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Tidewater Kitchen: Pamela Meredith
About the Cover Photographer George A. Hatcher, Jr.
This month’s cover photo is of Lynn Hatcher’s Scottish Terrier, Lucy, at home on Christmas Day of 2013. It captures the essence of a bygone era and the yearning of everyone to return to their childhood and to be home for Christmas once more.
Mr. Hatcher has loved cars and photography (and radio) his entire life and is the former owner of Easton Ford Company, Inc. on Route 50 in Easton, Maryland, which he operated from 1985-2010.
He’s been married to his childhood sweetheart, Kim Hershey, for 46 years and has three children and one grandchild. He’s a strong believer in the power and reach of the Tidewater Times and advertised in it continuously for Easton Ford’s 25 years.
George took this photo of Lucy with Lynn and her fiancé, Will Bensur, during their engagement photo shoot in the woods at Cooke’s Hope in November of 2023.
A Bite of the Big Apple
by Helen Chappell
More years ago, than I care to recall, I finally landed a contract for my first big novel. With the hefty advance, I thought I’d leave New York, come home for a year, write The Great American Novel, then move back to the city.
Well, it’s been decades and I’m still here and The Big Apple is still there, and I like it that way. Since I’ve come home, I’ve made the Eastern Shore my home, my serious study and the place I write about enough to be known as a regional writer.
For some reason, this time of year brings back thoughts of the city in fleeting glimpses, as if all those years on the concrete and the tall buildings happened to someone else. I had a lot of adventures in Manhattan, everything from masked balls at the Met to sorties into the lowest after-hours clubs that would shock a rent boy.
Ever since I was a kid, I’d dreamed of living in New York, fed mostly by our Sunday New York Times with all of Mia Carpenter’s beautiful ads for glamorous cloth-
Big Apple
ing, Hirschfeld’s brilliant caricatures of show folk, the book review and the promise of a life far more exciting than the dreary small town and provincial lifestyle. Boy, was the real Manhattan a surprise when I finally got there. Dirty, expensive and often dangerous. But
it was New York, and I was there to establish myself as a writer and take a bite of the Big Apple. It was an interesting experience, nothing what I’d imagined. But what is?
When I got there, I worked for my literary agent and met lots of famous and obscure writers, which was fascinating in the small, tight world of scribblers. I would name drop Margaret Atwood and Ralph Stedman, but that would be kind of pretentious.
I finished up my degree at the School of Visual Arts and studied under Brice Marden and Alex Katz. I was and am very fond of Alex Katz. DeKooning used the same bank I did, and I shared a loft with Hunt Slonem. But again, that could
be considered name dropping. And the one thing a New Yorker never does is slop all over a celebrity. You politely ignore them, because only Bridge and Tunnel people act like yahoos.
I did yahoo once. For months, a friend of mine and I breakfasted at a restaurant in the Village where Robert De Niro liked his coffee and eggs. We ignored him, at least until he noticed my friend, who was just his type, and he came over to talk to her. Which, of course, had been her plan all along. I lived conveniently around the corner and was curious to see what happened. And it did happen, but that’s someone else’s story from days gone by.
For a while, I freelanced for a long-defunct rock magazine and
got to hang around some musicians, which I thought was both pretty cool and well worth writing about while I was honing my craft. No one super famous, but I got to talk to some talented people and do some interesting things I’m saving for my memoirs.
One of the most interesting times was sharing a loft with a painter. Of course, an artist with a loft was the hot trend in those days. It was a great space that had once been a flop house. Did I mention it was right on the corner of Houston and Bowery, in those days the Valhalla of Bum Land?
The unhoused, homeless, addicted and mentally ill all lived around us. The area was slowly gentrifying as artists who needed big spaces and cheap rent were taking up the
old doss houses and sweatshops. But the bums persisted.
Lord only knows their stories. Louie, the guy who ran the pawn shop on the street floor of our building knew all their stories, as did the patrol cars who routinely patrolled the intersection. Just like
the fire siren in my neighborhood goes off at all hours of the day and night, the cops' loudspeaker regularly blasted GET ON THE SIDEWALK right below our windows. I guess bums like to be in the middle of one of the deadliest intersections in Manhattan because if the cops weren’t demanding pedestrians get back on the sidewalk, the regular screech of tires and sickening crunch of metal and glass as drivers ignored the lights and rammed on through to crash also sounded twenty-four seven.
We managed to sleep through most of it.
I guess two creative people should not live in the same space. His disco music and the turpen-
Big Apple
tine smell of painting bothered me. Mostly the disco, as this was the height of the clubs, and if he couldn’t get Steve to let him into Studio, he sulked for days. Also, he was a devout social climber, and I am not.
I prefer interesting people to the nouveau riche. And I like my ’80s rock as much as he hated the clatter of my typewriter.
It was building for a while, but it was during one of the city’s infamous blackouts that things finally boiled over.
It was summer, we had no air, it was dark so I couldn’t type and he couldn’t paint and it sounded like a
re- enactment of the Russian revolution was happening right at the intersection of Houston and Bowery. Bums, cops. Cars hitting each other, people screaming.
Something snapped. I don’t remember who threw an ice tray at whose head, but it shocked us both enough to sit down and agree this just wasn’t working.
The next day, the advance check for my novel arrived, I called my parents in Oxford and got a moving van and went home.
I thought I’d rent a house, work on my book, finish it and go back to the city. It’s just too easy to live here. That chunk of the Big Apple was apparently enough for me.
Helen Chappell is the creator of the Sam and Hollis mystery series and the Oysterback stories, as well as The Chesapeake Book of the Dead . Under her pen names, Rebecca Baldwin and Caroline Brooks, she has published a number of historical novels.
Join Me on a Volunteer Mission at the Talbot Interfaith Shelter
by Bonna L. Nelson
…TIS not only serves our program participants…but also the greater community, by giving folks a place to share their intrinsic motivation to help others… ~ Julie Lowe, Executive Director TIS
At TIS we believe in the power of compassion, commitment, and community. Our mission is to break the cycle of homelessness on Maryland’s MidShore by providing Shelter, Stability, Support, and a path to Success for families and individuals in need (the S4).
…As a volunteer you are an essential part of our efforts...
~ TIS Volunteer Orientation Introduction
During the holiday season, when we hang a wreath on the door and put lights on the tree, we might also take the time to think with compassion about our neighbors who may not have homes to decorate. Can you imagine how quickly life’s blessings
can change? A job loss, an accident, an illness, a natural disaster, and the lack of affordable housing are just a few of the issues that can change a comfortable life to a life of homelessness and despair.
As this year nears its end, we
Talbot Interfaith
at Tidewater Times traditionally present stories about local nonprofit organizations during the holiday season to inform our readers about their mission and accomplishments. This year we want to highlight the Talbot Interfaith Shelter (TIS) and salute its fifteen years of assisting hundreds of homeless neighbors in our community, guiding them toward self-sufficiency, independence and a safe roof over their heads.
We hope our readers will be interested in supporting TIS in the spirit of the season. Supporting nonprofit organizations can take many forms, including monetary donations, donations of goods and, of course,
donations of time and services. TIS is always in need of support as guests move in and up in the world.
I would like to share my experiences with volunteering at TIS, donating time and services, as well as share the various volunteer opportunities available and much-needed financial support for the TIS mission. I am hoping that you might see yourselves signing up to lend a hand to individuals and families that need some support to lead independent, happy, successful lives through the TIS program.
Once a month, I arrive at the front door of Easton’s Promise at 107 Goldsborough Street in Easton, MD. The lovely historic home is one of two shelter properties owned
Talbot Interfaith
by TIS. Evelyn’s Place is the other equally charming home just next door. Easton’s Promise offers a home to families, while Evelyn’s Place shelters single adults.
I ring the bell to begin my 8 a.m. three-hour volunteer shift (one of three: 8–11 a.m., 11 a.m.– 2 p.m. and 2–4 p.m.). I am greeted with a smile by Hannah, the TIS night manager. Hannah fills me in on anything I need to know about the staff and the guests’ comings and goings that morning.
Next, I am cheerfully greeted by Jesse Johnson, TIS volunteer coordinator. We talk about plans for the morning, and I ask how I can help. As a house supervisor, my usual jobs are to answer the phones and take messages so that the hard-working TIS staff can work uninterrupted,
leave for meetings, transport guests to appointments; greet visitors at the front door; receive and record donations; write notes of appreciation for TIS donations; and other duties as assigned.
Pleasantly interacting with guests is a special treat. I like the morning shift because, many times I get to chat with the resident kids and their parents on their way to school. As you would with any child, I ask their name, age and school grade and compliment their tee shirt logo or hair ribbons. They are so cute and sweet, and their parents beam with pride. Parents are often headed to work, appointments or training. We enthusiastically send the families off to a successful day in the world.
I work at a small desk in Easton’s Promise’s bright and cheerful living room, near the hallway, front door and telephone. The location allows me to greet guests and staff coming and going. Jesse suggests that house supervisors bring something to occupy their time on slow days, and I do. I bring my tablet, paperwork, reading, notes for an upcoming Tidewater Times story, a snack and water. Jesse also suggests that business volunteers bring office work with them.
I am scheduled to work on one day of the month by my team leader and a volunteer, Stan Reed. We belong to a group that has been volunteering one day a month with TIS since its beginning in 2008.
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Talbot Interfaith
TIS was initially housed in local religious faith group buildings before purchasing Easton’s Promise and Evelyn’s Place. Along with multiple faith groups, other community organizations, including nonprofits, for-profits and political groups, as well as individuals, regularly volunteer for days of the month. But there are many open days on the calendar available, and many more volunteers are needed to support the staff and the guests.
Maybe you enjoy cooking? Dinner volunteers prepare meals for the guests’ evening meal. TIS “Family” dinners are served in the beautiful
dining room. Guests prepare their own breakfast and lunch. Frequently food donations can fill the menus for those other meals.
In addition to providing house supervisors once a month (not if it falls on a weekend, staff support weekends) my group also prepares dinners that day. Janice Pifer coordinates our group’s dinner prep schedule and many times she and her husband, Larry, prepare the meals themselves. This too has been an over ten-year commitment.
I have been on the schedule for both house supervisor and dinner volunteer for just a few years. For the twice-a-year dinners that my husband, John, and I have enjoyed
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Talbot Interfaith
preparing, we create an Italian feast of spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, mixed salad with Italian dressing and a dessert of some sort that both adults and kids would like, such as cupcakes or cookies. Dinner is delivered to TIS and stored in the kitchen refrigerator until time to heat.
Joyce Scharch is the TIS staff dinner coordinator and house manager and is always helpful with suggestions for meals. She has shared that guests enjoy simple meals, such as hamburgers or fried chicken. Joyce, Stan and others in our group usually offer a meal of food grilled onsite to celebrate July 4th.
Another category of TIS support needed is event volunteers. This group helps to set up, take down
Talbot Interfaith
and work at fundraising and other events. A recent example is the Lip Sync Battle 2024. In its eighth year, the fundraiser exceeded its goal, raising the most in the event’s history for the live, entertaining show performed by local community members. Volunteers set up and decorated for the show, greeted guests, served food and beverages, collected money paid for competitor votes and broke down the set. Entertaining and hilarious, the fundraiser is one of my all-time favorites. Support the next one coming in April 2025.
What does the Talbot Interfaith Shelter mean to me and to our community? I believe that the social services organization represents a successful program to support, educate and raise our neighbors up from life’s setbacks, eliminate homelessness and put a safe roof over everyone’s head. I consider it a
blessing to be able to volunteer for and get to know the staff and guests at TIS and to share in the joy of the organization’s and individuals’ successes. Volunteering at TIS and for other community groups gives my life purpose.
I concur with the TIS principles, paraphrased here from their website, newsletters and interviews:
…respect the individuality, confidentiality and privacy of guests…
We believe that all men, women, and children have an inherent right to adequate housing that is safe and secure. TIS is open to individuals of all races, genders, ethnic backgrounds, nationalities, sexual orientations and religions. We provide a safe and secure environment that is smoke, alcohol and drug free. Guests are accepted based on their ability to meet these standards…
I share TIS’s vision:
Our vision is that no one in our community will ever have to spend a night on the streets, in a car or in the woods because he or she cannot find housing.
Many TIS guests (who come from the five counties of the Mid-Shore area, Talbot, Caroline, Dorchester, Kent, Queen Annes’s) have found success with the TIS S4 Program which includes the elements of Shel-
ter, Stability, Support and Success.
From discussions with Julie Lowe, TIS executive director, the TIS website, Volunteers Handbook and my years working at TIS, I learned that shelter is offered to guests at one of the two shelter homes after a background check and interviews determine eligibility. Easton’s Promise can house up to five families, while Evelyn’s Place can serve up to five men and five women at one time. The shelters offer privacy and creature comforts, which help guests to feel safe and comfortable.
The Stability component helps adults build confidence and children feel safe. Guests share “family” dinners and engage in chores to build a
sense of responsibility and pride in their home.
Support is critical for guests to move forward. Case managers create comprehensive personalized plans to address guests’ needs. Progress is monitored while guidance and encouragement are provided. Guests are required to attend a variety of basic life skills classes, which encompass parenting, relationships, poverty, job readiness, financial literacy, mental health, and getting ahead in this world. Support includes assistance with securing good employment and childcare scholarships and much more.
Hard-earned Success comes when guests achieve certain plan milestones and are invited to move to TIS transitional housing, breaking the cycle of poverty and homelessness and reclaiming independence. They initially pay a portion of the rent, which gradually increases until they can pay the full amount, graduate to their own housing and attain self-sufficiency.
For more information on the TIS mission, vision, other shared principles, and the 4Ss, see the website information at the end of this story.
My friend and fellow volunteer shared her views on TIS so beautifully:
I think TIS is such a gift to our community. It brings out the best in us who in some way contribute to its success while at the same time exposes how vulnerable our com-
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munity is. We see how close so many of neighbors are to experiencing homelessness due to in most cases no fault of their own.
During my volunteer morning, I thought about the families now residing safe and warm at Easton’s Promise and how much challenging work lies ahead for them. I greeted staff from both houses and guests who all seemed pleasant, confident and at ease.
I thought about the TIS guests as I drove to my home. My Home. My Home. How wonderful the TIS guests will feel when they can say, “MY HOME!” I was happy to support the TIS mission in a small way to facilitate the forward movement of guests/neighbors to their own homes, peace, comfort, stability, and joy.
As you decorate your home for the holidays, please think about helping to make a profound difference in the lives of families and friends in your community by supporting TIS. You
I wrote thank-you notes to members of the community who donated household cleaning products, paper products, personal grooming items, food, money and other essential needs. I answered the telephone and took messages for staff and answered the door (which is always kept locked). When Stan arrived for his shift, we hugged and chatted before I left.
Talbot Interfaith
too can help break the cycle of homelessness on the Eastern Mid-Shore of Maryland.
In closing, I share some startling statistics about homelessness from the TIS website, TIS monthly newsletters and Julie Lowe’s monthly letter.
According to the most recent United States Census, an astounding 31% of children in Caroline County and 42% of children in Dorchester County are living in poverty. In Talbot County Schools alone, 268 children were counted as homeless during the 2023–2024 school year (over 100 more than in 2016).
During our [TIS] 2023–2024 fiscal year, you [donors] helped to provide shelter and services to a total of 29 families, including 31 children as young as four months old.
In her September letter, Lowe thanked TIS supporters for helping to keep guests safe and feeling cared for. She said that volunteers help to significantly reduce operational costs and allow TIS to direct more resources to provide critical support and services.
Note that volunteers must be over 18 years of age and must pass a background check. Lists of much-needed supplies and goods can be found on both the TIS website and their Facebook page. The list is updated
weekly. Goods can be delivered in person or through Amazon. Upcoming fundraising events and other community events can also be found on the website.
Monthly newsletters include guest success stories, from obtaining employment to moving into their own homes, and are uplifting and inspiring. The September newsletter shared that 46 neighbors were provided safe shelters and transitional apartments including 18 children. Guest ages ranged from 2 years to 64. Guests have attended classes, obtained jobs, and moved into homes of their own. Frequently guests write letters of thanks to TIS supporters and share their TIS success stories. Please contact TIS to learn more
about their excellent program; read their monthly newsletters; become a volunteer house supervisor, dinner provider, or event volunteer; make
a monetary donation; become a Promise Keeper (monthly/quarterly donors); attend a fundraising event and other ways that you can help. Visit talbotinterfaithshelter.org or call 410-690-3120. Ask for Jesse Johnson for inquiries about volunteering and Joyce Scharch for inquiries about providing dinners. Julie Lowe and other staff will respond to questions about donations and other topics. Checks may be mailed to TIS, P.O. Box 2004, Easton, MD 21601.
Bonna L. Nelson is a Bay-area writer, columnist, photographer and world traveler. She resides in Easton with her husband, John.
Twenty years is a long time to miss your son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin, teammate and friend. In 2025, that’s the milestone loved ones of Nicholas E. Bramble will face, remembering his short battle with Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) just as his adult life was taking off at the age of 19.
Today, Donna Marie Bramble would do anything to hug her son Nicholas again. His three siblings— Amanda, Caroline and Christopher—would gladly be on the receiving end of one of his pranks, while his dad D’Arcy would take being outsmarted again by his quiet, loving son.
Nick Bramble
“I was too young to grasp the full impact of losing Nick,” says his younger sister Caroline Phillips, when asked what it was like to lose a brother when she was a young teenager. Phillips is now 32, married and with three children of her own—including one named after Nick.
“So that hasn’t been the hardest part,” she says as her eyes well up with tears. “I have kids now, and you know, he’s not here.” Her mother pulls her in closer with a long, sideways hug as we sit and talk outside Bramble Body Shop, Inc., the three-generation family business D’Arcy and Donna Marie own and operate. Caroline works at the business today, as did all of her siblings at one point or another.
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Nick Bramble
“It’s because he’s not here for so many milestones now,” Donna Marie finishes for her.
“I was too young to truly feel the impact when he passed away, but over the years I have felt how it has impacted my life,” recalls Christopher. “I often feel that in losing him, I lost one of the main people that would be helping me navigate through life.”
“When Nick was in the hospital the first time, he was extremely sick in the ICU,” recalls Donna Marie. “He was in such terrible pain, and they were struggling to keep it under control. But Nick never complained, no matter how bad it was.”
“He always said, ‘no pain, no gain,’ she recalls.
Nick attended Randolph Macon College around these hospital stays—first for 10 days before his diagnosis followed by 6-month hospitalization. He went into remission and returned the following fall but only made it six weeks before his leukemia returned. He passed away
from an infection just three weeks later.
“In the midst of that, he was determined to keep up with his college classwork and to stay on track,” says Donna Marie. “He had a goal in mind to return to college and be right on pace with his classmates.”
The Nicholas E. Bramble “Ironman” Foundation was formed to honor this very spirit in Nick’s memory, but its purpose reaches far beyond his story. As the foundation marks its 20th anniversary, Donna Marie, D’Arcy and the foundation’s board members continue their mission to help young athletes and others in need. For Donna Marie, the foundation is a way to channel grief into hope, providing scholarships and support in Nick’s name.
Supporting the Community
The foundation began just after Nick’s passing in November 2005, with the first scholarship awarded in 2006. The scholarship has one unique requirement: applicants must participate in a sport, whether it’s a traditional sport or a unified
Nick Bramble
sport for individuals with intellectual or physical disabilities.
“I think a lot of times students with special needs are overlooked,” says Donna Marie, “but these kids also deserve the support, and for me, there isn’t a more rewarding scholarship
“We wanted the scholarship to reflect Nick’s love for sports and his resilience,” she says. “Sports were such an important part of his life.”
The foundation’s application deadline is usually around April 1 each year, with information available through the local high school guidance offices. The scholarship
isn’t just about academics—it’s about perseverance, sportsmanship and the drive to achieve.
Donna Marie and her family hope that lives may continue to be changed through the memory of Nick’s life and his foundation. Since its inception, Donna Marie says the foundation has given out more than $143,000 in scholarships to 127 graduating seniors who embody Nick’s character and determination, from Easton High School, St. Michaels High School and Chesapeake Christian School. It has also supported families with children and teenagers facing cancer diagnoses with vacations and contributed to renovations at the University of Maryland Hospi -
tal’s Pediatric Bone Marrow Unit, where Nick received treatment. Renovating the two pediatric bone marrow transplant rooms at
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Nick Bramble put a halt to it.
the University of Maryland Hospital brought some much-needed creature comforts to the families and patients who, like Nick, endure long stays for treatment.
“That’s something Nick would have loved,” says D’Arcy. “Making those rooms feel more like home for the kids who have to be there.”
Fundraising Efforts
Raising funds for the foundation started in the most grassroots of ways: selling glow-in-the-dark necklaces at local Fourth of July celebrations. It quickly grew from there. One of the foundation’s large events was a Christian goose hunt organized by Donna Marie’s cousin, Philip Billy Hughes. The event drew up to 650 hunters from around the region and raised thousands of dollars annually before the pandemic
“We had so many people who never met Nick, but they were touched by his story through these events,” says Donna Marie. “Each year, someone would share a memory or a story about Nick, keeping his spirit alive.”
Another key fundraiser is the annual golf tournament held on Father’s Day weekend at Hog Neck Golf Course in Easton, Maryland. Now in its 13th year, the tournament draws Nick’s friends, family and community members together for a day of remembrance and friendly competition.
“It’s like a reunion,” Donna Marie says. “We have kids who come back year after year, people who were Nick’s friends, teammates and even some of his coaches and teachers. It’s a happy, emotional day.”
The tournament not only raises money for the foundation but also
Nick Bramble
serves as an opportunity for the community to share stories, celebrate Nick’s life and introduce his legacy to those who may not have known him personally.
“We’ve been blessed with so much support from people all over,” says Donna Marie. “Some even donate on his birthday every year.”
Honoring Nick’s Legacy
In Talbot County, Nick’s name graces various memorials that honor his contributions to sports. At the St. Michaels High School baseball field and Easton Church of God’s Family Life Center, scoreboards bear his name. Easton Little League also has a dugout with a plaque bearing his name, and up until COVID, gave out a Nick Bramble Sportsmanship Award. St. Michaels High School baseball and soccer team present a player, who best represents Nick, each year with the Nick Bramble Iron Man trophy,
“The whole reason we named the foundation with the word ‘Ironman’ is because Nick was given a special Ironman award during his senior year for his sportsmanship, perseverance and endurance through many physical challenges,” says Donna Marie. “The award was created just for him. He never complained, no matter what.”
The Ironman award Nick received in high school now lives on through the foundation and the scholarships it offers. It’s a fitting tribute to a young man who embodied perseverance, determination and character.
A Life Well Lived
Even though Nick was only 19 when he passed away, he left an indelible mark on those who knew him. His legacy lives on in the sto -
Nick Bramble
ries his family tells, the friends who remember him, and the young athletes who benefit from the foundation in his name.
“He was a special kid,” says Donna Marie. “We still have people come up to us and tell us things about him that we had never heard before.”
Through the foundation, Nick continues to inspire others, just as he inspired those around him during his short but impactful life. Whether it’s through scholarships, hospital renovations, or community events, the Nicholas E. Bramble Ironman Foundation ensures that Nick’s legacy of courage, kindness and perseverance lives on.
“It’s rewarding to know we’re
doing something that makes a difference,” says Donna Marie. “And that’s what Nick would have wanted.”
For more information: Nicholas E. Bramble Ironman Foundation dmbbramble@goeaston.net 410-924-3750
www.mscf.org/mscf-scholaships
Tracey Johns has worked in communications, marketing and business management for more than 30 years, including non-profit leadership. Tracey’s work is focused on public and constituent relations, along with communication strategies, positioning and brand development and project management.
Enlarge the Home We Live In: Kindness and Connection
by Rev. Michael Valliant
If months can have themes, let’s go with kindness and connection over Christmas shopping for December. In just about every spiritual and communal tradition, the idea that we belong to each other, we need each other and we need to take care of each other is always high on the list of things we are supposed to do. As the calendar year comes to an end, showing kindness and understanding our connection to one
another sounds like a solid way to cross the annual finish line.
December seems like it would be an easy month to think about kindness with Christmas being the north star guiding many people’s behavior. No sooner do we get through Thanksgiving, a holiday focused on gratitude, than we are trampling each other for Black Friday deals. This isn’t a new development; I remember stories of my grandmother,
Kindness and Connection
who didn’t drive and wasn’t one to be shoved around, going from store to store to beat out other shoppers for the latest Star Wars toy or Cabbage Patch Kid for my sister and me. My grandmother helped make happy Christmases all through our childhood. The downside is that the
idea of shopping for your loved ones and ignoring everyone else has become a guiding principle for the end of the year.
I recently read a phrase that stopped me: “to enlarge the home we live in.” Poet/philosopher Mark Nepo was talking about how we each live in a home of one sort or another and how we all have to come out of those homes, whether for food, for work, for medical needs, for sunlight, for connection and sometimes because others are in need. And that ultimately it helps us to expand our idea of home as not just the house we live in, but the community we live in; the town we live in; the state we live in; the country we live in; the world we live in. When we enlarge
what we think of as home, we bring other people into the fold.
Jesus gets pretty popular this time of year, based on how many people show up for church on Christmas Eve services or who post memes about putting the “Christ” back in Christmas. Which is a great idea—you can’t even spell Santa Claus with the letters in Christmas. If you are a fan of the three wise men visiting Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel, leaving the young child with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, you might remember that the very next thing that happens in the story is that an angel of the Lord appears to Joseph in a dream and tells him to take his family and flee the country to Egypt so that King Herod, who was killing all the children two years old and younger in and around Bethlehem, didn’t kill Jesus. Joseph, Mary and their young son fled the country and be-
came refugees until it was safe to return. They had to expand their concept of home and depend on others to be safe.
Jesus, who himself becomes an outsider, made a name for himself by extending hospitality and healing to those who were outside the faith, those who were marginalized, cast out and needed help. Modeling that behavior is not a bad way to put the “Christ” back in Christmas.
One of my heroes is Fr. Gregory Boyle, a Jesuit priest who has been working with Los Angeles gang members for almost 40 years. His new book is called Cherished Belonging: The Healing Power of Love in Divided Times .
After a life spent working with people most have given up on, here is a list of things Fr. Greg believes:
1. God is in the loving.
2. God IS inclusion.
3. Demonizing is always untruth.
4. We belong to each other.
5. Separation is an illusion.
6. Tenderness is the highest form of
Kindness and Connection
spiritual maturity.
7. “Kindness is the only non-delusional response to everything.” (George Saunders)
8. Love your neighbor as you love your child.
9. We are all unshakably good.
10. A community of cherished belonging is God’s dream come true.
I have copied this list out in various notebooks, printed out to hang by different desks where I work and write, posted it on social media and am committing it to memory. I know that not everyone is sure
what to think of “God,” but love, inclusion, kindness, not demonizing others, tenderness, inherent goodness and cherished belonging are things that have a chance to unify everyone, enlarge the home we live in and make room for more people around our individual and collective tables.
In what has felt like a divisive time over the past several months especially, we have a chance to end the year and begin the next on a different note. Instead of extending our credit or debit cards, we can extend kindness. Instead of dismissing people who seem outside the circles we’ve become comfortable with, we can expand our circle.
Many of the feel-good movies we watch each December end with people coming together who might have remained strangers or even enemies, if odd circumstances didn’t bring them together and ask them to change their way of thinking and being—to extend themselves in a way they would rather not have had to. From Clark Griswold to John McClane, from Yukon Cornelius to the Heat Miser, from Ebenezer Scrooge to Walter Hobbs, cold and hard hearts melt and love and hospitality take center stage.
Even the Grinch gets it. In the lesser-known 2018 animated movie, Benedict Cumberpatch voices the green anti-hero and, in Seussian fashion, raises a toast: “to kindness and love, the things we need most.”
Kindness and Connection night along Town Creek in Oxford, to name just a very few. There are many more. What are the new traditions, the new hallmarks of our communities waiting to happen, waiting for us to begin them, that are based on kindness, connection, and compassion? That help us enlarge the home we live in.
You find the same message in the original book, the cartoon classic and with Jim Carrey’s antics.
The Eastern Shore has established a number of traditions that are on display in December. Talbot Hospice’s Festival of Trees, The Rescue Fire Garden train display in Cambridge, the dock trees lit up at
Rev. Michael Valliant is the Assistant for Adult Education and Newcomers Ministry at Christ Church Easton. He has worked for non-profit organizations throughout Talbot County, including the Oxford Community Center, Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum and Academy Art Museum.
Photos by Karina Dixon
Open Thursdays in December 'til 7pm
MSO to Perform a Trio Of Special Holiday Concerts in December by Philip J. Webster
The Mid-Atlantic Symphony Orchestra, Delmarva’s only professional symphony, will present four Masterworks concerts and two Ensemble concerts in December for its growing audiences in Easton, Lewes, Ocean City and Rehoboth Beach. Now in its 27th year, the orchestra is conducted by Grammy-winning music director Michael Repper. The special trio
of holiday performances will begin with “Holiday Joy,” featuring the full orchestra on Dec. 5 in Easton, Md., Dec. 7 in Lewes, Del. and Dec. 8 in Ocean City, Md. This will be followed by the MSO’s Holiday Brass Quintet concerts, performed by members of the orchestra’s brass section and percussion, on Dec. 21 in Rehoboth Beach and Dec. 22 in Easton. The month’s celebration of the holidays will
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Chuck Mangold Jr. - Associate Broker
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Holiday Concerts
conclude with a celebratory New Year’s Eve concert by the full orchestra on Dec. 31 in Easton.
In planning the concerts, Maestro Repper stated, “The three holiday concerts each provide a special way to connect with family and the local community.
The audience always leaves the concerts with a standing ovation and a huge smile on their faces. My favorite experiences as conductor are seeing the bright energy of our young audience members, even those younger than 10, who can’t wait to meet the musicians (or even me!) after a concert because they had such a great time.”
“Holiday Joy” will feature seasonal favorites, gospel songs and hits from Broadway classics. Tenor soloist Jonathan Pierce Rhodes, a recent graduate of the Washington National Opera’s Cafritz Young Artists Program, holds music degrees from the Eastman School of Music/ University of Rochester and Rice
University. He has received vocal competition awards from the Metropolitan Opera’s Laffont Competition, Civic Morning Musicals Competition and Eastman’s William Warfield Award.
The Holiday Brass Quintet concerts, a perennial sellout, will feature 21 selections including holiday favorites ranging from “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies” and “Jingle Bells” to Lady Gaga’s “Always Remember Us This Way” and “Sleigh Ride.”
Soprano Kresley Figueroa will be featured at the New Year’s Eve concert, ringing in 2025 at Easton’s Christ Church. Kresley is in her second year as a Cafritz
Young Artist with the Washington National Opera and is a music graduate of The Juilliard School and Rice University. She has performed with the Aspen Music Festival, Opera San Antonio and The Greenwich Village Orchestra and has received first prize and the Audience Favorite Award in The James Toland Vocal Arts
Holiday Concerts
Competition, as well as awards in the Florida Grand Opera’s National Voice Competition, Duncan Williams Voice Competition and The Metropolitan Opera Laffont Competition.
Repper sums it up: “Whether it is singing along to your favorite holiday, operatic and musical theater classics, experiencing the dulcet tones of our brass ensemble or counting down to the start of 2025, each of our concerts presents a unique opportunity to enjoy great music and endless joy.”
The Mid-Atlantic Symphony Orchestra (MSO) is the only professional symphony orchestra
serving southern Delaware and Maryland’s Eastern Shore with a full season of programs. The MSO is supported in part by the Maryland State Arts Council; the Talbot County Arts Council; the Worcester County Arts Council; the Sussex County, Delaware Council and the Community Foundation of the Eastern Shore, Inc.
A complete schedule of the 2024-2025 season’s Masterworks and Ensembles programs, venues, times, and other information is available at midatlanticsymphony. org.
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Caroline County – A Perspective
Caroline County is the very definition of a rural community. For more than 300 years, the county’s economy has been based on “market” agriculture.
Caroline County was created in 1773 from Dorchester and Queen Anne’s counties. The county was named for Lady Caroline Eden, the wife of Maryland’s last colonial governor, Robert Eden (1741-1784).
Denton, the county seat, was situated on a point between two ferry boat landings. Much of the business district in Denton was wiped out by the fire of 1863.
Following the Civil War, Denton’s location about fifty miles up the Choptank River from the Chesapeake Bay enabled it to become an important shipping point for agricultural products. Denton became a regular port-ofcall for Baltimore-based steamer lines in the latter half of the 19th century.
Preston was the site of three Underground Railroad stations during the 1840s and 1850s. One of those stations was operated by Harriet Tubman’s parents, Benjamin and Harriet Ross. When Tubman’s parents were exposed by a traitor, she smuggled them to safety in Wilmington, Delaware.
Linchester Mill, just east of Preston, can be traced back to 1681, and possibly as early as 1670. The mill is the last of 26 water-powered mills to operate in Caroline County and is currently being restored. The long-term goals include rebuilding the millpond, rehabilitating the mill equipment, restoring the miller’s dwelling, and opening the historic mill on a scheduled basis.
Federalsburg is located on Marshyhope Creek in the southern-most part of Caroline County. Agriculture is still a major portion of the industry in the area; however, Federalsburg is rapidly being discovered and there is a noticeable influx of people, expansion and development. Ridgely has found a niche as the “Strawberry Capital of the World.” The present streetscape, lined with stately Victorian homes, reflects the transient prosperity during the countywide canning boom (1895-1919). Hanover Foods, formerly an enterprise of Saulsbury Bros. Inc., for more than 100 years, is the last of more than 250 food processors that once operated in the Caroline County region.
Points of interest in Caroline County include the Museum of Rural Life in Denton, Adkins Arboretum near Ridgely, and the Mason-Dixon Crown Stone in Marydel. To contact the Caroline County Office of Tourism, call 410-479-0655 or visit their website at www.tourcaroline.com .
Easton
Map and History
The County Seat of Talbot County. Established around early religious settlements and a court of law, Historic Downtown Easton is today a centerpiece of fine specialty shops, business and cultural activities, unique restaurants, and architectural fascination. Treelined streets are graced with various period structures and remarkable homes, carefully preserved or restored. Because of its historical significance, historic Easton has earned distinction as the “Colonial Capitol of the Eastern Shore” and was honored as number eight in the book “The 100 Best Small Towns in America.” With a population of over 16,500, Easton offers the best of many worlds including access to large metropolitan areas like Baltimore, Annapolis, Washington, and Wilmington. For a walking tour and more history visit https:// tidewatertimes.com/travel-tourism/easton-maryland/.
Dorchester Map and History
Dorchester County is known as the Heart of the Chesapeake. It is rich in Chesapeake Bay history, folklore and tradition. With 1,700 miles of shoreline (more than any other Maryland county), marshlands, working boats, quaint waterfront towns and villages among fertile farm fields – much still exists of what is the authentic Eastern Shore landscape and traditional way of life along the Chesapeake.
For more information about Dorchester County visit https://tidewatertimes.com/travel-tourism/dorchester/.
Queen Anne’s County
The history of Queen Anne’s County dates back to the earliest Colonial settlements in Maryland. Small hamlets began appearing in the northern portion of the county in the 1600s. Early communities grew up around transportation routes, the rivers and streams, and then roads and eventually railroads. Small towns were centers of economic and social activity and evolved over the years from thriving centers of tobacco trade to communities boosted by the railroad boom. The county is named for Queen Anne of Great Britain, who reigned when the county was established in 1706.
Queenstown was the original county seat when Queen Anne’s County was created, but that designation was passed on to Centreville in 1782. It’s location was important during the 18th century, because it is near a creek that, during that time, could be navigated by tradesmen. A hub for shipping and receiving, Queenstown was attacked by English troops during the War of 1812.
Construction of the Federal-style courthouse in Centreville began in 1791 and is the oldest courthouse in continuous use in the state of Maryland. Today, Centreville is the largest town in Queen Anne’s County. With its relaxed lifestyle and tree-lined streets, it is a classic example of small town America.
The Stevensville Historic District, also known as Historic Stevensville, is a national historic district in downtown Stevensville, Queen Anne’s County. It contains roughly 100 historic structures, and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It is located primarily along East Main Street, a portion of Love Point Road, and a former section of Cockey Lane.
The Chesapeake Heritage and Visitor Center in Chester at Kent Narrows provides and overview of the Chesapeake region’s heritage, resources and culture. The Chesapeake Heritage and Visitor Center serves as Queen Anne’s County’s official welcome center.
Queen Anne’s County is also home to the Chesapeake Bay Environmental Center (formerly Horsehead Wetland Center), located in Grasonville. The CBEC is a 500-acre preserve just 15 minutes from the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Over 200 species of birds have been recorded in the area.
Embraced by miles of scenic Chesapeake Bay waterways and graced with acres of pastoral rural landscape, Queen Anne’s County offers a relaxing environment for visitors and locals alike.
For more information about Queen Anne’s County, visit www.qac.org .
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TIDEWATER GARDENING
by K. Marc Teffeau, Ph.D.
December Doings
There is not a lot to do in December in the landscape. Our thoughts and activities are directed to the upcoming holiday season. However, there are a few maintenance chores that we should attend to outside on a mild December days. With the leaves off the deciduous shrubs and trees, you can do some corrective pruning. The first thing you need to do is to make sure your pruning shears are clean and sharp. Dirty shears can spread
disease spores. Dull shears will result in uneven cuts that can result in decay. Oil the cutting surfaces for a smooth cut. If your tools have wooden handles, linseed oil can be used to prevent them from aging. When doing December pruning, your main focus should be to remove any dead and diseased branches. You can also do some corrective pruning to restore the plant to its proper form. The objectives of pruning are to improve
Tidewater Gardening
a plant’s symmetry and natural form, to promote better balanced and healthier growth and to control the height or spread of the
plant. Of course, as I have mentioned in early columns, do not prune spring-flowering trees and shrubs as you will be pruning out the flower buds for next year. Any leftover seed pods on crepe myrtles and lilacs should also be removed.
One grouping of plants that can be judiciously pruned in December and also will provide holiday greenery are the broad- and narrow-leaved evergreens. If the pruning is done properly, you will have the decorative greens needed to add spice and variety to holiday swags, Christmas wreaths, cemetery boxes, holiday flower arrangements and other Christmas decorations and at the same time benefit your plants.
When pruning evergreens, always make your pruning cut at a joint in a branch so that the remaining needles or leaves cover and hide the cut. Pruned in this way, any evergreen plant can be shaped without the appearance of having just received a scalp job.
To make arrangements, you may need a few branches that are 12 to 15 inches long, but the majority
Tidewater Gardening
of materials for both centerpieces and wreaths need to be no longer than four to six inches. Obtain the larger pieces by removing unwanted branches and by severe heading back of vigorous growth. Foundation plantings, for example, should have an air space between each other and between each plant and the house. This often requires the removal or hard pruning of some branches. Doing such pruning now is a good way to get the longer greens you want.
Done with a pair of hand shears or a pruning knife, tipping should provide you with all the four- to six-inch pieces of greenery you need for decorating, leaving a very natural looking plant in the process. Tipping done with a pair of electric hedge shears may give you greens, but it also produces the unnaturally shaped plant mounds that sometimes appear in the front yards of homeowners who do not understand how to prune.
Any evergreen can be used for Christmas greenery, but some kinds are better than other. Boxwood, with its dense, fine texture is especially popular. But many Japanese hollies are a good substi-
Short pieces of plant material are obtained by a type of pruning called tipping, This, as the name suggests, is the removal of the tip of the shoot. Tipping accomplishes two things: it shortens the branch, and at the same time it forces growth of side branches, thus giving a more compact plant.
Tidewater Gardening
tute. All of the hollies—American, English and Chinese—are excellent for the purpose. And a number of holly species have desirable red or yellow berries. Of the pines, the fine, flexible bright green needles of the white pine are best. But other pine species can be used effectively for holiday greens.
All of the spruces make excellent wreaths, but the Colorado blue spruce holds its needles better than the Norway. Hemlock is another effective green but does not hold its needles well. If you use it in an arrangement where the stems will be kept in water, this will not be a problem. Hemlock is not a
species that is found readily in this area, however, because of our summer heat.
In pruning the larger evergreens like pine, spruce and hemlock, get your greens by removing unneeded branches. Both pine and hemlock will respond to tipping, but use more care with the spruces and don’t over prune. On older trees, it is possible to remove or tip side shoots without spoiling the plant’s basic symmetry.
Both yews and junipers are good sources of greenery. The dark green needles of yew are especially attractive, and the plants tolerate pruning well. The evergreen magnolia is one of the most handsome of cut greens. Prune these carefully
so as not to leave branch stubs on the tree.
Even rhododendrons can be pruned now for holiday decorations. Like the magnolia, prune them back to forked branches and leave a clean, smooth cut. Many rhododendrons need pruning anyway to keep them in scale with their setting and to
keep them compact, so such pruning can be very beneficial.
In using any greens, always be aware of the potential fire hazard of these materials and remember that those kept in water will last much longer. When you are using greens without water, avoid burning candles near them. Also keep them away from heaters, electric lights, the TV and other heat sources.
Tidewater Gardening
If you have grape vines, you can prune them a little earlier this year to make a classic wreath. If you can’t shape the wreath as you prune, before bending the vines, soak them in water overnight for increased flexibility.
We have experienced a dry fall, and some areas are in drought condition as I write this column. It is very important that woody plants have enough moisture going into the winter, especially evergreens. One area that will be dry is foundation plantings under the eaves of the house. Unless there is a wind with the rain that forces the water next to the house, these plants can miss some of the rainfall in the yard. We often forget the spots outdoors where rain doesn’t reach. Check moisture around foundation plantings beneath a roof overhang and water if necessary.
If you did any fall planting of shrubs, trees and perennials, also water them to make sure they do not get into drought stress. One of
the main reasons that fall-planted woody ornamentals do not survive the winter is because they are too dry. Maintaining adequate moisture levels in the stems and branches of the plants is critical to winter hardiness and winter survival. On heavy clay soils, however, be careful not to overwater.
When you are outside doing your pruning, you might notice that certain evergreen trees and shrubs are beginning to show some yellowing and leaf or needle drop on the interior of the branches. This is a common occurrence on pines, arborvitae, junipers, yews and spruce. These evergreens must renew their foliage as part of their normal life cycle. Some pine species will experience needle loss every fifteen to eighteen months, while hollies drop leaves at about four-year intervals. However, yellowing of leaves and needles that occur to the whole plant is cause for concern and is most likely a watering problem, either too much or too little.
Other outside chores in December include a general yard cleanup with the composting of leaves, a last mow of the lawn before you put the mower away and a generally pruning out the dead flower stocks on perennials. If you want to save the mums that you bought for color for the front step or back patio, now is the time to remove them from the plastic pot and plant them in the flower bed. Mulch the plants a couple inches after the first or second hard frost. Remember that you can divide the plants in the spring and replant them to expand the level of fall mum color that you can have in the landscape next September.
You can still sow seeds of perennials that need cold treatment, such as alliums, gentians, monkshood and primulas. One way to do it is to sow the seeds in flats and move them outside to a shady location, or sow directly into an empty bed outside. Mulch the seeds with a light mulch of pine needles or cover then with pine boughs. Some of us still grow plants in
clay or ceramic pots, especially annuals. It is important that once you remove the spent annuals, you will need to empty them of soil if the pots are stored outside in an unheated shed. The leftover soil in the pots may freeze and expand and, most likely, crack the pot. Keep the soil to fill the bottoms of large planters next spring. That way you won’t need as much fresh soil. I recycle the spent soil into my raised vegetable beds for the spring growing season. Now is also the time to wash the containers to remove old soil and plant debris before putting them away for the winter.
Happy Gardening and Happy Holidays!
Marc Teffeau retired as Director of Research and Regulatory Affairs at the American Nursery and Landscape Association in Washington, D.C. He now lives in Georgia with his wife, Linda.
St. Michaels Map and History
On the broad Miles River, with its picturesque tree-lined streets and beautiful harbor, St. Michaels has been a haven for boats plying the Chesapeake and its inlets since the earliest days. Here, some of the handsomest models of the Bay craft, such as canoes, bugeyes, pungys and some famous Baltimore Clippers, were designed and built. The Church, named “St. Michael’s,” was the first building erected (about 1677) and around it clustered the town that took its name.
For a walking tour and more history of the St. Michaels area visit https://tidewatertimes.com/travel-tourism/st-michaels-maryland/.
Do You Hear What I Hear?
by A.M. Foley
May I unburden myself on the Holiday Season? Spoiler Alert: This will lead my grumpy old soul into more Bah Hum-Bugging than Ho-Ho-Ho-ing.
When it comes to Christmas music, don’t get me started on Rudolph. Let’s go with “Jingle Bells.” Isn’t it time to put that old nag back in the barn? This perennial dates from 1857 and has jangled my nerves more years than I care to reveal. When composer, James Lord Pierpont, wrote what he titled “One Horse Open Sleigh,” he had Thanksgiving in mind. Heaven forbid this should extend its playing time. Its prolific composer likely
produced better songs, songs one would have to ransack archives to unearth, while “Jingle” jangles on. James Pierpont was born in Boston in 1822, son of a Unitarian minister/poet. Reverend John was an ardent abolitionist and likely considered his son James something of a black sheep. James ran away from boarding school at fourteen to ship aboard a whaler, later serving in the U.S. Navy. Back ashore in New England at twentyone, he started a family. In 1849 he was off again, leaving a wife and two children with his parents while he sought a fortune in the California Gold Rush.
Failing to strike it rich, he returned East and joined his older brother. John Pierpont, Jr. who pastored a Unitarian church in Georgia. James, gifted in music, served his brother as church organist and choir director, while earning his keep giving piano, organ, and voice lessons, and writing songs for minstrel shows. His first published work appears to be autobiographical:
“The Returned Californian” Oh, I’m going far away from my Creditors just now, I ain’t the tin to pay ‘em and they’re kicking up a row . . .
James’s first family remained in New England with his father, while he seems to have started a second one before first wife Millicent’s
1856 death. He married the mayor of Savannah’s daughter, Eliza Jane Purse, who soon bore him a daughter in 1854. Like his father, Pastor John Jr. was an abolitionist, forced to return North when sentiment heated up and a Unitarian church in Georgia became untenable. James remained in the South with his Georgian wife and their children. When the Civil War erupted, James joined the Confederacy for the duration, from 1861 to 1865, initially with local militia cavalry, lastly with the Fifth Georgia Cavalry Regiment. While his units saw action, he also served as clerk and wrote patriotic songs: “Our Battle Flag,” “Strike for the South,” and “We Conquer or Die.” At the same time, his father served as chaplain with the 22nd Massachusetts Infantry, stationed in Washington, D.C., then went to work for the federal Treasury Department.
After the war, James stayed South, estranged from family, notably from his nephew, the fabulous financier of the Gilded Age, John Pierpont Morgan. J. P. considered his Uncle James a “good-for-nothing.” Though J.P.’s grandfather had worked for the Treasury during the war, J. P. seems to have inherited his business acumen from his wealthy Morgan side. Nevertheless, it’s notable he preferred to be called Pierpont rather than John.
The musical James Pierpont obviously lacked that money-making gene. Despite participating in the Gold Rush, and composing one of the most-popular songs in history, James struggled in poverty. He and his progeny failed to profit from “Jingle Bells” popularity. Seemingly he wrote little or nothing after the Civil War and died impoverished. As he wished, he lies in Georgia beside his brother-in-law, Thomas Purse, a Confederate killed at the Battle of Bull Run.
Historic plaques North and South war over the site on which James composed “Jingle Bells.” A historic society plaque marks the former site of Simpson Tavern in Medford, Massachusetts, “where
J. P. Morgan (the rich one)
Oxford Map and History
Oxford is one of the oldest towns in Maryland. Although already settled for perhaps 20 years, Oxford marks the year 1683 as its official founding, for in that year Oxford was first named by the Maryland General Assembly as a seaport and was laid out as a town. In 1694, Oxford and a new town called Anne Arundel (now Annapolis) were selected the only ports of entry for the entire Maryland province. Until the American Revolution, Oxford enjoyed prominence as an international shipping center surrounded by wealthy tobacco plantations. Today, Oxford is a charming tree-lined and waterbound village with a population of just over 700 and is still important in boat building and yachting. It has a protected harbor for watermen who harvest oysters, crabs, clams and fish, and for sailors from all over the Bay. For a walking tour and more history visit https://tidewatertimes. com/travel-tourism/oxford-maryland/.
in 1850 [he] wrote the song ‘Jingle Bells’ . . . of the sleigh races held on Salem Street in the early 1800s.” Doubt is cast on this, because the song was not published until James was in Georgia in 1857. People of
Savannah claim it was written, not in a Yankee tavern, but for a Sunday School class Thanksgiving program. Whatever the truth, this song has since circled the globe, said to be especially popular in parts of Asia where a snowflake never falls. (Reverse Covid in my humble opinion.)
Now about me and Rudolph: I shouldn’t hold a grudge, but he had two strikes against him since our meeting in 1949. In the first place, before his song hit the airwaves, my godparents had given me a copy of “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” which I reread every December. Each of eight tiny reindeer and I became friends on a first name basis, i.e. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen,
Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. I saw no need for an interloper, nor did I believe my ruminant friends would bully a youngster and exclude him from reindeer games. Strike
Two: the musical rendition of Rudolph’s fictional tale was introduced by Gene Autry. Nearly every week
in my neighborhood, before doublefeature Saturday matinees, we earnestly debated who truly reigned as King of the Cowboys. I backed Roy Rogers, a pleasant-looking man who sang those campfire songs with the Sons of the Pioneers. An unsmiling Autry serenaded some girl with a mushy solo.
Furthermore, different horses portrayed Gene’s Champion. They came in slightly different sorrel shades. One Champion even had hair dyed for his mane and tail. On the other hand, Roy rode a golden palomino stallion, Trigger, in all his movies. Trigger was said to be the smartest horse on film, with a temperament as easy-going as Roy’s image. All four horses and riders
Treasure Chest Gift Shop & Art Gallery
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have hit their happy trails now. I only wish Trigger hadn’t been stuffed and displayed for eternity, rearing solo on two hind legs in his famous standing pose.
In my youth, the Christmas season stretched from mid-December (cookie-baking-time), through the actual twenty-fifth—no more, no less. While my mother and grandmother baked, my father’s sole role consisted of buying a pine tree on Christmas Eve and erecting it in a corner of the dining room. He was a bit close with a dollar, but luckily my mother had a credit card for Hecht Department Store. To Daddy’s credit, he never used foul language, even when the tree refused to stand up straight. But come Jan-
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uary, when Daddy opened his Hecht bill, I must have been tucked up in bed, because I never heard a peep out of him. In retrospect, I’m sure my mother did.
Daddy was a staunch opponent of commercializing Christmas, at least partially as a matter of principal. So he would sympathize with my aversion to Rudolph, a creature of Montgomery Ward. In the 1930s the company wanted to economize in their department stores, where they gave away coloring books as Christmas come-ons. To save, they opted to create their own book, having staff design one. A copywriter wrote about a little reindeer sporting what in the 1930s was called a
“rum blossom.” Executives nearly rejected the concept because of its association with imbibers such as W. C. Fields. To my regret, they ultimately decided that the image staff conceived was innocuous. A decade later, the little beast’s tale was set to music. Autry sold 2.5 million recordings the first year, and reigned as Billboard’s over-all, second-best seller for three decades, before being eclipsed by Burl Ives’s rendition.
Speaking of commercializing Christmas, surely songwriters and vocalists fantasize about retiring on income from holiday classics. When Irving Berlin wrote “White Christmas” in 1941 for Bing Crosby to croon on film, they had no idea it would set records in popularity year after year. Globally, over 100 million copies of Crosby’s version have sold, outstripping notable cover recordings by Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, The Drifters, The Supremes, Darlene Love, Bette Midler, Lady Gaga, and uncountable others. In the print category, it should be noted that Montgomery Ward generously donated copyright and
Do You Hear
income for creation of Rudolph to their employee, Robert May, in 1947.
Let’s try to forget less-frequentlyheard abominations—“I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,” etc.. But I’m a sucker for hymns from my days in a grade school choir, and for melancholy secular songs like “White Christmas” or “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” Bing began “dreaming of a white Christmas” just as the Second World War broke out, separating so many families. “I Heard the Bells . . . ,” with lyrics by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, is also war-related, inspired by the poet’s search for his son, Charles. He’d received a telegram at his Massachusetts home: Charley had been severely wounded during a battle in Virginia. Longfellow hastened to Washington, hoping Char-
ley survived and might be found in one of several improvised hospitals in and around the Capitol building. His despondent lyric’s hopeful conclusion reflects his fi nding Charley survived, spared total paralysis when a bullet through the chest barely missed his spine.
Then rang the bells more loud and deep
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on Earth, good will to men.
Forty-some years ago, A.M. Foley swapped the Washington, D.C. business scene for a writing life on Elliott Island, Maryland. Tidewater Times kindly publishes Foley’s musings on regional history and life in general.
Photo by John Cole Photography
A Merry Little Breakfast
There’s nothing that makes me feel more like a kid again quite like waking up to presents under the tree and a table filled with a festive Christmas brunch. Many of these festive dishes can be made ahead, as life has a way of getting unexpectedly busy during the holidays. If you’ve got guests staying with
you or coming to visit, do yourself a favor and make something that can serve a lot of people. Breakfast casserole that can be assembled a couple days ahead or the night before are always a solid choice, such as the spinach and sausage bread pudding. Another option is to bake a maple pecan cake, place in the
freezer and thaw so you can share with everyone. Pop them in the oven
A Taste of Italy
in the morning while stockings are being opened and breakfast will be on the table before you know it.
Maple Pecan Coffee Cake Serves 6–8
Crumble
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup pecans, chopped
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons unsalted grass-fed butter, melted
Coffee Cake
2 cups organic all-purpose flour or gluten free flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup light organic brown sugar
1/2 cup pecans, chopped & toasted until golden brown
1/2 cup expeller pressed grape seed oil, for healthier cake or your favorite oil
1/4 cup whole milk
2 large eggs, beaten
1 teaspoon maple extract or Grade A
Maple Syrup
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
8 ounces sour cream, at room temperature
Icing
1 cup organic powdered sugar
2 tablespoons grade A maple sugar
For the crumble: In a small bowl,
combine brown sugar, flour, pecans, cinnamon and salt. Mix well using a fork. Use fork to stir while you pour in melted butter until a crumb-like texture forms. Break up any large crumbs with fork.
For the coffee cake: Preheat oven to 350°F. Prepare an 8-inch square pan with nonstick cooking spray. In a large bowl, stir together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, brown sugar and pecans. In a small bowl, stir together the maple syrup, vegetable oil, milk, eggs and extracts. Stir the sour cream into the wet ingredients until combined. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients, then pour in the wet ingredients. Gently stir until just combined. Do not overmix.
Spoon half of the batter it the prepared pan. Sprinkle with half of the crumble. Spread the remaining batter over the crumble. Sprinkle with the remaining crumble.
Bake for 35 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool for 15 minutes.
For the icing: In a small bowl, combine powdered sugar and maple syrup until a thick, pourable icing forms. Drizzle icing over warm cake. Cut into squares
Orange and Ginger Oatmeal with Toasted Walnuts
4 Servings
1 tablespoon unsalted grass-fed butter
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1 tablespoon organic brown sugar
1/4 cup walnuts, chopped & toasted until golden
1 cup milk (organic whole or nondairy milk)
2-1/2 cups water, plus more as needed
1 cup steel cut oats
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon fresh orange zest, plus more for garnish
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
In a small saucepan, melt butter on medium heat. Add brown sugar and stir until dissolved. Add chopped walnuts and stir until evenly coated in sugar mixture. Reduce heat and continue stirring walnuts until they begin to smell toasted. Remove from heat and set aside.
In a large saucepan, combine milk and 2 ½ cups water. Bring to a boil over high heat. Stir the oats and salt into the boiling water. Return mixture to a steady boil, then
reduce heat to low or simmer. Gently simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally and scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking. For softer, creamier oats, continue cooking for 5–10 additional minutes, stirring every few minutes. If the oatmeal becomes too thick, add water or milk to thin it out to desired consistency. Remove oatmeal from heat and let sit for a few minutes to thicken. Stir in orange zest, ginger, and cinnamon. Serve oatmeal with additional orange zest and toasted walnuts. Store leftovers in refrigerator for up to 5 days.
Brown Sugar Breakfast Tarts Yield 6 tarts
Dough
2-1/2 cups all-purpose organic flour or gluten free flour
1 teaspoon granulated organic evaporated sugar
3/4 cup unsalted grass-fed butter, chilled and cubed
6 tablespoons organic shortening, chilled
4–5 tablespoons ice water
Filling
1/2 cup organic brown sugar
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon grass fed butter, melted
2 teaspoons Grade A maple syrup
Cindy’s
Icing
1 cup powdered sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons whole milk
For the dough: In a large bowl, whisk together flour, salt and sugar. Using two forks or a pastry cutter, cut butter and shortening into the flour mixture. After a few minutes, the flour will resemble a sand-like consistency
Home Cooking”
Mon.-Sat.: 6 a.m. to 2 p.m.
Want a good home-cooked meal without breaking the bank? Bring the family
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with a few medium-size lumps. Add in 2 tablespoons of ice water and combine using rubber spatula. Gently mix in 2 more tablespoons of ice water. The dough should come together and form a mass, but still easily fall apart. It’s ready when the dough starts to stick to the spatula. Scrape dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Form into a rectangular shape and cut in half. Wrap each half separately in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours or overnight.
After dough has chilled, take one half out of the fridge and let it sit at room temperature for about 15 minutes. On a floured surface, roll dough out to about 9 x 13 inches and ⅛ inch thickness. Using a pizza cutter, slice six 3 x 4-inch rectangles and transfer to a small tray lined with parchment paper. Place in the fridge and repeat for the second half of dough for a total of 12 rectangles.
For the Filling: In a small bowl, combine all the ingredients and preheat oven to 350°F. Take 6 of the dough rectangles out of the fridge. Add 1 tablespoon filling to the center of each rectangle. Spread it evenly, leaving about ½ an inch around the edges. Take the remaining 6 rectangles out of the fridge and use a toothpick to poke 6 to 7 holes into each. Set aside.
Dab the edges of the filled rect-
angles with cold water and place the perforated rectangles on top. Gently press the edges to seal. Crimp the edges with a fork, then bake for 25–28 minutes. They should come out dull on top with a slightly golden edge. Cool tarts on the baking sheet for about 10 minutes, then transfer to a cooling rack.
For the icing: In a small bowl, combine all the ingredients and mix until smooth. Spoon into the center of the cooled tarts and gently spread toward the edges. The icing will be thin enough to run down the sides. Sprinkle with a little cinnamon sugar, if desired.
Spinach & Sausage
Bread Pudding
Serves 8–10
1 loaf brioche bread or your favorite whole grain or sourdough bread
1 pound ground breakfast sausage, cooked and drained
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 cups onion, chopped
3 cups fresh baby spinach
2 cups Gruyère cheese, grated
12 large eggs
1-1/2 cups half-and-half
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Prepare a 9 x 13-inch casserole dish with cooking spray. Tear brioche into large chunks and place in dish, overlapping to cover the bottom. Sprinkle cooked sausage on top of bread and distribute evenly.
In a skillet, melt the butter on medium heat and add chopped onions. Cook onions for about 5 minutes or until soft. Add spinach to pan and cook until spinach is just wilted. Pour cooked onions and spinach over top of sausage. Top with grated cheese.
In a bowl, whisk together the eggs and half-and-half. Add mustard, salt and pepper. Pour the egg mixture over the bread in the pan. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.
The next morning, remove casserole from fridge, preheat oven to 375 degrees and place rack in middle position. Remove plastic wrap and cover baking dish with foil. Bake, covered, for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake until top is slightly puffy and center is set, about 30 minutes more.
Let cool for about 10 minutes. Serve immediately.
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup grass-fed butter
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2 tablespoons local honey
1 large Grannie Smith apple, peeled and sliced
5 eggs
1-1/2 cups milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 loaf French bread or 6 pieces Texas Toast
Cook, sugar, butter and honey until a syrup forms. Pour into a 9 x 13-inch baking dish. Spread apple slices on top. Slice bread into ¾ inch slices and place on top of apple slices. Whisk together remaining ingredients and pour over bread. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Bake uncovered 40 minutes in 350-degree oven. Put your favorite bacon in on a sheet pan with sides at the same time.
Anti-Inflammatory
Best Breakfast Cookie
Makes 24 cookies
I created this breakfast cookie because I wanted it to be packed with great whole ingredients that you could not only have for break-
fast, but anytime of the day. I love it because it has all my favorite things I like to have in my nourishing breakfast.
1/2 cup ground flax
1/2 cup hemp seed
1/2 cup ground almonds
1/2 cup craisins
1/2 cup pumpkin seeds
1 cup organic oats (I love Sprouted Oats, by One Degree)
1/4 cup chia seed soaked in ½ cup water for 20 minutes
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1/4 cup olive oil or virgin non-hydrogenated coconut oil
1/4 cup local honey, or sweeter if you’d prefer 1 medium egg (I love farm raised)
I used a wooden spoon or you can
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have the kids use their hands for these and squish them until a little dough-like ball forms. I use about a tablespoon per cookie. Adding a little water to your hands will also form them into balls and gently press down. Bake 15–17 minutes at 350 degrees.
I call this a breakfast cookie because it’s full of anti-inflammatory goodness: omega 3-rich seeds, oats, cinnamon, healthy fats, protein and fiber. You can eat them at any time of the day and nourish your gut hormones, skin and mind. With 11 grams of protein and 7 grams of fiber per cookie, these make a great holiday cookie to keep your gut healthy and happy, and they are so delicious.
Easy Beautiful Berry Salad
This fruit salad is a beautiful blend of fresh juicy berries tossed in a tasty honey-lemon dressing. It’s quick to prepare and the perfect side dish on a holiday morning for extra healthy nutrition to build your immune system.
4 cups strawberries, hulled and sliced
2 cups blueberries
1 cup raspberries
1 cup blackberries (about 1 cup)
1/4 cup honey
Zest of 1 lemon
3 tablespoons lemon juice Greek yogurt, optional
Wash and gently dry berries. Combine the fruit in a large bowl.
In a small bowl, mix together honey, lemon zest and lemon juice. Drizzle over the fruit and gently stir until the fruit is all coated. I like to serve with a scoop of Greek yogurt.
Refrigerate until ready to serve. This is best served on the first day but still is good on the second day.
Pamela Meredith, formerly Denver’s NBC Channel 9 Children’s Chef, has taught both adult and children’s cooking classes.
For more of Pam’s recipes, visit the Story Archive tab at tidewatertimes.com.
All Quiet on the Sound A novel by
B. P. Gallagher
Chapter 16:
A Funny Way of Talking
“We got enough fuel to get us over the state line?” shouted Leon over the labored cough of the motor and the buffeting wind. Both sputter and bluster had intensified the farther south Earl brought them.
“Just enough to get there, I think! We’ll have to hope somebody can top us off before we head back. When d’you think that’ll be, by the way?”
“Hell if I know! Whenever that bastard gives up and heads home for the evening, I guess. Can’t imagine he’ll empty his tank and risk getting stuck in Virginia overnight.”
“That’s what we’re doing, ain’t it?”
“Yeah,” Leon said. “I guess it is. But we got a lot more to lose than him.”
It had become clear that the deputy was uninterested in overtaking them on the Sound. His vessel wasn’t outfitted for boarding, at any rate; she was at best a souped-up workboat. He hadn’t even hailed them yet, content with haranguing them from a distance until the Higgins brothers were forced to make land. Then the deputy would pounce with whatever charges he could muster.
Earl meant to see he didn’t have the chance, but keeping the present course was a definite gamble. The Tangier Sound was among the most treacherous stretches of the Chesa-
peake Bay watershed. Even boaters familiar with its pitching depths and hidden shoals were wise to keep a sharp mind and a wary eye out at the best of times. Today the rising wind made the water choppy, and Earl, under the influence of a cocktail of cheap whiskey and panicky adrenaline, wasn’t half as sharp as he might’ve been. Luckily, he didn’t have to think too fast.
Deadrises are designed for stability over long workdays, not speed. The Marylou likely hadn’t exceeded twelve knots in her lifetime. Earl pushed her to ten somewhere around the southern point of Bloodsworth Island and didn’t slow until Smith Island slid past to starboard. Compared to the rowboat, she may as well have been lightning in a bottle, but with Deputy Calhoun’s draketail in pursuit, the modest pace felt like a crawl. Hell, most fi shing trawlers on the Bay and off the coast of the Atlantic moved at a faster clip than they were right now.
“Gotta be over the state line here
soon,” said Earl. “Hard to tell on the water.”
“Just keep pushin’ her, dammit! Don’t let up! He’s still on us.”
“I’m pushin’ her! But once we’re past Smith we’re in the clear, ain’t we?”
“Should be, assuming he’s acting in his official capacity as a Wicomico County Sheriff.”
“And what if he says, ‘to hell with it’ and comes after us in Virginia anyhow?”
Leon shrugged. “Then I s’pose that’d make him just another wayward private citizen, and us within our rights to defend ourselves against his advances. Wish I brought my shotgun though, if it comes to that.”
Leon’s comment made Earl glad they hadn’t brought fi rearms along. The last thing they needed right now was a gunfight on top of all else. He needn’t have worried. As Smith Island fell away to their aft, Deputy Calhoun’s pursuit tapered off. Soon his draketail receded from view as well.
“He’s giving up!” said Leon, ex-
ultant. “He’s giving up, the slimy sumbitch!”
For now. Earl permitted himself a long sigh of relief just the same.
Leon wasn’t finished. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he called over the water, “Screw you, Tyler Calhoun! Kiss my briny ass!” The latter taunt accompanied by a whoop and a derriere-baring gesture that must’ve cost Leon no small amount of discomfort in the chapping wind.
Earl, too relieved to chastise his brother’s cheekiness, just hoped charges of indecent exposure didn’t carry across state lines. But his elation was short-lived. Although
they’d thrown the deputy off their trail, they now found themselves adrift in less-than-familiar waters. What came next would depend on the hospitality of the Tangiermen. No sure thing.
No Shore thing, either. The Tangiermen were islanders in every sense of the word, occupants of a distinct cultural niche in the history of the eastern seaboard. This was best exemplified by their dialect, which, with its Elizabethan— or Cornish, depending on who you asked—twang seemed to lag several centuries behind their contemporaries. Tangier talk was inflected with vowels stretched to the transformative effect of introducing whole new syllables. Along with
this antiquated style of speech, the folks of Tangier Island maintained the staunch Methodist tradition set down by their forefathers. An insular community wary of mainland interlopers, they wouldn’t allow an out-of-state arrest on their shores without a thorough examination of the circumstances behind it—or so Earl and Leon were gambled. So far, the wager had paid off.
The sun was sinking behind a curtain of clouds by the time Tangier Island came into view. Its flat beachhead featured trees, houses and other buildings that seemed from afar to arise directly from the Sound. Deadrises and skipjacks taking advantage of the brisk breeze dotted the surrounding waters. The
masts of the latter vessels were as tall or taller than most structures on their island of origin, which helped explain why there were so few tall trees in sight. Tangier had its own shipyard.
There were other reasons for the sparse greenery, too. Tangier still bore scars from the Great Storm of ’33, which had decimated its fleets and driven many residents to the relative safety of the Shore. Trees had been another casualty of nature’s fury, ripped from the marshy earth and scattered like kindling into the Sound. Worn, faded pennants waved from skeletal limbs near the shoreline to mark where the worst hazards lay submerged.
Earl guided the Marylou into
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the busy harbor on the island’s eastern side. Although it was Saturday, a bustle of activity greeted them. All around were watermen returning from pleasure outings distinguished from the work of the week only in that their catch didn’t go to market. Like most islands on the Sound, Tangier sustained itself on the bounties of the Bay. Unlike the residents of Moore Island, who often took work on the Shore, the Tangiermen were watermen through and through. Up before dawn and back to the docks after dusk year-round, oystering in the cold and crabbing in the heat, and hunting and fishing in-between.
“We’re collecting stares,” said Leon as they wove among local boats.
“Maybe you mooned one of ’em out there on accident. Or they migh-
ta heard you cussin’.”
“You think?”
“No, jackass, it’s ’cos they don’t recognize us. Now shut up and lemme do the talking.” Earl drew the Marylou up smoothly to the dock, glad of the recent practice he’d gotten at her helm.
“Fine by me. I don’t speak marble-mouth anyhow.” Which was Leon’s graceless way of admitting he struggled with the Tangier dialect. Earl had an ear for the accent— compared to Leon, anyways—but even he had trouble understanding the older folk on the island once they got going. So, he chose an open slip where a pair of young men sat smoking cigarettes. In his limited experience, the younger generation’s accents were less pronounced than their elders’ as a result of mingling with mainlanders.
“Hi there,” Earl said. “Mind if we tie up here?”
“Go right on ’head,” said the elder of the pair, a stout, dark-bearded man.
“Who’re you?” said the other, a skinny fellow with a fur-lined cap. “Ain’t seen you ’round afore.”
“I’m Earl Higgins, this here’s my brother Leon. We were just hoping to stop over n’ fuel up.”
“Whar you from?”
“Moore Island.”
“Moore Island,” said the skinny dockhand, stretching the vowels nearly to breaking. “Ne’er been to Moore Island. Whar’s that?”
“You ne’er been anywhar,” said his stout companion. “That’s up the way o’ Deal, ain’t it?”
“Bit further north,” said Earl. “Where the Sound meets Fishing Bay.”
“Huh. Ne’er been myself,” said the bearded man with the superior grasp of geography.
“Listen, we wanna talk to Neil Truitt,” said Leon, impatient as always. “He around?”
“Ole Neil?” The young watermen exchanged a glance. “’Fraid you’re too soon for him. Much too soon.”
“Left the island, has he?”
“Uncle Neil’s up n’ left this plane o’ existence. The good Lord called him home a couple a’ three years back or so,” said stout and bearded, pointing heavenward. “That ole house o’ his is gone now, as well. Ain’t many folks left livin’ over to
the Uppards since the big storm.”
“Water overtook ’em,” said the other. “Ain’t much use buildin’ naught new thataway anymore, neither. All just sinks.”
“Oh,” said Earl. “I’m sorry to hear about Ole Neil. It’s a damn shame we missed him. Our Pop went through bootcamp with him leading up to the Great War, see.”
The bearded man whistled. “Did he now? Well, I’ll be! Always knew Ole Uncle Neil was right worldly. We’re his kin, if you ain’t guessed. Two of a few of ’em, anyhow.”
“We ain’t got many a relation ’round here,” said the other. “You’ll see.”
“Who you got thar, boys?” called a man from down the pier.
“Ne’er mind that, cuz!” shouted the stout fellow. Then, at a more conversational volume, “What’d you two say your names was again?”
“Higgins. We just need to fi ll our tank, then we can be on our way soon as it’s safe.”
“A fuzz cod,” said the younger Tangierman, “and it looks to be darkening already. Might be wisest for you to wait ’er out overnight.”
“Pardon?” Leon stared at the man like he’d sprouted a second head.
“Just as I said. A fuzz cod.”
“A fuzz…cod?” Leon sounded dubious.
“Surely is,” said the stouter of the two, gesturing to the grey sky and
whitecapped Sound. Earl didn’t know a fuzz cod from a leathery catfish, personally, but he got the gist.
“Snow squall or the like,” he murmured to Leon. To Neil Truitt’s nephews he said, “Have you got an inn or boarding house on the Island where we could rent a room?”
The pair on the pier exchanged a glance.
“I don’ see as we cannot take you in for the night,” said the skinnier one. “Can’t we, brother?”
“Well, we sure ain’t got room for ’em, but I don’t see why we should not try to squeeze ’em in, all the same. Seeing as your Pop was familiar to Uncle Neil. Tie ’er to that thar
cleat, and we shall send you home come mornin’ with a fresh can o’ motor oil.”
As Earl and Leon shortly learned, the shorter, stouter of their hosts was called, somewhat confusingly, Long Jim—or perhaps ‘Logjam,’ depending which of the dozen relatives they passed on the short walk home said it. The skinnier fellow was called Filch. Affectionately, as far as Earl could tell, though when he asked Long Jim where his brother came by the name the bearded man only laughed and said, “Best mind your pockets. Boy’s been known to have sticky fingers.”
Long Jim and Filch lived in a dilapidated clapboard colonial the interior of which reminded Earl of
“Over
home for its unvarnished presentation. A tiny but crowded family cemetery dominated its front yard, rows of ramshackle headstones contained by a low wrought-iron fence. That wasn’t unusual for Tangier, based on what Earl had noted along the walk here.
“Ma woulda liked it in spirit, us taking you in for the night,” said Filch, pointing to one of the newerlooking headstones. Rebecca Helen Downey nee Truitt, it read. “’Specially for kin o’ her big brother’s war buddy.”
After the Downey brothers showed their unexpected guests the spare room and couch in the
den where they’d be spending the night—they seemed to have plenty of space, despite Long Jim’s insistence to the contrary—the four men sat down together to a quick meal of pan-fried fish and grits. Then the questions began, as Earl had known they would.
“So, what brings you two down this way?” said Long Jim to open. “Fish ain’t runnin’ further up the Sound? Oyster shoals all tore up by night-dredgers, are they?”
“Nothing like that,” said Earl. He shot Leon a cautioning look. Not that he was all too worried about his brother mouthing off. Leon hadn’t talked much since they landed on Tangier, probably because he’d only been catching every second word or
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so of what their hosts were saying. “Just got too ambitious and ranged further south than we planned. Was a nice day, ’til this mess.” He gestured to the window. Outside, the howling wind slung sleet sidearm against the pane.
“Sure is pretty out,” Filch agreed.
“Aintcha got folks back home who’re gonna wonder whar you gone?”
“Yeah, we do. They’ll just have to wait for us ’til tomorrow morning,” said Earl with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.
Better pray it’s only Maggie waiting on us. What if Geezer
Gibbs reported his boat stolen, or Maggie her brothers missing? Worse, what if Maggie was herself in handcuffs? After the foolhardy mission he’d sent her on today, not to mention Leon’s revelations and their harrowing encounter on the Sound, the latter prospect seemed frightfully probable.
“Ya’ll got anything by way of drink? I sure could use one.” Leon’s coping method of choice betrayed his own anxiety.
“We don’t partake of spirits on the island, I’m afraid,” said Long Jim.
“Naught but the Holy Spirit,” said Filch with a grin. “Shit, we don’t curse or spit none, neither. Ain’t you noticed?”
“If’n you need some tonic, though, on account of your gut’s in a bind or you cannot get a wink of sleep…”
“Yes,” said Leon, catching Long Jim’s drift. “That.”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“Why ain’t you just say so, then?” said Filch, and retrieved a jug from a cabinet across the room.
The Downey brothers must’ve been feeling dyspeptic too, because after Filch poured tots of the high-proof tonic for his guests, he poured two more for himself and Long Jim. With the lot of them thus medicated, the conversation
shifted towards other parallels of their situations.
“You two’re still livin’ in the family home same as us, are you? Back on—whar did you say you was from, again?”
“Moore Island, Filch,” said Long Jim. “He’s clever, my brother.”
“Cleverer’n you, Jimmy. Anyhow, ya’ll live with your folks?”
“With our sister,” said Earl. “Our folks are dead. Pop about six years now, and Mom…”
“Going on twelve years next week. Three, if you only count leap years.”
“Ours too,” said Long Jim. “Might be you saw.”
“Hard not to notice,” said Leon. “We don’t bury ours out front, back
home. How come y’all do that?”
“Most folks are buried so these days. Water picks ’em up outta the ground and carries ’em off otherwise.”
“Little morbid, ain’t it?”
Filch laughed. “More morbid than walking outside one morn and seein’ grandma’s bones floating on down the road?”
“He ain’t only talkin’ in jest,” said Long Jim. “Happened to plenty o’ folks buried over the Uppards after the storm o’ thirty-three.”
“Weren’t that nice, Jimmy?”
“I shan’t soon forget.” Long Jim shook his head. “Old bones strewn all up n’ down the way.”
“Not so much, no,” Earl said. “Only met him once myself, as a young’un. Pop spoke fondly of him, though.”
Long Jim chuckled. “Your Pop must notta known Neil too well neither, if that were the case.”
“Good man, our uncle. Fine waterman, probably a damn fine soldier too. Ma always did say the war turned him stern, though.”
Earl smiled, recalling his father’s bellwether sternness. “Maybe that’s why he got on so well with Pop.”
“War make him stern too, huh?”
“The war,” said Leon, not smiling. “And other things.”
All Quiet
“Them other things rub off on you too, huh?”
“Yeah.” Earl caught his brother’s eye. “More or less.”
Long Jim and Filch nodded like they understood. After that, conversation lapsed for a time. Outside the wind prattled on, rattling windows and eddying snowflakes against their frosted panes.
“She’ll blow o’er by morning, don’t you worry none,” said Long Jim after a particularly loud gust set storm shutters banging somewhere around the house.
“Ain’t too worried ’bout us,” said Earl. “I just hope we ain’t been reported shipwrecked back home.”
“Maggie’s probably worried sick over us,” said Leon. “But I think she’ll hold off on calling a search ’til morning, at least.”
True, assuming she’s not in some sort of bind herself. His misgivings must have shown on his face, because Long Jim had the tact to change the subject.
“Ya’ll are watermen too, then? That your Pop’s boat you came in on?”
“Not quite,” said Leon. He’d picked up on the accent as the night progressed. “I run a tug outta a little marina on the Nanticoke, and Earl mostly works the docks and in the shipyard.”
“On the mainland, you mean?”
“That’s right.”
“Ya’ll go to the mainland for work every day?”
“Most days.” Earl shrugged. “Ain’t all that different from going out on the Bay every day—just driving or hitchhiking to work instead of boating. And we’re still out on the water plenty.”
Filch looked skeptical. “Seems mighty far to go each day for work.”
“How’re the oystermen faring up that way so far?” said Long Jim. “Your tongers up against the same troubles we been having this season?”
“Hit or miss, so I hear. What’s your trouble?”
“Naught but naught, that’s what. Empty tongs and tore up shoals. Them thievin’ night-dredgers
been coming through, if’n I had to guess.”
“Say,” said Filch. “You boys wouldn’t happen to be oyster pirates yourselves, wouldya?”
“’Fraid not,” said Earl with a forced smile. Not oyster pirates, no. Likely something worse. But he left that unsaid.
“Yeah, well, I suppose that would be too convenient.”
Long Jim turned to his brother. “What, you think them moonlight dredgers are gonna come right out and say it like that to the first person asks?”
“I don’t know what they are or ain’t apt to admit. All due respect, but you Moore Island boys sure got a funny way o’ talking.”
Leon snorted into his drink.
Before first light on Sunday morning, Earl, Leon and their erstwhile hosts walked to the harbor through a layer of powdery snow. The docks were quiet. Most of Tangier Island would be observing the Lord’s day of rest, still abed or just stirring to get ready for church.
Filch rifled up a five-gallon jug of petrol while Long Jim advised Earl which waters to avoid in case the Sound turned rough. Earl and Leon thanked the Downey brothers for their hospitality, and each party promised to visit the other should they happen upon their
Martha’s Closet
Yard Sale
respective shores. A few minutes later the Higgins brothers placed Tangier Island far astern.
The return voyage to Moore Island held none of the drama of yesterday’s outing, for a welcome change. Except for a rough patch in the gut of the Sound, chop was minimal. The airy clouds, some of their weight shed in snow, permitted pale sunlight to filter through. But all was not calm. Mentally, Earl roiled like a cookpot. Disparate electrical currents crackled across the manifold surface of his brain, manifesting in spiraling anxieties. Head on a swivel, he scanned the water for submerged hazards or, worse, police boats. The idea of Tyler Calhoun gathering a fleet since
Huge selection of clothing (sorted by size), toys, books, kitchen items, small appliances, knickknacks, decorations, china and much, much more. All at Very Affordable Prices!
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We regularly give clothes to the Salvation Army, the Lutheran Mission, the Neighborhood Center, St. Martin's Barn, and area nursing homes. Whenever a family is in dire need, they are welcome to what we have.
Anthony’s
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yesterday, let alone blockading Moore Island, was preposterous. Yet Earl was halfway convinced they would be met on the docks by lawmen waiting to clap them in chains and haul them off to the Salisbury jailhouse.
But Moore Island lay quiet beneath an undisturbed shroud of snow. Its piers were unbusy, fleet anchored, captains and crew hands enjoying the morning at home or gone to the Shore for worship— though who led the flock these days Earl neither knew nor cared. The brothers docked the Marylou at her usual berth on the southern side of the island, then trudged
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back home through the snow. They might have been returning from any old hunt for the lack of interest they attracted. Neither watchers nor wavers waited at the windows and on the porches they passed. They received neither well-wishes nor where-the-hell-have-youbeens from their neighbors.
Still, part of Earl expected a mob of lawmen and persecutors to converge on them at any moment, the vengeful Calhoun clan bringing a whole host of Shoremen to bear. Only when they were in sight of the house did his feelings of apprehension diminish—not dissipate, but dampen to a dull drone in the back of his mind. That fretful buzz dampened further as Maggie rushed from the house in her slippers to meet them, Dougal bounding through the snow at her heels.
“Thank god you’re back!” she said, throwing her arms around them in the front yard. “I didn’t know what to think! Where the hell have you been?”
“Long story,” said Leon.
“Virginia,” said Earl.
“Virginia?! Hurry inside, then. Sounds like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Brendan Gallagher is a 2013 graduate of Easton High School and is currently finishing up a Ph.D. in Social-Personality Psychology at the University at Albany.
A Season of Giving
We here at Tidewater Times would like to wish you and your families the very best during this holiday season.
As we prepare to celebrate, please remember those in our community that have been less fortunate, especially those affected by illness and homelessness.
In this season of giving, we are featuring several stories highlighting people and organizations that give to our communities throughout the year. We would encourage supporting these groups during this time of thankfulness and hope. Let’s show, once again, that the
Mid-Shore leads the way in generosity and heart.
We also want to take this opportunity to thank all of our advertisers, readers, writers and support staff that make the Tidewater Times possible. As we head into our 74th year of publication, we are especially thankful to our Mid-Shore community. We couldn’t do what we do without all of you!
With that said, we’d like to wish you a very blessed season!
~ Anne, John, and the Tidewater Times family
Kent County and Chestertown at a Glance
Kent County is a treasury of early American history. Its principal towns and back roads abound with beautiful old homes and historic landmarks.
The area was first explored by Captain John Smith in 1608. Kent County was founded in 1642 and named for the shire in England that was the home of many of Kent’s earliest colonists. When the first legislature assembled in 1649, Kent County was one of two counties in the colony, thus making it the oldest on the Eastern Shore. It extended from Kent Island to the present boundary.
The first settlement, New Yarmouth, thrived for a time and, until the founding of Chestertown, was the area’s economic, social and religious center.
Chestertown, the county seat, was founded in 1706 and served as a port of entry during colonial times. A town rich in history, its attractions include a blend of past and present. Its brick sidewalks and attractive antiques stores, restaurants and inns beckon all to wander through the historic district and enjoy homes and places with architecture ranging from the Georgian mansions of wealthy colonial merchants to the elaborate style of the Victorian era.
Second largest district of restored 18th-century homes in Maryland, Chestertown is also home to Washington College, the nation’s tenth oldest liberal arts college, founded in 1782. Washington College was also the only college that was given permission by George Washington for the use of his name, as well as given a personal donation of money.
The beauty of the Eastern Shore and its waterways, the opportunity for boating and recreation, the tranquility of a rural setting and the ambiance of living history offer both visitors and residents a variety of pleasing experiences. A wealth of events and local entertainment make a visit to Chestertown special at any time of the year.
For more information about events and attractions in Kent County, contact the Kent County Visitor Center at 410-778-0416, visit www. kentcounty.com or e-mail tourism@kentcounty.com . For information about the Historical Society of Kent County, call 410-778-3499 or visit www.kentcountyhistory.org/geddes.php . For information specific to Chestertown visit www.chestertown.com .
Changes: The Middle of Nowhere
Up the creek with a paddle in the Arctic (Part 1 of 3)
by Roger Vaughan
Summer, 1988:
It wasn’t until we were in Yellowknife, waiting for all the members of our expedition to gather, that I realized how eerie three weeks in the wilderness might be. Here, near the Arctic Circle, the sun is up 23 out of every 24 hours in summer. It is disconcerting, disorienting. Strange.
Yellowknife, a mini city of 10,000 where the mosquito is proudly featured on T-shirts and souvenirs, is the capital of Canada’s Northwest Territories. Its isolation makes it seem larger than it is. Yellowknife sits on the northern side of Great Slave Lake, a glorious body of water 300 miles across distinguished by a complete absence of boats in mid-July. The 55-degree water tends to discourage recreation.
Although the city is about as far north as cities are built, it has an uptown patina highlighted by a few expensive art galleries and a handsome new museum. People in stores and supermarkets are
exceedingly friendly. After a fiveminute conversation, someone might invite you home for a drink.
The place was full of ravens and seagulls vying for roof space. I was told it was odd to see both birds in town at the same time, as if a misunderstanding had occurred between the July and August renters. The large scruffy raven mafiosi were aggressive, playful, calling like the backup singers in “Sympathy for the Devil,” more than a match for sleek but mindless gulls. Ravens are spooky, and stories about them were numerous. Two ravens had been seen rocking a wooden barrel lid until it fell off, revealing the contents. One man had seen a raven taunt a dog just beyond the range of its tether, driving the animal crazy. The dog finally broke loose and chased the bird. The raven flew low, pulling up just before the rear end of a pickup truck into which the enraged dog crashed headfirst. Nevermore.
By the second day in Yellow-
Yellowknife
knife, our party was assembled. Bill Hoyt, a New York State assemblyman from Buffalo, had provided the impetus for the trip among his paddling cronies. Hoyt is hooked on the North, knowledgeable about its history, enchanted by its lore. He has collected more than 1,000 books about the area. Some of them rare. Most of them he says he’s read. In the last 20 years, he has paddled 2,000 miles on seven different northern rivers. He lusts for the North the way others lust for money or fame.
The Horton River, which begins at Horton Lake, 65 miles north of the Arctic Circle— roughly 4,500 miles northwest of Washington, D.C.—was to be the next notch in his paddle. It’s the northernmost river on the North American mainland, flowing 384 miles toward the North Pole through 32,000 square miles of total isolation. It’s flat land populated only by fish, birds, ground animals, caribou, musk, oxen, wolves, and grizzly bears. Oh, and mosquitos. Canoeing such a river can be a matter of pure survival. Even in the summer, which lasts only six weeks, the Arctic is not to be taken lightly.
nist from Buffalo, whom we called Doc to distinguish him from Bill Hoyt; Steve Lunsford, a rare book dealer from Vancouver, B.C.; Jim Magavern, an attorney from Buffalo; Peter Raymond, a filmmaker from Toronto; and Fred Seidl, dean of the University of Buffalo School of Social Work.
Our group was a bit heavy on the academic side, but Hoyt, Steve, Jim and Peter all had wilderness experience. Peter, Steve and Fred, a former football guard who has kept in shape, looked the strongest. Doc, Jim, Eric and I averaged 160 leanand-mean pounds apiece.
He lusts for the North the way others lust for money or fame.
That evening, we had dinner with a guide named Ingmar Remmler, a short, stocky Swede with a quiet voice and a hustler’s faded blue eyes. Ingmar had returned from a Horton trip the previous day. He said the beginning of the Horton was shallow, the last hundred miles numbingly desolate.
In addition to Hoyt and myself, there were Eric Poggenpohl, a photographer; Bill Fleming, an inter -
The subject of bears came up, as it always does in these parts. The grizzly (Ursus horribilis) is big, mean, hungry, almost impossible to stop in its tracks with a gun, and is known to stalk men. Hoyt said the grizzly was famous for its false charge. “One must stand one’s ground,” Hoyt said with a wry grin, “or even charge the bear when he charges you.” Really?
“I thought so, too,” Ingmar said,
Yellowknife
“until I saw one coming like a diesel.”
Someone mentioned we had whistles Hoyt had purchased for bear scaring.
“Oh, did they sound anything like ground squirrels?” Ingmar asked. “Bears love ground squirrels.” His laugh was annoying.
In Norman Wells, a community of 400 built around an Esso oil refinery 420 miles north of Yellowknife, the customer service manager for Canadian Airlines took us and our 35 bags (1,183 pounds) in his truck from the terminal to the bush plane port on the Mackenzie River. The used canoes Hoyt had bought sight-unseen from Ottawa outfitter Wally Schafer had been dumped on the dirt amid empty fuel, barrels, and other junk. They fit right in. They were the sorriest looking, most beat-up, pieced-together Grumman 17-footers we had ever seen. Worse than Manhattan rent-a-cars. Two of the keels were broken. The boats were full of patched holes. But it’s hard to kill an aluminum Grumman, and these looked as if they had at least 21 days left in them.
I went off to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police station to check in and check out.
An enthusiastic young Mountie in jeans, jogging shoes and a garish collector’s item sweat shirt emblazoned with the Mounties logo— “Maintien Le Droit” (uphold the right) encircling the head of a musk ox—jumped to his feet and offered us coffee. We all refused, which he couldn’t comprehend. He must’ve offered coffee three more times before he broke into rapid patter: “… and make certain that you call, because if you don’t, 24 hours after you were supposed to let us know you were off the river, we will come looking for you…”
“Oh,
did they sound anything like ground squirrels? Bears love ground squirrels.”
He gave us a questioning look and a wave of his cup that made us wonder if the Mountie was actually Dan Aykroyd.
Hoyt, Eric, Fred and Peter flew out to Horton Lake in the first wave with half the gear and two canoes strapped to the pontoons of the bush plane. Jim, Steve and
He asked if we had a gun. “A shotgun. Right. Why did you choose a shot gun?” I explained I had been assigned to bring the gun because I was from Maryland’s Eastern Shore where everyone hunts. Everyone but me, as it happens. I told the Mountie I’d persuaded a friend to ask his uncle, a big game hunter, if I should bring a Marlin lever-action 336, or a shotgun with a deer load. I had access to both. My friend had called his uncle, who told him if I chose the Marlin 336 I should make sure to file off the front
sight. Huh? Did he say why? “Yeah,” my friend said. “Uncle Roy said after you take your six shots the bear is gonna shove the gun up your ass.”
The Mountie laughed politely. He’d heard that one a few times. He pursed his lips and looked thoughtful, took a swig of his coffee, brandished the cup. “Sure you don’t want coffee? Really?” He shook his head. “Well, in the weapons course we take, one of the drills is the bear attack. The bear target is 100 yards away. On a signal, it approaches at charging speed. Our job is to pick up the shot gun, load two shells, and fire before it gets to us. No one has ever done it.” He smiled. “Well, you seem well-prepared, capable. Have a great trip. Don’t forget to call.”
ribbon candy. We were now 100 miles north of the Arctic Circle; the middle of nowhere.
Eric was enthralled by the light. He said it was like the rarefied light of a clear fall mid-afternoon, only it sustained hour after hour. He was still excited by his adventures the previous evening. Shortly after his arrival at the lake, he had seen a white wolf along the shore. Then he’d caught a 10-pound lake trout on his first cast.
“Well, you seem well-prepared, capable. Have a great trip. Don’t forget to call.”
We worked hard all day, getting organized amid swarms of mosquitoes. The bugs were annoying, but the repellent (Ben’s 100) and our net bug jackets soaked in the stuff kept them at least an inch or two away. We picked tent mates and paddling partners and stretched ill-fitting spray covers on the canoes.
Horton Lake looked tasty from the air, clean water and shifting hues of blue and green under a cloudless sky. The small figures around the campsite near the head of the river were the first signs of life we had seen on the 200-mile flight from Norman Wells. The ground was indistinguishable from the map: flat, tinted green and dotted with hundreds of small ponds. More like big puddles. Tiny streams doubled back on themselves like
The constant light kept extending the day. Dinner came and went and still we worked. Finally, around 10 p.m., Eric and I took a canoe to try our luck fishing at the head of the river. The lake was like glass, the sun hot. The bug population required nets that refracted the sun in dazzling, distracting streaks, adding visual confusion to our already boggled senses.
I caught a small grayling and was reeling it in when there was big action at the end of the line. A very large fish began attacking my gray-
Yellowknife
ling. The water exploded and boiled again and again as the big fi sh hit hard, and the grayling struggled. Finally, grayling and attacker were gone. Eric saw a huge shadow, cruising in the shallow water and cast in front of it. The fi sh hit. For five minutes, it towed the canoe with Eric whooping and hollering. I paddled Eric ashore where he landed the fi sh, a 38-inch lake trout that weighed nearly as many pounds.
I shot the obligatory picture of Eric holding the monster in bright sunlight, then we looked at each other and cracked up. It was midnight. Where were we, and what the hell were we doing?
We had counted two dozen varieties of flowers the first day.
At last we were paddling on the Horton River, or mostly paddling. Ingmar was right. The river was very low. Half a dozen times on the fi rst day the canoes ground with a dread metallic sound into the gravel, and we would pull the heavy boats through 2 inches of water. Wet feet could have been a problem, but it was a balmy 72 degrees with occasional tailwinds. And we were happy to be underway. Fred, Peter and Steve sang, constantly trading songs back-and-forth among the canoes. We sang “these boots were made for walking...” The more we had to walk, the more of an edge the song developed.
Nevertheless, the pleasures of the river began to accumulate. The water was crystal clear. Even in the deep sections, we could always see the bottom. And it was potable. For a quick refresher, we simply dipped our cups alongside the canoe and had a 55-degree drink of delicious water. The thrill of doing that never paled. We had counted two dozen varieties of flowers the fi rst day. Gorgeous clusters of purple and yellow glowed amid the gravel bars. Lush patches of small, glistening white tufted clumps atop green stems (cotton grass) blew in the wind like dandelions gone to seed. The list of birds grew long. My stern man, Peter, and I tucked into the bank around one bend and scared up a mother ptarmigan and her adolescent flock. They jumped into the air with a flurry, like quail.
We saw killdeer and the handsome Arctic tern in quantity, but had to check with Fred, the birdman, about the lean, long-tailed bird that flew in graceful curves, like a jet fighter. A Jaeger, he told us at lunch. The Jaeger is known to harass other birds until they vomit up a meal for him. It reminded someone of insider stock-trading criminals. We tucked “Jaeger” into our lexicons.
Vaughan.roger@gmail.com
Chesapeake by Del Webb - McDaniel model in move-in condition. Living room, dining room, family room with gas fireplace, open gourmet kitchen with breakfast area, granite countertops, cooktop, double wall oven, sunroom, 1st floor primary suite with double vanities, jacuzzi tub and separate shower. 2nd floor has loft, 2 guest bedrooms and bath and walk-in attic storage. Large 2-car garage and ample driveway parking. Patio and lawn irrigation. 55+ age restricted section of community. Community offers a clubhouse with game room, gathering room for special events, 2 exercise rooms, outdoor pool, 2 tennis/pickleball courts, Bocce ball, putting green, exercise paths, picnic/gazebo areas. Close to downtown Easton with fine dining, art galleries, and more. Minutes from St. Michaels and Oxford and easy access to Western Shore and MD/DE beaches. $575,000
NEW LISTING
Chesapeake by Del Webb - This popular one-story Vanderbuilt model features a living room/dining room combo, family room with gas fireplace, open kitchen with breakfast nook and Corian countertops. Primary suite with walk-in closet, primary bath with soaking tub, separate shower and double vanities. Guest bedroom and bath, study, 3 season sunroom overlooking open space and pond. 2 car garage, lawn irrigation, invisible fence, patio. Roof new 2023. 55+ age restricted section of community. Community amenities include Clubhouse with exercise rooms, library, billiards room and game room, outdoor pool, picnic areas, tennis/pickleball courts, bocce ball, horseshoe pits, putting green, exercise paths. Enjoy an active lifestyle in this wonderful community close to downtown Easton, shopping, restaurants and medical facilities. $520,000
Welcome to Sandy Lane, in Easton MD, where prime location and rst class design and construction come together. Out ten tastefully-appointed custom-built homes feature a highly e cient, low maintenance lifestyle that boasts rst oor primary bedroom suites, garages and elegant nishes throughout. Home prices starting at mid $400s.
All of this is delivered with the bene ts and convenience of in-town living and the privacy of a cul-de-sac community. Walk to historic downtown Easton or drive to the charming towns of St. Michaels and Oxford in just minutes. ese homes are ideal for commuters, with easy access to Route 50. Schools, medical centers, shopping, Rails-toTrails, public parks and entertainment are all close by these centrally-located homes. For nature lovers, just moments from Sandy Lane you'll nd nature preserves, hiking and biking trails, and the waterways of the nearby Chesapeake Bay. You can nd Sandy Lane at 807 N. Washington St. in Easton, Maryland.
TRED AVON RIVER
Private 4250 sq. ft. four bedroom home overlooking a sheltered cove on the Tred Avon River with quick access to Oxford the Choptank and the Bay. Deepwater pier. Riprapped shoreline. This handsome home features a large first story bedroom with walk-in closet. Glassed, screened and open porches take advantage of the setting. Available furnished. $2,625,000.
