood. Allen’s Seafood used to buy oysters from a dozen boats and employ a team of oyster shuckers to process the quantity. His trucks would transport seafood around Florida. Today, the trucks are overgrown with weeds and the business is “something to get out of the house.” Only one oysterman, Denis Jones, still brings oysters. Allen’s seafood is one of the only wholesalers where it is still possible to buy Apalachicola oysters in Apalachicola.

78 year old Harley Allen has been in the seafood business for 55 years, since 1978 he has owned and operated Allen’s Seafood. Allen’s Seafood used to buy oysters from a dozen boats and employ a team of oyster shuckers to process the quantity. His trucks would transport seafood around Florida. Today, the trucks are overgrown with weeds and the business is “something to get out of the house.” Only one oysterman, Denis Jones, still brings oysters. Allen’s seafood is one of the only wholesalers where it is still possible to buy Apalachicola oysters in Apalachicola.

 Like many residents of Eastpoint, Ronald Custer, 58, was, until recently, an oysterman. Today his boat is up on cinder blocks and Ronald is working ‘land jobs.’ “I haven’t cranked it up in months. The tongs are rusted and ragged looking,” said Ronald. “This boat used to be painted up pretty and nice, but when you ain’t got no money you can’t keep it pretty and nice.” Ronald would like to return to working oysters, but the farming is too expensive. “It would be nice if they could get some grants for guys like us to do it,” said Ronald. “I’ve tried it, there some ace product.”

Like many residents of Eastpoint, Ronald Custer, 58, was, until recently, an oysterman. Today his boat is up on cinder blocks and Ronald is working ‘land jobs.’ “I haven’t cranked it up in months. The tongs are rusted and ragged looking,” said Ronald. “This boat used to be painted up pretty and nice, but when you ain’t got no money you can’t keep it pretty and nice.” Ronald would like to return to working oysters, but the farming is too expensive. “It would be nice if they could get some grants for guys like us to do it,” said Ronald. “I’ve tried it, there some ace product.”

 Irene Marks, 47, cleans on home on nearby Saint George Island, she is waiting in her truck before her shift begins. Four mornings a week she drops off her husband Alvin to go tonging for oysters on the bay. 10 years ago she would have jointed him, they would each bring home 20 bags a day, now the bay can’t support them both so she cleans houses. On the weekends, her husband joins her.

Irene Marks, 47, cleans on home on nearby Saint George Island, she is waiting in her truck before her shift begins. Four mornings a week she drops off her husband Alvin to go tonging for oysters on the bay. 10 years ago she would have jointed him, they would each bring home 20 bags a day, now the bay can’t support them both so she cleans houses. On the weekends, her husband joins her.

 Heather Petty, 42, and her boyfriend Fred Wilsey, 53, are sleeping on private land off the main road in Eastpoint. They have been homeless since 04 July, 2018. Fred has spent most his life, 38 years, living off the what the Apalachicola bay provides, Heather, who came to the area 10 years ago to care for her dying father joined Fred on the boat. Five years ago, because of smaller hauls, they quit harvesting oysters full-time and began cleaning rental properties on nearby Saint George Island, a popular tourist destination. When they began cleaning homes they would make combined $1500 a week, now $500 if they are lucky enough to find work. “People come here because of oysters,” said Fred. “Now that there is a depletion of oysters, fewer people are coming here.” With little work and loss of their savings, Fred and Heather now sleep on the docks and have returned to fishing, not always legally, to survive. “The water is all we have left,” Heather said. “You have to be a felon to eat around here. That is what they are turning us it into.”

Heather Petty, 42, and her boyfriend Fred Wilsey, 53, are sleeping on private land off the main road in Eastpoint. They have been homeless since 04 July, 2018. Fred has spent most his life, 38 years, living off the what the Apalachicola bay provides, Heather, who came to the area 10 years ago to care for her dying father joined Fred on the boat. Five years ago, because of smaller hauls, they quit harvesting oysters full-time and began cleaning rental properties on nearby Saint George Island, a popular tourist destination. When they began cleaning homes they would make combined $1500 a week, now $500 if they are lucky enough to find work. “People come here because of oysters,” said Fred. “Now that there is a depletion of oysters, fewer people are coming here.” With little work and loss of their savings, Fred and Heather now sleep on the docks and have returned to fishing, not always legally, to survive. “The water is all we have left,” Heather said. “You have to be a felon to eat around here. That is what they are turning us it into.”

 Heather Petty, 42, checks the crab traps she has left on local docks, some public, some private, to catch food for her and her boyfriend Fred Wilsey. Heather says that people often steal from her traps. “When I moved here 10 years ago this town was filled with alcoholics,” said Heather. “I didn’t like it but I could deal with it. Now it’s all meth.” With little work and loss of their savings, Fred and Heather now sleep on the docks. “The water is all we have left,” Heather said. “You have to be a felon to eat around here. That is what they are turning us it into.”

Heather Petty, 42, checks the crab traps she has left on local docks, some public, some private, to catch food for her and her boyfriend Fred Wilsey. Heather says that people often steal from her traps. “When I moved here 10 years ago this town was filled with alcoholics,” said Heather. “I didn’t like it but I could deal with it. Now it’s all meth.” With little work and loss of their savings, Fred and Heather now sleep on the docks. “The water is all we have left,” Heather said. “You have to be a felon to eat around here. That is what they are turning us it into.”

 On his chest Fred Wilsey, 53, has two tattoos, one for his daughter Skye and the other for his girlfriend Heather Petty. Fred and Heather have been homeless since 04 July, 2018. Fred has spent most his life, 38 years, living off the what the Apalachicola bay provides, Heather, who came to the area 10 years ago to care for her dying father joined Fred on the boat. Five years ago, because of smaller hauls, they quit harvesting oysters full-time and began cleaning rental properties on nearby Saint George Island, a popular tourist destination. When they began cleaning homes they would make combined $1500 a week, now $500 if they are lucky enough to find work. “People come here because of oysters,” said Fred. “Now that there is a depletion of oysters, fewer people are coming here.” With little work and loss of their savings, Fred and Heather now sleep on the docks and have returned to fishing, not always legally, to survive. “The water is all we have left,” Heather said. “You have to be a felon to eat around here. That is what they are turning us it into.”

On his chest Fred Wilsey, 53, has two tattoos, one for his daughter Skye and the other for his girlfriend Heather Petty. Fred and Heather have been homeless since 04 July, 2018. Fred has spent most his life, 38 years, living off the what the Apalachicola bay provides, Heather, who came to the area 10 years ago to care for her dying father joined Fred on the boat. Five years ago, because of smaller hauls, they quit harvesting oysters full-time and began cleaning rental properties on nearby Saint George Island, a popular tourist destination. When they began cleaning homes they would make combined $1500 a week, now $500 if they are lucky enough to find work. “People come here because of oysters,” said Fred. “Now that there is a depletion of oysters, fewer people are coming here.” With little work and loss of their savings, Fred and Heather now sleep on the docks and have returned to fishing, not always legally, to survive. “The water is all we have left,” Heather said. “You have to be a felon to eat around here. That is what they are turning us it into.”

 Until April, Mike Ross, 47, was an oysterman, now he works construction. In April while coming off the bay to sell his oysters to an oyster house, he was stopped by Florida State Law Enforcement agents to inspect his catch. They said some of his oysters were beneath the three inch limit and received a $350 fine. “It scared me to death,” Mike said. Mike works for another former oysterman, Charles Brannen, 61, another former oysterman who gave it up in the 80s to work construction. Charles has seen seen the bay’s harvest decrease each year. “These people need to realize it,” Charles said. “They need to find another trade. But when it was good, it was good. When it was bad, it was bad.”

Until April, Mike Ross, 47, was an oysterman, now he works construction. In April while coming off the bay to sell his oysters to an oyster house, he was stopped by Florida State Law Enforcement agents to inspect his catch. They said some of his oysters were beneath the three inch limit and received a $350 fine. “It scared me to death,” Mike said. Mike works for another former oysterman, Charles Brannen, 61, another former oysterman who gave it up in the 80s to work construction. Charles has seen seen the bay’s harvest decrease each year. “These people need to realize it,” Charles said. “They need to find another trade. But when it was good, it was good. When it was bad, it was bad.”

 The Apalachicola Bay used to support well over a hundred full-time oysterman, now there are less than a dozen that go out every day they legally can. Denis Jones of Eastpoint, across the bay from Apalachicola, is one of those. “I’m the last generation. I’ll be there until they tell me I can’t do it no more.”

The Apalachicola Bay used to support well over a hundred full-time oysterman, now there are less than a dozen that go out every day they legally can. Denis Jones of Eastpoint, across the bay from Apalachicola, is one of those. “I’m the last generation. I’ll be there until they tell me I can’t do it no more.”

 There are few wild oystermen who now farm, Zack Thompson, 35, is the rare exception. Zack harvested the wild oyster of Apalachicola Bay for most his life, but with the down turn in the bay he managed to make the transition from wild caught to farming. At a cost of roughly $20,000 dollars, Zack purchased a lease, equipment and began farming. In his first he grew 100,000 oysters, next year the number will be closer to 600,000. “You gotta have some money to get started. And then it takes sometime. But it’s worth it.” With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

There are few wild oystermen who now farm, Zack Thompson, 35, is the rare exception. Zack harvested the wild oyster of Apalachicola Bay for most his life, but with the down turn in the bay he managed to make the transition from wild caught to farming. At a cost of roughly $20,000 dollars, Zack purchased a lease, equipment and began farming. In his first he grew 100,000 oysters, next year the number will be closer to 600,000. “You gotta have some money to get started. And then it takes sometime. But it’s worth it.” With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

 Dylan Hill, 22, flips cages of oysters on leases operated by Oyster Boss, one of the new oyster farming efforts in Alligator Harbor. They occasionally flip the oysters to expose them to sunlight and fresh air to kill growths that can damage the oysters or make them less appealing when they are sold. Oyster Boss oysters float on top of the water in aquaculture leases operated by Oyster Boss. Where wild oyster sit on the sea bed, the farmed oysters rest on the top making them less venerable to predators and easier to monitor. Oyster Boss, run by father and son team Reid and Jeff Tilley has leases in Alligator Harbor, about 40 miles from Apalachicola, one of the few places where oyster farming is permitted. With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

Dylan Hill, 22, flips cages of oysters on leases operated by Oyster Boss, one of the new oyster farming efforts in Alligator Harbor. They occasionally flip the oysters to expose them to sunlight and fresh air to kill growths that can damage the oysters or make them less appealing when they are sold. Oyster Boss oysters float on top of the water in aquaculture leases operated by Oyster Boss. Where wild oyster sit on the sea bed, the farmed oysters rest on the top making them less venerable to predators and easier to monitor. Oyster Boss, run by father and son team Reid and Jeff Tilley has leases in Alligator Harbor, about 40 miles from Apalachicola, one of the few places where oyster farming is permitted. With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

 Dylan Hill, 22, operates a tumbler which cleans the oysters on the leases operated by Oyster Boss. The tumbling of oysters is done to both wild and farmed oysters, however the oysters farmed by Oyster Boss are tumbled several times throughout their lifecycle to create “prettier” oysters. With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

Dylan Hill, 22, operates a tumbler which cleans the oysters on the leases operated by Oyster Boss. The tumbling of oysters is done to both wild and farmed oysters, however the oysters farmed by Oyster Boss are tumbled several times throughout their lifecycle to create “prettier” oysters. With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

 Reid Tilley, with Dylan Hill, Jonathan Metcalf and Bo Shaw monitor the oysters on the 42 leases where Oyster Boss operates. Checking on the oysters requires flipping the cages (so the oyster do not rest in the sun too long), moving oysters between cages (to allow space for growth), disposing of dead oysters and harvesting oysters that are to size. The bags holding oysters can weight anywhere from 100 to 300 pounds. With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

Reid Tilley, with Dylan Hill, Jonathan Metcalf and Bo Shaw monitor the oysters on the 42 leases where Oyster Boss operates. Checking on the oysters requires flipping the cages (so the oyster do not rest in the sun too long), moving oysters between cages (to allow space for growth), disposing of dead oysters and harvesting oysters that are to size. The bags holding oysters can weight anywhere from 100 to 300 pounds. With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

 Jonathan Metcalf, 25, moves baby oysters from an overcrowded bag into new bags to allow for growth. As the oysters mature, the bags which house them become crowded and they must be moved or else risk dying. Oyster Boss has 1000 cages which must be inspected at least every two weeks, if not they risk losing large parts of their crop. The bags holding oysters can weight anywhere from 100 to 300 pounds. With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

Jonathan Metcalf, 25, moves baby oysters from an overcrowded bag into new bags to allow for growth. As the oysters mature, the bags which house them become crowded and they must be moved or else risk dying. Oyster Boss has 1000 cages which must be inspected at least every two weeks, if not they risk losing large parts of their crop. The bags holding oysters can weight anywhere from 100 to 300 pounds. With the decline of wild harvest oysters in the Apalachicola Bay oyster farming in on the rise, however land is limited and start up costs are high. Even for small farms, it can cost well over $10,000 and will be at least one year before your first harvest and, therefor, payday.

 Duane Bartley, 67, worked on the sea most his life. Duane used to work on shrimp boats, but now shucks oysters at the Hole In The Wall raw bar. Hole In The Wall has a reputation for serving wild caught Apalachicola Bay oysters, but when customers ask Duane responds, “Cedar Key, just like everyone else.” Hole In The Wall Raw Bar was, until this summer, one of the last restaurants still serving wild caught Apalachicola Bay oysters. Allen’s Seafood seafood was their supplier, but they stopped receiving oysters. They still prefer the wild caught and currently getting supplied from Cedar Key, Florida about 200 miles away. Owner Dan Davis has tried the farmed oysters, but right he things they are too small to see. “Until they start growing them to three inches we’ll keep using wild caught.”

Duane Bartley, 67, worked on the sea most his life. Duane used to work on shrimp boats, but now shucks oysters at the Hole In The Wall raw bar. Hole In The Wall has a reputation for serving wild caught Apalachicola Bay oysters, but when customers ask Duane responds, “Cedar Key, just like everyone else.” Hole In The Wall Raw Bar was, until this summer, one of the last restaurants still serving wild caught Apalachicola Bay oysters. Allen’s Seafood seafood was their supplier, but they stopped receiving oysters. They still prefer the wild caught and currently getting supplied from Cedar Key, Florida about 200 miles away. Owner Dan Davis has tried the farmed oysters, but right he things they are too small to see. “Until they start growing them to three inches we’ll keep using wild caught.”

 In Apalachicola, where nearly every restaurant serves oysters, Boss Oyster is the last one to send out their own oystermen. Four days a week, two oyster boats deliver oysters fresh from the bay directly to the restaurant, this meant Boss Oyster could always have a reliable stream of Apalachicola oysters, until this summer. Now, Boss Oyster like everyone else must buy their oysters from bays hundreds of miles away.

In Apalachicola, where nearly every restaurant serves oysters, Boss Oyster is the last one to send out their own oystermen. Four days a week, two oyster boats deliver oysters fresh from the bay directly to the restaurant, this meant Boss Oyster could always have a reliable stream of Apalachicola oysters, until this summer. Now, Boss Oyster like everyone else must buy their oysters from bays hundreds of miles away.

 Dwayne Griggs, 22, has been prepares oysters at Boss Oyster for four years, however he is not a traditional oysterman. “Never tried one” and “not a big fan of boats,” Dwayne said. Dwayne doesn’t want to be a fisherman, however working with seafood is what he wants to do. “My father grew up in the seafood industry. I thought I’d carry on the tradition.” In Apalachicola, where nearly every restaurant serves oysters, Boss Oyster is the last one to send out their own oystermen. Four days a week, two oyster boats deliver oysters fresh from the bay directly to the restaurant, this meant Boss Oyster could always have a reliable stream of Apalachicola oysters, until this summer. Now, Boss Oyster like everyone else must buy their oysters from bays hundreds of miles away.

Dwayne Griggs, 22, has been prepares oysters at Boss Oyster for four years, however he is not a traditional oysterman. “Never tried one” and “not a big fan of boats,” Dwayne said. Dwayne doesn’t want to be a fisherman, however working with seafood is what he wants to do. “My father grew up in the seafood industry. I thought I’d carry on the tradition.” In Apalachicola, where nearly every restaurant serves oysters, Boss Oyster is the last one to send out their own oystermen. Four days a week, two oyster boats deliver oysters fresh from the bay directly to the restaurant, this meant Boss Oyster could always have a reliable stream of Apalachicola oysters, until this summer. Now, Boss Oyster like everyone else must buy their oysters from bays hundreds of miles away.

 A sever delivers platters of baked, boiled or raw seafood on simple lunch room trays, if you want a beer you help yourself from the fridge in the back. At Indian Pass Raw Bar, just a few miles from 13 Mile Seafood’s processing location, you can order TJ Ward’s farmed oysters raw, if you want cooked oysters then they come from Louisiana. Farmed oysters are becoming more common in Apalachicola, however there is not enough supply to meet demand. For the restaurants that are selling local raw oysters they often supplement the supply with wild caught from Cedar Key in Florida or farmed oysters from Texas or Louisiana.

A sever delivers platters of baked, boiled or raw seafood on simple lunch room trays, if you want a beer you help yourself from the fridge in the back. At Indian Pass Raw Bar, just a few miles from 13 Mile Seafood’s processing location, you can order TJ Ward’s farmed oysters raw, if you want cooked oysters then they come from Louisiana. Farmed oysters are becoming more common in Apalachicola, however there is not enough supply to meet demand. For the restaurants that are selling local raw oysters they often supplement the supply with wild caught from Cedar Key in Florida or farmed oysters from Texas or Louisiana.

 The Apalachicola Bay used to support well over a hundred full-time oysterman, now there are less than a dozen that go out every day they legally can. Denis Jones of Eastpoint, across the bay from Apalachicola, is one of those. “I’m the last generation. I’ll be there until they tell me I can’t do it no more.”

The Apalachicola Bay used to support well over a hundred full-time oysterman, now there are less than a dozen that go out every day they legally can. Denis Jones of Eastpoint, across the bay from Apalachicola, is one of those. “I’m the last generation. I’ll be there until they tell me I can’t do it no more.”

  Oysters served at Lynn's Quality Oysters, one of the few restaurants in Eastpoint or Apalachicola serving farmed oysters raised in nearby Alligator Harbor. These oysters come from Oyster Boss, a new aquaculture firm and one of the few companies or individuals farming oysters in Franklin County, where the Apalachicola Bay is located.

Oysters served at Lynn's Quality Oysters, one of the few restaurants in Eastpoint or Apalachicola serving farmed oysters raised in nearby Alligator Harbor. These oysters come from Oyster Boss, a new aquaculture firm and one of the few companies or individuals farming oysters in Franklin County, where the Apalachicola Bay is located.