Tidewater Times May 2024

Tidewater Times

May 2024

www.SaintMichaelsWaterfront.com

The “Keithly House,” circa 1786 & 1860

One of St. Michaels’ historic treasures! Located in the heart of the town’s Historic District, mid-way between Talbot Street and the Harbor, this beautiful home is absolutely charming inside and out. It has been lovingly maintained, expanded and updated, with care to preserve the 18th and 19th century character. Sited on one of the larger lots in town, this is a comfortable, livable home featuring downstairs living and family rooms (both w/fireplaces), dining room and modern kitchen. Three bedrooms (one w/fireplace) and 2 full baths upstairs. All rooms are bright and cheery! Private, professionally landscaped back yard and off-street parking. $1,485,000

Seven Splendid Private Properties on Talbot County Tour, May 11

An array of exciting Eastern Shore properties awaits your visit during the Talbot County portion of the Maryland House & Garden Pilgrimage, Sat., May 11 from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., rain or shine. The Talbot County Tour is exceptional and not to be missed!

The Tour gives you rare access to some of Maryland’s most iconic homes and gardens, reflecting the unique beauty of Talbot County: Canterbury Manor, Ellenborough and a lovely home on Hanson Street (all in Easton) plus Chloras Point Farm, Ferry Farm House,

Lloyd’s Landing and Trappe Landing Farm (all in Trappe).

The Talbot County Garden Club, which organizes the Tour, has participated in the Maryland House & Garden Pilgrimage since its inception in 1939. As a fundraiser, this year’s Tour will support facilities preservation and restoration at two significant historic sites: Scotts United Methodist Church and Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church (White Marsh Parish) in Trappe. Tour proceeds will also help support TCGC’s maintenance of the Talbot Historical Society Garden in Easton.

Canterbury Manor - the garden is pictured on this month's front cover.

Talbot Tour

To purchase advance-sale tickets at $40 online by May 1, 2024, go to mhgp.org. Advance tickets are also available in Easton at Bountiful and Garden Treasures and by mail to TCGC, PO Box 1524, Easton, MD 21601 with checks payable to MHGP. Day-of tickets at $45 may be purchased at all Tour sites and at Momma Maria’s in Trappe.

Visit TCGC’s website for further Tour details and for an optional $17 box lunch menu with full ordering, payment and pickup instructions: talbotcountygc.org (Advance lunch reservations are required and must be received by May 1, 2024.)

Here are insights into each of the Tour’s splendid historic properties and waterfront estates—all sure to

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Talbot Tour

regale you with beguiling floral arrangements indoors and exquisite spring gardens outdoors:

CANTERBURY MANOR: Built in 1906 by Colonel F. Carroll Goldsborough, this elegant twostory Colonial Revival mansion stands on land originally granted to Samuel Graves in the mid-17th century and subsequently laid out in 1659 for Richard Tilghman, a London surgeon and later a Maryland planter. Elliot Wheeler, who owned the property (1915–45), is credited with creating its present appearance. The central portion of the house has a pedimented Ionic portico with wings on the east and west and a double veranda on the

Talbot Tour

west—all designed to take advantage of cooling breezes pre-air conditioning. An original glass grand foyer frames a sweeping view of the water and creates a dramatic entrance.

While formal in design, the house bears an intimate charm with welcome views of the gardens, lawn and Trippe’s Creek beyond. The upstairs master bedroom oversees the entire property with another large porch overlooking the formal gardens and pool. A dormitory tucked under the eaves on the third floor fits a growing brood of the current owners’ grandchildren.

ELLENBOROUGH: Located on Peachblossom Creek with wide western views, Ellenborough is a grand 54-acre estate approached by a magnificent, half-mile drive lined with Norway maples planted in the early 19th century by the original owner. The current house replaced the plantation home built by Matthew Goldsborough around 1860 that was named “Ellenborough” to honor his wife, Elean or Golds borough . That house burned down in 1905 and was virtually abandoned until 1928, when the current Ellenborough was constructed as a twoand-a-half story Colonial revival brick mansion with graceful fivebay facade. A three-bay portico is braced by a trio of fluted Ionic

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Talbot Tour

columns that support an elegant pediment. A lovely porch offers impressive views of the more than half-mile of waterfront. The new owners have worked hard to create an elegant interior that embraces its historic past but with modern updates. Historic details include fine woodwork, seven fireplaces and a dramatic, sweeping staircase in the central hallway.

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219 S. HANSON STREET: Occupying a spacious double lot, the brick residence at 219 S. Hanson St. embodies timeless elegance. Boasting a slate roof and copper gutters, it was built in 1938 for Dr. William D. Noble, a prominent surgeon and chief of staff at Easton Memorial Hospital. The custodians of this historic home acquired it in 2021 and have meticulously undertaken a masterful renovation while honoring the many architectural details that define its character. The wrought iron staircase

Talbot Tour

out front still bears the letter “N,” a subtle nod to Dr. Noble. Inside, a graceful curving staircase ascends to the second floor, setting the tone for refinement that permeates the house. The living room blends old and new as the original fireplace and windows coexist with modern furnishings. The gorgeous rich green library, a sanctuary for reading and relaxation, is a room where the original owner indulged in needlework to maintain his surgeon’s dexterity!

On the other side of the house, a newly renovated kitchen provides a light-filled culinary haven. In the formal dining room, an exquisitely handcrafted dining table

is crowned by a chrysanthemumlike overhead light fixture. Step outside to discover the original koi pond surrounded by lush plantings that create a Zen-like ambiance and remnants of a brick grill that evoke al fresco gatherings from years past.

CHLORAS POINT FARM:

Once part of the Hyer Dyer Lloyd land grant of 1659, Chloras Point Farm enjoys broad water views from a protected vantage point, thanks to a generous lagoon in front of the house and a sandspit off the Choptank River that creates a private harbor. The farm is named for Clora O’Dora who bought 600 acres from Dividing Creek to Island Creek from the Lloyds in June 1666. Starting with a modest but sturdy homestead built in the late 1700s, it has seen numerous additions and renovations over the years: 1830, 1870 and several in the 20th century. The owners have remodeled to meet 21st century needs without compromising his -

Talbot Tour

tory. The landscaping is designed to favor large sweeps with minimal variety. Explore the grounds and look west toward the Choptank to discover a point of cedar trees topped with eagles’ nests.

FERRY FARM HOUSE: Ferry

Farm House is one of only fifteen remaining Talbot County homes built before 1731, and it boasts one of the earliest gambrel roofs in the area. Its tobacco barn is original— one of only two that still exist in the county today.

Initially, the house operated as an inn and tavern for those await-

ing the ferry to cross the Choptank River to Dorchester County. Ferry rights granted to landowner Henry Bullen in 1722 were later owned by William Akers until the early 19th century. He and wife, Ann, were the first to use the building as a residence.

The original house was supported by unsawn white oak logs with original bark. The eastern wing was added in the 1940s from what had been a small horse barn.

The current owners acquired the property in 2012 and have stewarded it well. Their kitchen island is fashioned from the original house’s wood. And their walnut staircase and the living and dining

room walls’ fluted pilasters provide a rare glimpse into authentic 18th century decor.

LLOYD’S LANDING:

The oldest and best preserved example of early 18th century architecture in Talbot County and a superior example of the kinds of houses built by prosperous families of the time, Lloyd’s Landing was erected for James Lloyd between 1720–1730. Its steep and unusual roof pitch that extends over a brick terrace enabled James, known as “the Mariner,” to keep an eye on his warehouse and wharf on the Choptank River. Interesting artifacts from the Choptank tribe have been found near that wharf, indicating

Talbot Tour

a large Indian encampment there. In 1841, the Lloyd Family sold the property to William Hughlett, whose descendants (through the Hardcastle and Henderson lines) own the property today.

Most of the house has kept to its original use, including the dining room, living room and upstairs bedrooms. True to the times, there is not much ceiling clearance. Walking outside provides a view of the Choptank and an opportunity to see the mid-nineteenth century hay barn, recently restored as a bunkhouse while retaining many original details.

TRAPPE LANDING FARM:

In 2018, the current stewards of Trappe Landing Farm acquired this 108-acre property with its sprawling farmhouse, original smoke

house, tillable land, woodland, dock and 700 feet of waterfront at the headwaters of La Trappe Creek. The original farmhouse dates to 1850, although tax maps hint at a similar size structure there in 1794. Passing this site in the late 1880s, steamboats made their way to and from Trappe Landing, which remained a thriving shipping port until 1973.

Major renovations to the property in 2000 added living, dining and game rooms and a porch on the first floor and office, master suite and deck on the second floor, plus 120 trees. The current owners planted 450 additional trees and seamlessly integrated a three-bay garage, a handsome 5,000 square foot barn with adjacent vegetable garden and an adorable guest house. Inside the house amidst exquisite artwork, there is much to discover in rooms, from cozy and

Welcome to Sandy Lane, in Easton MD, where prime location and rst class design and construction come together. Our 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.

Talbot Tour

warm to formal and elegant. With stunning water views, impeccably maintained grounds, magnificent perennial beds, and beautifully tailored interiors, this house is an absolute must-see.

For questions about the Talbot County Tour, contact co-chairs Kim Eckert (kaeckertdesign@ gmail.com · 410-703-6592) or Zandi Nammack (zandinammack@ gmail.com · 973-476-6211). For lunch questions, contact Madeleine Cohen (scottsumc2023@ gmail.com · 917-434-1886). For other information, check mhgp. org · 410-821-6933.

Lona has lived on the Eastern Shore her entire life. Her local knowledge and connections make her an expert in the area. Providing customer service with honesty and integrity is important to her! See my Zillow for current listings and reviews

Lona is a 3rd generation realtor in the family business with her father as the

broker since 1978.

Eastern Shore Death Cleaning by Helen Chappell

Like most artists, I live in clutter and collections. We both collect things we like and tend to forget to toss most of the collateral junk we’ve also collected.

The latest fad is getting organized. Whether it’s the irritatingly anal Marie Kondo or something sinister called Swedish Death Cleaning, the trend is to organize and toss ruthlessly until your home looks like the sterile layout from some upscale shelter rag. Not so much as a stray magazine or a comfy old afghan.

My late mother was obsessed

with cleanliness and order. Not only was our house spotless, no stray object lived long with us before being ruthlessly disposed of. You’d put a toy down somewhere and off it would go to the rummage sale. You’d be halfway through dinner and she’d snatch your plate away to the dishwasher. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but not much. That woman’s religion was clean and orderly. Perhaps as a rebellion or perhaps because I was more interested in literature and the arts, I have never been a neat freak.

Death Cleaning

Which is not to say my dirty dishes remain in the sink, my sheets and towels aren’t washed once a week, or the garbage is allowed to stink up the place. I’m not a complete slob.

But I am, like a lot of people with pretentions to an art, a cluster freak. I collect: art, books, strange objects and things that I think are cool. Yes, there is dust, but the fixtures are washed, and I mostly know where to lay my hand for things, in spite of being at an age where you walk into a room and can’t remember what you came in for.

My clutter was mostly under

Death Cleaning

control until a couple of years ago when I injured my back. I won’t bore you with an organ recital, but let’s just say that the stuff was piling up while I was out of commission. A dear friend came in and tried to organize the chaos I’d left behind when I was hauled off to a Dickensian nursing home. She did her best, but when I came back, my guest room was filled with clothes and random wardrobe stuff. While I was away, I’d lost so much weight that my carefully collected wardrobe no longer fit. Which you would think would be a good thing, but meant I was down to a couple of pairs of jeans and

some shirts. I’ve got to get in there and sort that stuff out to donate to a thrift shop, but I open the door and look in there and I’m instantly exhausted. I have to lie down and hope it all goes away.

And how did I amass two boxes

Grace and Grandeur! Welcome to the iconic Albanus Phillips house (c 1913) designed by renowned NY architect William Van Allen, architect of the famed NY Chrysler building. Steeped in history and tradition, this Queen Anne style house with Colonial Revival influences has enjoyed a storied past as a private residence and former B & B. Boasting extraordinary craftsmanship and millwork, a grand foyer, 10 bedrooms, 4.5 baths, drawing room and gallery, 6 fireplaces, large kitchen.

Death Cleaning

of paper on my dining room table?

What am I going to do with a 1991 Medicare Guide, or a Writer’s Market for 2009? Did I really think this stuff was going to come in handy? I was on the edge of becoming a hoarder! Uh-oh.

It finally occurred to me that if anything happens to me (and it’s likely it will), some poor friends and relatives are going to have to go through all this crap and they will curse me in the afterlife for leaving them this mess.

When I had to hire a wonderful cleaner to do all the work I’m just not capable of doing anymore, I began to see just how bad it had be -

come. She started by bagging two trash bags of what she considered junk and inspired me to get off my behind and start to declutter.

So I’ve girded my sweats, dragged out some trash bags, saved those

Death Cleaning

Amazon boxes and put on my I’M ADULTING tee shirt and started to sort. It’s a slow process, but I’m doing a bit at a time.

I’m fascinated by things I once considered indispensable. Why am I saving white gym socks from the ’90s? Why am I saving a box of burned-out charging cords from devices I no longer use? And what about those two outdated, useless computers collecting dust? It’s an archaeological dig, and I’m Phil Harding. You just never know what you’ll fi nd that will take you on a trip down memory lane. Maybe a bad trip, but adulting means being ruthless in getting rid of stuff.

There’s not enough here to hire a dumpster, like they did when the old crazy man died and left some seriously toxic stuff behind. A few trash bags and trips to the recycling station should do it, given time.

And I’m not worried about stuff that no longer brings me joy or stripping the place down to the bare bones. Over the years, I’ve curated some great stuff from woodworkers to visionary artists and I like living with the things I love.

When I get impatient that I can’t move faster, I remind myself that I’m getting it done. I’m not my mother but I am trying to clean up my act.

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.

New Orleans, Beignets and Jazz by

Bonna L. Nelson

Who doesn’t like beignets? A New Orleans (NO) signature favorite of locals and tourists alike, the doughnut-like treat is deep fried and crispy on the outside and puffy, light, and airy on the inside. Served in threes, the square-shaped beignets are sprinkled generously with powdered sugar. The little pillows of pastry are both tasty and fun. You cannot eat

the chewy delight without receiving a fanciful, white-powdered mustache. I had been telling my husband, John, about the distinctive New Orleans Creole cuisine since vacationing there with our daughter, Holly, years ago. Now it was his turn to try the sugar pillows that were brought to New Orleans in the 18th century by French Colonists. The morning

Beignets and Jazz

after we checked into the Omni Royal Orleans Hotel in the famous French Quarter, we walked to the Café Beignet on Royal Street. Yes, he was a happy man, white-mustachioed, sprinkled with a bit of orange Cajun spice from the Cajun home fries and scrambled eggs that he had added to his order.

Our dining experiences grew from there. Over a span of a few days, we sampled the best that New Orleans has to offer: gumbo, jambalaya, etouffee, boudin, Andouille sausage, fried oysters, Gulf shrimp Creole, muffalettas, po’ boys, sweet potato mousse, rice and beans, hush puppies and more. We were delighted with the cuisine in the historic Napoleon, Royal House, Snug Harbor and Omni’s Rib Grill restaurants as well as the fairly new Boulevard.

The elegant, historic Omni with a marble-floored lobby and crystal chandeliers was a pleasant stay. Besides having beautifully appointed and comfortable rooms with Creole

and French accents, charming amenities, and gracious, helpful staff, the big attraction for Holly and me on our earlier trip is the rooftop pool with bar and 360-degree view of the city and the Mississippi River. The hotel was the former City Exchange in the early 18th century, bustling with commerce auctions for sugarcane and cotton, but sadly also dealing in the slave trade, which ended in the early 1830s.

The structure was redeemed and rebuilt as a holiday destination, a grand hotel, by James Hewlett, a Creole gentleman of Black and French descent and a hotelier. The glorious St. Louis Hotel opened in 1843 and provided a meeting place

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ANNAPOLIS: 1 hr., 29 min. after Oxford

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Beignets and Jazz

for people of all backgrounds as well as hosting extravagant Mardi Gras balls and exclusive retreats. The Hotel suff ered damage during the Civil War and from hurricanes, had several owners and fell into disrepair until privately renovated, reopening in 1960. Since 1986, Omni Hotels and Resorts have maintained and operated the elegant hotel along with other investors.

That fall in the Big Easy was overcast, hot, and humid with temperatures in the 80s and 90s and occasional thunderstorms and showers. We decided to both cool down and learn more about NO from the water by taking a historical cruise on the beautiful red and white paddlewheeler, Creole Queen, on the lower Mississippi River. A historian/ local professor entertained us with a detailed narration about NO historical landmarks and related stories. On breaks we were serenaded with jazz music and a café offered cooling beverages.

Beignets and Jazz

From our historian we learned that the Mississippi River is the second longest river in North America, flowing 2,350 miles through the center of the U.S. to the Gulf of Mexico. In the area of NO the river is one mile wide and 205’ deep. We passed the commercial port area with numerous ships and barges at dock. Surprisingly, too, we passed a Domino Sug-

ars factory, also a dominant feature of the Baltimore Harbor.

Jazz music played while we disembarked with our historian at Fort Jean Lafitte National Historic Park, site of Andrew Jackson’s victory against the British at the 1815 Battle of New Orleans. After a brief lecture and walk around the park, we returned to our riverboat. We had some relief from the heat with a cool breeze when the ship turned around and headed back upriver to port.

We saw NO uniquely from the water on the cruise and then the next day on an hour and a half Hop On Hop Off (HOHO) City Tour, a sightseeing coach with over nineteen stops in both the French and Spanish quarters as well as the Garden Dis-

Beignets and Jazz

trict. At over 300 years old, according to various sources, NO was founded by the French in 1718, ruled for 40 years by the Spanish, and bought from Spain by the United States in the 1803 Louisiana Purchase.

NO is known for its rich blend of cultures with influences from America, Africa, Europe, and the Caribbean. It is also known for its unique mix of architecture, culture and cuisine as well as for its jazz music and opulent Mardi Gras celebrations. Flat and walkable, it is easy to get around on foot, bike or taxi.

From the water and on land, we saw the iconic Jackson Square with the magnificent St. Louis Cathedral, a National Historic Landmark and prominent feature of the city. Built in 1727, the stunning three-spired religious structure is the oldest continuously active Roman Catholic Cathedral in the US.

The land tour took us through the legendary French Quarter, another National Historic Landmark and the oldest neighborhood in New Orleans. The drive took us along Bourbon Street, and we later strolled down this most famous street in the French Quarter. The party street, laid out by the French in 1721, is the scene of parades, frolicking, balconies, beads thrown from balconies, crowds, hustle and bustle, and hosts some of the oldest family-run restaurants, bars and music venues in the country along its 13 blocks.

Bourbon Street is not, interestingly, named for bourbon but for the French royal House of Bourbon. Balconies overflowed with hanging baskets of ferns and flowers, and we spotted a few beaded necklaces hanging here and there on trees, power lines and balconies. Spooky Halloween décor, skeletons and witches, also beckoned to us from above.

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Beignets and Jazz

Much of the French Quarter’s architecture, including on Bourbon Street, is actually Spanish rather than French. The historic architecture owes its Spanish influence, including intricately designed black iron balcony enclosures, to the destruction of French buildings in a fire in 1788 during the Spanish occupancy.

Rebuilding under the Spanish rule

gave it the look you see today. We enjoyed our stroll down the nightlife epicenter of NO, and we were entertained by live jazz, blues and folk musicians on almost every corner.

Other sites on the land tour included a drive through the Garden District, a residential community of Greek Revival manses and Victorian cottages, many owned by the rich and famous (John Goodman, for one), as well as unique shops and restaurants. We also passed by other neighborhoods, historic sites, markets, restaurants, art galleries, shops, and museums during the narrated tour. I recommend HOHO tours, found in most cities, to get a feel for the layout, key sites and history of a city.

One night we took in the music scene with a blues and jazz concert

Beignets and Jazz

at Snug Harbor Jazz Bistro and Restaurant after enjoying their fried oysters and hush puppies. Located in a renovated 1800s storefront just outside of the French Quarter, Snug Harbor includes a dining room, bar and music room.

When Holly and I visited, we were privileged to see Ellis Marsalis, now deceased, father of Wynton Marsalis, playing piano jazz. The small, intimate, seated theater venue is extremely popular with local and touring jazz notables. John and I were treated to an authentic, vibrant, soulful blues and jazz music experience with Diunna Greenleaf and the Blue Mercy Band from Texas.

The award-winning songstress is noted for her blues and jazz vocals and multiple albums. She is well known internationally and served as the fi rst female President of the Houston Blues Society. Greenleaf offered the audience jazz and blues tunes, beginning each song by sharing stories about the music, fellow musicians and her various performance venues. We tapped our toes

and clapped our hands along with the rest of the audience. Delightful, inspirational and uplifting!

New Orleans is considered the birthplace of jazz. Some say jazz developed in the early 1800s from the music of its diverse population and what they heard at home, in bars, in African religious worship, drumming, Voodoo rituals, a melding of many cultures, emotions, skills and instruments. They say jazz is reborn every day.

NO is also a city with many museums. One of our favorites is The Historic New Orleans Collection for a terrific overview of NO history accompanied by historic artifacts on display. Located in the French Quarter, around the corner from the Omni, you will fi nd everything from Victorian absinthe spoons to 17th-century maps as well as period furniture, paintings and decorative objects. The collection is housed in several renovated 18th and 19thcentury structures, and the gift shop is not to be missed.

We ended our last day in New Orleans on the rooftop of the Omni sipping daiquiris while taking a last look at the historic city and the mighty Mississippi and hoping to return to relish more cuisine, historic sites, museums and jazz.

Bonna L. Nelson is a Bay-area writer, columnist, photographer and world traveler. She resides in Easton with her husband, John.

What is Your Witness to Life?

by Michael Valliant

This summer our class will graduate from seminary. This fall, I will be ordained as a deacon in the Episcopal Church. After serving as a deacon for a year, I can be ordained as a priest. Even after working for the church for the past seven-plus years, it’s still an odd thought sometimes. One of the things that has come with this line of work has been helping with or leading funerals, including for family, friends, and family of friends. It’s an honor, it’s humbling, and it makes me look at mortality straight on, like it or not.

A question that comes at the end of someone’s life is, what is their

legacy? What do they leave behind? How will they be remembered? It can also cause us to ask questions about the lives we are living. What does my life say about me? How am I known by others? What am I doing with my time on the planet? What is my witness to life?

We all live different lives, have different priorities and passions, and the view from our lives isn’t the same. The difference between our legacy and our witness is that if we look at our lives and don’t like the view, we can do something to change it.

“The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”

Witness to Life

is a short story written by James Thurber in 1939. I remember reading it in middle school or high school. It’s about a daydreamer who takes details from his mundane life around him and turns them into fantasies about the incredible things he might do. It’s also the title of a 2013 movie starring Ben Stiller, Kristen Wiig and Sean Penn.

Stiller plays Walter Mitty, who works for Life Magazine managing all the negatives that come in from photographers. Penn plays a worldtraveling adventure photographer. Stiller/Mitty’s life is plain, non-descript, boxed in, meager, defined by his lack of taking chances, of risking anything. Instead, he zones out into daydreams rather than trying to do

any of them in real life. We learn his back story: he was a risk-taking dreamer with a mohawk who was about to go backpacking around Europe when his father died. His father had shaved his head for his mohawk. Mitty decided that for his mother and sister, he needed to let go of his dreams and passions and get a job so he could support them.

Over the course of the movie, Mitty goes from socially paralyzed daydreamer to live-in-the-moment risk-taker traveling around the world trying to track down Penn’s character. And the more Mitty lives life, the less he is stuck in/with his daydreams.

As a lifelong daydreamer, it’s a movie that speaks to me. I don’t want to let go of dreaming, but it’s also on me, on us, to take chances, take risks, to try to realize what dreams we can.

Does our witness to our lives come down to what chances, what risks, we actually take?

Risks don’t have to be physical risks. Maybe mountain climbing, bungee jumping or motocross jumping aren’t your thing (they aren’t mine). Risks might be applying for a job you want but aren’t

Witness to Life

sure you’ll get; asking someone out when you don’t know what they’ll say; roadtripping or traveling to somewhere you’ve always wanted to see; or voicing your feelings or standing up for yourself when it feels like life is pushing you around. What are the things we want our lives to be about, what are the things we want to be known for? A word that I love hearing people described as is “authentic.” That

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someone lived life their way, that they were or are who they are.

In her book “The Gifts of Imperfection,” social worker and storyteller Brené Brown says this about authenticity: “Authenticity is a collection of choices that we have to make every day. It’s about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen.”

Over the course of “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” Mitty’s appearance changes. He goes from nondescript to looking, dressing, acting more himself. He starts making choices to let his true self be seen. A former co-worker of mine went from being a Washington, DC, lawyer to running a contem-

Mon-Fri 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Evenings & Saturday by appt.

porary music worship service in a church. In the office one day, she joked, “The reason I stopped being a lawyer is because I wanted to wear jeans to work.” It was a great and funny statement, and it held some truth: if wearing a suit every day and sitting at a desk is not something you look forward to, is it something you want to give time, money and effort towards?

At a funeral, nothing affects me more than seeing that someone was loved. And hearing how they loved the people in their lives. This outshines everything else. To be loved for who we are, we have to let people see who we are, we have to share our dreams, our fears, our passions. That involves risking not being un-

derstood. The word Brown uses for this risk is vulnerability.

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.”

Being vulnerable doesn’t sound

Witness to Life

like fun, more like torture. But it’s a surefire way to avoid getting to the end of our lives having worn a suit of armor that doesn’t let anyone see or know who we are. Being vulnerable just means being open, honest and showing up as ourselves.

My best witness to life is to be who I am. To let other people see and know me and thereby to surround myself with people who appreciate who I am and who open themselves up to show who they are. Authenticity can be contagious, in a good way.

If our witness is authenticity and love, then our legacy will be authenticity and love. That is a view I want to spend some time with.

The Life Magazine that Walter

Mitty works for in the movie has a motto that he comes to embody. It’s a solid motto for life:

“To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. That is the purpose of life.”

That’s not a bad motto or reminder to carry in your wallet.

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.

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The Ivy Café and Catering Rated Highly for Fresh Deliciousness by

Tracey F. Johns

The Ivy Café and Catering has seamlessly woven itself into the fabric of the community, offering an array of fresh deliciousness right in the heart of Easton on Dover Street and across the street from the Courthouse lawn. Owner Jen McCrea offers daily specials, fresh salads, homemade soups, and delectable sandwiches. The Ivy has become a beloved fixture for locals and guests alike.

Having recently expanded its

footprint, The Ivy now offers a new indoor space, providing a charming setting for onsite catered events and accommodating more guests for lunch. With large, beautiful artwork adorning its walls, ambient lighting, audio/visual equipment and flexible seating, the new space radiates warmth and hospitality.

A beautiful wrought-iron gated entrance ushers diners into The Ivy, with a brick patio offering an inviting outdoor dining experi-

Ivy Café and Catering

ence amidst lush gardens. Here, patrons may even encounter “Ivy” the squirrel, a friendly presence embraced by regulars and social media fans alike.

Inside, a seamless flow leads from the patio to the order and

pick-up counter, then to the vibrant new dining and event space to the right. It’s a bustling hub where locals gather, making it a prime spot for chance encounters and catching up with friends.

During a recent visit, the lively atmosphere during spring break was palpable, with a diverse crowd of patrons from students to business professionals, families and retirees, all savoring the Ivy experience.

Indulging in the culinary delights, the tarragon chicken salad and roasted beet and goat cheese salad are standout dishes for me, each a symphony of flavors meticulously curated with layers of complex tastes that linger.

Ivy Café and Catering

The versatility of The Ivy’s indoor and outdoor spaces is highlighted during special events, where guests can seamlessly transition between areas, fostering a sense of intimacy and conviviality. Background music further enhances the ambiance, creating memorable moments for all.

McCrea says she always dreamed of providing take-out lunch service from the space that was once the Fiddle Leaf Café and was convinced after years of encouragement to expand into the adjacent property for indoor seating that recently opened and is already a place to see and be seen in Talbot County. It’s here that McCrea offers her signature warm,

inviting atmosphere that has everyone feeling comfortable and, thanks to her menu style, nourished.

The journey of The Ivy began years ago when Jen was the owneroperator at Hill’s Café and Juice Bar. “I worked there for just shy of 10 years,” she reminisces. However, when the opportunity arose, McCrea made the bold move to transition to The Ivy’s current location. “We closed in 2020 because the building sold,” she explains, “and that’s when we made the transition.”

The transition wasn’t without its challenges, especially navigating through the pandemic. But McCrea’s dedication and passion for her craft, coupled with a loyal customer base, ensured The Ivy’s continued success. “Grateful” is the word McCrea uses to describe her feelings about the community’s unwavering support.

Now with that continued commitment to quality and fl avor, The Ivy’s menu reflects its dedication to serving the community. While remaining strictly a lunch destination, The Ivy’s catering for onsite

Ivy Café and Catering ues to evolve, it remains a beacon of fresh deliciousness and community spirit, a place where memories are made and friendships flourish.

private and special events further underscores its role as a nexus for community connections.

Looking ahead, McCrea envisions expanding The Ivy’s event offerings, enriching the bonds within the community. As The Ivy contin-

The Ivy’s new inside space provides opportunities for intimate gatherings, bridal showers, rehearsal dinners, business mixers, and much more. To see The Ivy’s menus and catering information, visit theivycafeeaston.com.

Editors’ Note: The Farwell family just celebrated the marriage of our daughter Mary to Griffi n Ronning at the Ivy Café. It was a beautiful event, and we can’t thank Jen and her staff enough for making our day absolutely perfect!

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.

The Aizuri Quartet Returns to Easton for The Chesapeake Chamber Music Festival by Anna Snow

Praised by the Washington Post for “astounding” and “captivating” performances that draw from its notable “meld of intellect, technique and emotions,” the Aizuri Quartet, a finalist of Chesapeake Chamber Music Competition in 2014, was named the recipient of the 2022 Cleveland Quartet Award by Chamber Music America, with other honors, including the Grand

Prize at the 2018 M-Prize Chamber Arts Competition and top prizes at the 2017 Osaka International Chamber Music Competition in Japan.

At the Chesapeake Chamber Music Festival’s Opening Night, June 7, the Aizuri will perform Franz Schubert’s String Quartet “Death and the Maiden,” a passionate and compelling work, one of the pillars

The Aizuri Quartet will headline the Chesapeake Chamber Music Festival’s first week. The Festival begins June 7 and continues through June 15, 2024.

Chamber Music

of the chamber music repertoire. On June 8, audiences will discover composer Reena Esmail, in Zeher (poison in Hindustani), a short work commissioned by the Aizuri, which combines Indian and Western musical traditions. On June 9, the Aizuri will treat their audience to Fanny Mendelssohn’s elegant String Quartet in E-flat Major, the work of an extraordinarily gifted musician and composer.

The Quartet’s latest album, Earthdrawn Skies , was named one of NPR’s Ten Best Classical Albums of 2023. It was praised by NPR Music as an album that “convincingly connects the dots in wildly diverse

music stretching over eight centuries…arousing solemn contemplation, cosmic curiosity, folksy delight and introspective scrutiny.” Aizuri’s debut album, Blueprinting, was nominated for a 2019 Grammy Award and named one of NPR Music’s Best Classical Albums of 2018.

The Aizuri views the string quartet as a living art and springboard for community, collaboration, curiosity and experimentation. The Quartet has drawn praise both for bringing “a technical bravado and emotional power” to bold new commissions, and for its “flawless” (San Diego Union-Tribune) performances of the great works of the past. The New York Times has ap -

EASTERN SHORE TITLE COMPANY

Melissa Grimes-Guy Photography

plauded the Quartet as “genuinely exciting” and “imaginative.”

The Aizuri believes in an integrative approach to music-making, in which teaching, performing, writing, arranging, curation and the Quartet’s role in the community are all connected. In 2020, the Quartet launched AizuriKids, a free online series of educational videos for children that uses the string quartet as a catalyst for creative learning, featuring themes such as astronomy, American history and cooking.

The Aizuri Quartet is passionate about nurturing the next generation of artists and has held several residencies that were instrumental in its development, notably at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia (2014–2016) and at the Caramoor Center for Music and the Arts (2015–2016.) In 2022, the Aizuri Quartet was selected as part of the Artist Propulsion Lab second cohort, a project of WQXR, New York City’s classical radio station.

Formed in 2012 and combining four distinctive musical personalities into a powerful collective, the Aizuri Quartet draws its name from “aizuri-e,” a style of predominantly blue Japanese woodblock printing that is noted for its vibrancy and incredible detail. Violinist Miho Saegusa is a founding member of the Quartet.

For complete program listings and to purchase tickets, go to ches-

apeakemusic.org.

Sponsors of this year’s Festival include the Maryland State Arts Council, Paul and Joanne Prager, and private benefactors.

Chesapeake Chamber Music Festival Schedule

June 7-15, 2024

Friday, June 7 – 7:30 p.m.

Opening Extravaganza!

Saturday, June 8 – 7:30 p.m. Personal Perspectives

Sunday, June 9 – 5:30 p.m. Fabulous Fantasy

Thursday, June 13 – 7:30 p.m. Masterminds

Friday, June 14 – 7:30 p.m.

Chesapeake Chamber Music Competition and More

Saturday, June 15 – 7:30 p.m. Finale

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/.

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TIDEWATER GARDENING

by K. Marc Teffeau, Ph.D.

May Plantings - Growing Up!

Yeah! Spring is now in full “bloom,” so to speak, and warmed temperatures have arrived. However, be on the lookout for that last cold front that may sneak up on us in early May and bring some cold temperatures. May is when we are busy setting out annual flower and vegetable

transplants. In particular, tomato, pepper, and eggplant transplants become less stressed when they are set out on a cloudy, calm day. Unfortunately, gardeners may need to transplant when they have the time, regardless of the weather. Strong sun and wind are hard on new transplants, so set out plants

Tidewater Gardening

in the late afternoon when the wind comes down and the plants have overnight to acclimate. Provide shade and wind protection with berry baskets, small crates, or screens.

Heavy clay soils are slower to warm up, so I recommend that you do not apply mulches in the garden and on raised beds until the first of June. Mulches applied to cool soils will keep the soil temperature down and slow up rooting of the transplant. When the June temperatures get hot, mulching the soil then helps since it lowers the rate at which water evaporates from the soil and controls the soil temperature.

The seeding of cool season crops has ended, and hopefully you are starting to see the harvest results of the lettuce, spinach, broccoli, cauliflower, beets, edible pod peas and cabbage that you planted in March. Unfortunately, with those cool season crops early spring insect pests become active. These pests include aphids, cabbageworms, squash bugs, cucumber beetles and Colorado potato beetles. Aphids seem to appear overnight and suck the sap from the leaves and tender new growth but usually cause little permanent damage. A number of parasites and predators, notably the ladybird beetle, help keep this insect pest in check. A forceful spray from the garden hose will also help to keep aphids under control. For serious infestations, try using a soap insecticide.

Keep an eye out for cabbageworms in the cabbage and broccoli plantings. They can ruin the heads if not kept under control.

Tidewater Gardening

How many times have you gone out to the vegetable garden, picked a couple of nice heads of broccoli, brought them inside and steamed them for dinner and then found a couple of blanched white cabbage worms in the heads when you put them on the dinner plate? Don’t worry, the cabbageworms are a source of protein, but most of us prefer being served protein in the form of a steak. Use a biological control called B.t. or Dipel to control these worms.

Seed now the warm season crops like green beans, summer and winter squash, sweet corn, pumpkins, cucumbers, melons and planting sweet potato slips. To extend your green bean harvest, plant the seeds every three weeks to carry your production through in the fall. I usually plant green beans in the spot I have broccoli after harvesting the broccoli flower stalks and removing the plants. If you plant

sweet corn, plant the seeds in blocks rather than long individual rows. Corn is wind pollinated and block plantings will improve pollination success.

To prevent cutworm damage on tomato, pepper and eggplant transplants, cut the tops and bottoms from the small size coffee cans. Place the cans over the transplants in the early evening. Next morning remove them so the plant can get full sun. Repeat this practice for about a week until the plants become established. A telltale sign that you have cutworms in the garden is pencil diameter sized holes in the ground. The cutworms come out at night and clip the transplants off at the ground level.

I always recommend using a soil inoculant when planting legume crops like beans and peas. Legumes such as clover, peas and

Tidewater Gardening

beans have root-colonizing rhizobacteria that can increase the availability of nitrogen to the plant by fixing nitrogen from the atmosphere. Each legume has a specific rhizobacteria that works best with that plant. Inoculating the legume seed with the correct bacteria ensures the legume will maximize nitrogen availability if nitrogen in the soil is low. You can purchase the specific inoculant for beans and peas on the Internet. I have also found small packets at Burpee and other seed companies seed rack displays in the garden centers. Follow the packet directions for best results.

If you have limited gardening space like I do or want a compact vegetable garden area, consider growing some crops vertically. Vertical or trellis gardening has become more popular lately, especially if you grow in raised beds.

Vining crops like indeterminate tomatoes, pole beans, trailing squash and melons lend themselves to trellis production.

Summer zucchini is a very popular crop and lends itself well to vertically gardening.

By growing zucchini vertically, you can save garden space and maximize your harvest. Vertical gardening allows you to grow more crops in a smaller area, which means less weeding, less watering, and less care. There are some YouTube “gardening experts” that claim they have fewer problems with squash vine borer on zucchini plants but I have read no verifiable research studies that confirm this statement. However, if it does help

reduce squash vine borer damage, great!

As we know, zucchini varieties, both green and yellow, can be quite vigorous, spreading horizontally if left unchecked. By training them to grow upward, you’ll free up valuable ground space. You can also create room for other crops or plant companion crops at their

Tidewater Gardening

base, which may help in insect control. Another benefit of growing upward is the zucchini fruits (yes, zucchini is horticulturally classified as a fruit) are not on the soil being exposed to soil borne rots. Growing vertically can also ensure better airflow around the plants, which will help with leaf disease control.

The soil and light requirements for vertically grown zucchini are the same as for traditionally grown plants. You can use bamboo, metal or fiberglass six-foot stakes, tomato or other metal cages and various types of fencing and netting to support the plants. Zucchini plants also are great grown on trellis. The trellis can be metal, bamboo or wood. They are a large plant, so they will need something to climb on; otherwise, they just end up with their stems on the ground. You can also grow single zucchini plants in large pots and containers with a supporting structure.

When you seed or plant the seedlings into the soil or raised bed, leave about three inches of space between the stake and where you intend to plant your zucchini seeds. As your zucchini plant grows, start tying its base to the stake. You can use gardening twine garden twine, jute, zip ties—keep them loose— or cloth strips to secure the stem. This encourages upward growth

and prevents sprawling. As the plant grows, prune the lower leaves out. This increases airflow around the plant and fruit and allows the plant to put energy that would usually go into excessive foliage production into fruit production. With the exposed upright stems, you can easily apply Bt insecticide to help control squash borers.

Harvest the fruit when it is ready. Don’t let it get baseball bat size! This size will break the plant! Do repeat harvesting to encourage long-term production. Remember that zucchini plants rely on bees and other pollinators for fruit development. Growing the plants vertically makes it easier to control squash bugs and other pests with organic controls.

I have seen various lists of zucchini varieties that are recommended for vertical or trellis growing. Those varieties include Zucchino Rampicante, Black For -

est, Raven and Greybeard. Two new, especially bred for vertical growing cultivation varieties, that I would suggest that you try out are Renne’s Gardens Organic Climbing Zucchini and Burpee’s Squash, Summer, Rise and Shine Hybrid.

Renee’s Garden says of their green Organic Climbing Zucchini, “Our unique, space-saving, climbing zucchini grows up any fence or trellis, bearing abundant tender fleshed and truly delicious, nutty tasting rich green zucchinis, easy to find and harvest with no bending down!” The seed is available at ‘Incredible Escalator’ Climbing Zucchini (reneesgarden.com). There are a number of YouTube videos available about growing zucchini vertically. I like the one on Renee’s Garden website.

Of Burpee’s Squash, Summer, Rise and Shine Hybrid, Burpee writes, “Vertical-growing squash offers up tasty, bright-yellow fruits. Things are looking up for

small-space squash lovers. This revolutionary vertical-growing variety gives you tasty, bright-yellow fruits, even in modest-sized gardens. Stake to support the bushy 4’ tall plants, which spread out about 3’ max. Gorgeous 4-8” spineless fruits pack big, rich, buttery flavor and are bitter-free.” Whether you grow horizontally or vertically this gardening season, I hope you have the best of success!

Happy Gardening!

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.

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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/.

Roots by A.M. Foley

Bruce Springsteen was famously “Born in the USA”—New Jersey, 1949, to be precise. He may or may not have exercised his privilege, but he became eligible to vote at age twenty-one in 1970. Two years later, the 26th Amendment to the Constitution dropped the age of voting to eighteen, largely due to anti-Vietnam War sentiment (“Old enough to fight; old enough to vote”). I too was born in the USA, but I didn’t become eligible to vote until I was twenty-seven. It took the 23rd Amendment to the Constitution to make it possible for me to vote.

Being excluded from voting privileges for so many years probably explains my obsession with being counted at every opportunity. I never forego a chance, however ardent or tepid my feelings may be for a crop of candidates. Maryland’s primary elections are restricted, but in many other states, where primaries are “open,” I would call myself an Independent. Because Maryland restricts primary voting to party members, I register with a party rather than be excluded. May 14 is Maryland Primary Election date, and I plan to be at the Community Building having my say.

Our unique Constitution rooted ultimate power in the consent of the new nation’s governed. Each former Colony received unfettered right to determine voting eligibility within its state border. In George Washington’s time, the right to

select leaders generally belonged to white male property-owning adults. As new states were admitted to the Union, a crazy quilt of dominant local prejudices evolved.

One original state in the East, New Jersey, allowed unmarried or widowed women to vote, provided they owned property. Oddly, Maryland, the first English colony rooted in religious freedom, was the last state to remove a religious voting restriction, enfranchising Jews in 1828. After 1838, Kentucky women could vote in school elections. Decades passed before a few, new western states enfranchised women in general. Occasionally, states had second thoughts and rescinded rights. Enfranchise -

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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/.

ment from time to time came and went here and there for free black men, Native Americans who renounced their tribes, Chinese- and Mexican-Americans, naturalized citizens, etc.. In the 1960s, the Supreme Court under Earl Warren began outlawing parochial exclusions and establishing a nationwide principal of “one man, one vote.” In modern parlance, “one person, one vote.”

Other than residence, no historic exclusion ever prevented my voting. When I became an adult, I was an apartment-renting female. Those two impediments had been eliminated by my time. Racial dis-

crimination never hindered my voting. It was only that I was born and lived in Washington, D.C., when District residents had no vote. From G. Washington to L.B. Johnson, those born and living in the capital city sent no representatives to Congress or the Electoral College. Moreover, Congressmen or the President held ultimate authority over local decisions of consequence.

Mark Twain is often credited with saying, “History may not repeat itself, but it often rhymes.”

Disenfranchisement of D.C. residents was rooted in the Philadelphia Mutiny of 1793, when the Continental Congress was besieged and held hostage inside Independence Hall by an unruly mob. The hostage-takers were unpaid soldiers with valid claims for overdue pay, but their barricading the Hall of Congress had unintended consequences centuries later. Pennsylvania’s Council balked at sending state militiamen against the rebellious soldiers. When ultimately freed, the Continental Congress opted to relocate to a state where they might be safer. Nomadic ses -

sions took them from Philadelphia to Princeton, down to Annapolis, then back north to Trenton, New Jersey, and on to New York City. Small wonder that Congress opted to establish a permanent jurisdiction, independent of any state authority. Surely the federal government would defend its own.

President Washington chose land along the Potomac River above Mount Vernon for the federal district. Maryland and Virginia ceded land astride the river, forming a square, each line measuring ten miles. Being one-time hostages and part-time legislators, Congressmen undoubtedly focused on their own safety rather than future rights in the boggy capital

city-to-be. While city plans were worked out, any property-owning white male Marylanders and Virginians within the square retained voting rights. In 1801 their rights went away. It was enacted that the independent district would con-

sist of two counties, one on either side of the Potomac: the district of Columbia and the district of Alexandria. In 1847, when the acreage seemed excessive, nearly all of the Alexandria portion was ceded back to Virginia, returning full rights to its residents. Hundreds of thousands of residents of Maryland’s Columbia portion would have no say again in elections until 1961.

Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson all supported giving District residents long-sought voting rights. Once Congress reacted with bipartisan support, the required number of states took less than a year to approve the 23rd Amendment. Nevertheless, Congress and the President retained

Tidewater Residential Designs since 1989

extraordinary control over administrative details in the District of Columbia. The reins relaxed incrementally in the latter 1900s, when D.C. was granted a non-voting Representative to sit somewhat mutely in the House, alongside those from the territories of Puerto Rico, American Samoa, Guam, the Northern Mariana Islands, and the U.S. Virgin Islands. Later the Voting Act of 1973 authorized an elected mayor and city council, but limited their powers to act without federal approval. Most famously, unlike state and territorial governors, Mayor Muriel Bowser has no authority to activate D.C. National Guardsmen in an emergency. Only the President and his political appointees in the Pentagon hold authority to activate the D.C. National Guard. Thus fingers are still being pointed for January 6, 2021.

For my part, decades before that day, I had succumbed to the lure of the Eastern Shore, voting and even

serving as an election judge for District 18, where we boast of the highest percentage of participation in Dorchester County. (My late friend Eva would say, “We’re little, but we’re loud.”) Serving as an election judge is another privilege reserved to party members. Even so, in normal times, when “compromise” isn’t a four-letter word, I usually end up splitting my ballot between two major parties, hoping that divided power leads to some reasonable middle ground. Whatever the climate, I vote, believing not to vote forfeits one’s right to complain about officeholders.

My father never voted in his life. Second-generation born in a Washington neighborhood called The Swampoodle, he was in his mid-fifties when elections finally came his way. I guess they took too long arriving; he remained apolitical—not surprising. Officially,

Roots

the Civil Service system governing federal employment was also apolitical, but when he needed a job in the early days of the Great Depression, it didn’t seem to work that way. City-born locals generally had to find work either with the D.C. government or with private entities. Political appointees atop departments favored voting-eligible constituents from out of town.

By the time I entered the job market, this exclusion no longer

held. The boss at my first real job was an old-fashioned naval officer and gentleman, a veteran of World War II, who spoke modestly of having captained an aircraft carrier in the Pacific fleet under the command of Admiral John McCain Jr., whose son was then a prisoner in Hanoi. Our office was housed in a former wartime warehouse, converted into the Marine Corps’ austere headquarters and some rather shabby Navy Department offices. In summertime, workers on the unfinished, non-airconditioned fourth floor had salt tablet dispensers next to their drinking fountains. Luckily, though a lowly mail clerk, I toiled steamy summers on the air-cooled third floor.

The building sat on the hill by Arlington National Cemetery, where audible gun salutes echoed to us from military burials. My morning commute from the District took me past some pretty awesome sights: imposing federal and international buildings lining Constitution Avenue, around the Lincoln Memorial, and across the Potomac on Arling-

Oxford Business Association

May 2024 Calendar

5/1, and 6/5 - Sea Level Rising - Floods, High Tide & Erosion in Oxford - Oxford Community Center, 5:30 p.m. A look at the impacts of sea level rise in Oxford and possible steps to arrest its most devastating impacts on our community. Register at https://oxfordcc.org/

5/2 - Fuller and From - Come watch a live Talbot Spy taping moderated by Dave Wheelan. 5:30 Oxford Community Center. https://oxfordcc.org/

5/3 - Dinner and a Movie - It’s greek night at the Oxford Community Center. Enjoy Greek Moussaka and Baklava before a screening of Momma Mia. Dinner and movie, $25; just the movie, Free. Sign up at https://oxfordcc.org/ .

5/4 - Cars and Coffee Returns to OCC - Oxford Community Center, 8:30 – 10:30 am. Come enjoy the incredible array of automobiles! Free. Sponsored by Prestige Auto Vault, Eat Sprout & Doc’s Sunset Grille. https://oxfordcc.org/

5/4 - Rummage Sale - Oxford Volunteer Fire Co. Auxiliary, 9 to 12, 300 Oxford Rd., drop off donations 5/3, 8 to 1.

5/4 - Ribbon Cutting - Oxford Community Center celebrates it’s new landscape and thanks its generous donors. 10:30 a.m. 200 Oxford Rd. https://oxfordcc.org/

5/4 - Book Signing - Stop by Mystery Loves Company and meet MD author Con Lehane and pick up a signed copy of Murder in the College Library, a 42 St. NYC library mystery. 202 S. Morris St. https://mysterylovescompany.com

5/7,8 and 10 - Tred Avon Players auditions for The Hallelujah Girls at the Oxford Community Center on Tue, May 7, 6-8, pm, Wed, May 8, 6-8 pm, and Fri, May 10, 6-8 pm. Six women and two men. More info at www.tredavonplayers.org/auditions-1

5/11 - DiMillo’s Marine Flea Market - Come browse and pick up your boating needs. 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the marina, 202 Bank St. https://dimillosyachtsales.com/marinas/dimillos-oxfordmaryland-marina/

5/11 - The John Wesley Preservation Society Spring Soul Dance - At the Oxford Community Center, 7-10 with live band, the Comfort Zone. Tickets at https://johnwesleychurch.org/

5/11 - Oxford Museum’s Memories and Musings: Oxford Voices from the 1960s - At St Paul’s Church, corner of Morris & South Sts.; 5-6:30, https://www.oxfordmuseummd.org/

5/12 - Pancake Breakfast - Oxford Fire House, 8:00 – 11:00 am, $15

5/17-19 - Oxford Fine Arts Show - The 40th Annual Show at Oxford Community Center. Gala Friday evening, Show 10-4 Sat & Sun. Student Exhibit, Art Raffle. Enjoy lunch and strawberry shortcake in the tent both days. Sat. evening BBQ with music by Jen’s Frenz. https://oxfordcc. org/ for more information, tickets, raffle items, gala tickets.

5/25 - The Stage at OCC presents Hannah Gill and and her Septet Jazz Band – Oxford Community Center, 7:30. https://oxfordcc.org/ for more information and tickets.

Fridays 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. - Doehrn Tea Co. Jacks Point Rd www.doehrntea.com

Scottish Highland Creamery Soft Serve on Tilghman St. opens for the season on Memorial Day Check restaurant and shop websites or Facebook for current days/hours.

Roots

ton Memorial Bridge. Even at the crack of dawn, on a fair day I was mindful that the sights were rather inspiring, despite a vague sense of being a somewhat second-class citizen. (D.C. license plates bear a motto: Taxation without Representation)

In those long ago days, school buses from near and far swelled traffic, carrying soon-to-be graduates on their senior class trips to the Nation’s Capital. Hundreds of exhaust-belching yellow GM behemoths arrived annually, as reliable as the Cherry Blossoms. They lined the Mall, taking every parking spot from the Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument to the U.S.

Capitol. (If I sound begrudging, it’s likely because we D.C. school children were provided no transportation.)

It’s past time for me to get over my jealousy. Half my life has now been spent east of the Bay Bridge. I enjoyed full rights of citizenship as soon as I hit the ground on the Shore, and I haven’t had a parking problem in decades. I’m thoroughly content with my decision to relocate and immensely grateful for the goodness of my neighbors. But when I hear someone use “Washington” as if it were a dirty word, I wonder if their senior class took a trip to the capital and if they saw what I used to see every morning.

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.

40th

Celebrating Spring

These quick and easy recipes will get you through the month of May, whether you are in the mood for a Pulled Chicken Sandwich, a Corn and Coconut Soup for Mother’s Day or a Beef and Rice Noodle Salad for the Kentucky Derby! Summer is almost here, but regardless of the weather, it’s time to celebrate the last of spring with some incredible

easy recipes with real-food ingredients. These meals are fast, light and totally delicious! With these recipes you can hopefully spend more time outside and less time in the kitchen.

Pulled

Chicken Sandwich

Serves 4 1/4 head red cabbage, shredded

Tidewater Kitchen

1/4 cup apple cider vinegar

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

2 cups cooked shredded chicken

1/4 cup barbecue sauce

4 whole wheat burger buns

2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

4 slices white onion

Combine cabbage, vinegar and black pepper. Let stand 30 minutes. Combine the pulled chicken and barbecue sauce. Split the rolls and spread mustard. Fill each burger bun with 1/4 chicken, sliced onion and cabbage slaw.

Corn and Coconut Soup Serves

4

1-1/2 cups corn kernels (from 3 fresh ears, or frozen and thawed)

1 can (13.5 oz) light coconut milk

Juice of 1 lime (plus extra wedges for serving)

1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes

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Tidewater Kitchen

(plus extra for serving)

2 scallions, sliced, white and green parts separated

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

Chopped fresh cilantro, for servings

In blender, combine corn ker -

A Taste of Italy

nels, coconut milk, lime juice, fish sauce, red pepper flakes, scallion whites and salt. Puree until smooth. Strain; discard solids. Serve with cilantro, red-pepper flakes, scallion greens, and lime wedges.

Herbed Crab Roll Serves

4

3 tablespoons mayonnaise

2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon

Juice of 1/2 lime (plus extra wedges for serving)

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1/2 pound cooked crabmeat

1/2 Granny Smith apple, finely chopped

1 small shallot, finely chopped

4 whole wheat buns

Whisk mayonnaise, tarragon, lime juice and mustard. Fold in crabmeat, apple and shallot. Add mixture to buns. Serve with lime wedges and black pepper to taste.

California Chinese Chicken Salad Serves 4

1/2 cup sesame dressing

2-1/2 cup shredded napa cabbage

2-1/2 cups shredded kale

2 cups cooked shredded chicken

1 cup grated carrots

1/2 cup cooked chow mein noodles

2 scallions, sliced

1 avocado, pitted, peeled, and sliced

Whisk sesame dressing with 1/4 cup water. Set aside. Combine cabbage, kale, chicken, carrots, noodles, scallions and avocado. Add dressing and toss well. Divide among 4 plates.

Beef and Rice Noodle Salad Serves 4

4 ounces thin rice noodles

1/2 pound lower-sodium deli-sliced roast beef, cut into strips

1/3 cup Thai peanut sauce

3/4 cup frozen peas, thawed

1/2 cup fresh mint leaves, torn if large (plus extra for serving)

1/4 cup peanuts, coarsely chopped

1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced

Tidewater Kitchen 1/2 small red onion, sliced

In large bowl, cover noodles with boiling water. Steep 2 to 3 minutes. Drain (save 1/2 cup noodle water) and rinse. Toss with roast beef strips. Combine peanut sauce with 1/4 cup of reserved noodle water (add more as needed) and add to bowl. Add peas, mint, peanuts, pepper and onion. Divide among 4 bowls and top with extra mint.

Cobb Salad Serves 4

2 romaine hearts, chopped 3/4 cup chopped green beans

2 radishes, thinly sliced 1/2 pound cooked shrimp

1 avocado, pitted, peeled and sliced

2 hard-boiled eggs, sliced

1 cup halved cherry tomatoes

1/4 cup red wine vinaigrette

Scatter romaine hearts in 4 shallow bowls. Divide green beans,

radishes, shrimp, avocado, eggs and tomatoes among the 4 bowls, topping each in rows. Drizzle each with vinaigrette.

Zucchini Pappardelle with Basil-Mint Pesto Serves

4

3 medium unpeeled zucchini (1½ pounds total)

1 cup fresh basil

1 cup fresh mint leaves

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons grated Pecorino Romano (plus extra for serving)

2 tablespoons pine nuts

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1 ripe avocado, sliced (optional)

Shave zucchini into ribbons with vegetable peeler. In food processor, combine basil, mint, oil, cheese, pine nuts, salt and pepper. Process

Cindy’s

until smooth.

Pour pesto onto zucchini and toss. Divide among 4 plates. Add several slices of avocado to each plate, if desired. Top with extra grated cheese.

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 9: Unusual Things

The Higginses did their best to maintain their daily rhythms. In the week after Pastor Calhoun’s death, Earl and his siblings went about their usual routines. A shroud of normalcy descended over their lives, gossamer and thin, convincing only if you didn’t look too hard at it. Not total normalcy, because the holidays and dark of winter were upon them and all folks got a little queer that time of year, but the yuletide atmosphere lent itself to the charade.

Sunday saw no search party scouring the island for the absentee pastor, though those Moore Islanders who still attended weekly service on the Shore returned early complaining that he must be stricken with a weekend bug. Earl heard some grousing that the pastor ought to have posted a flyer cancelling worship, but the general consensus held that he must be bedridden. And Pastor Calhoun, despite his alleged Methodist persuasion, had abided by the Catholic tradition of taking no wife. Although as Earl now knew, that hadn’t precluded a bit of

vile canoodling here and there. He’d caught his death of the habit.

The preacher had no household to report him missing on the day of his disappearance. His congregation had noted his absence at the pulpit, but even those who thought to check in on him at home would find nothing more than a quiet house and an empty driveway. Earl figured that could only work in their favor. Hopefully any well-wishers would assume the pastor had gone to see the doctor in Salisbury or run off on another innocuous errand, and not investigate further for the time being.

The advantage would soon ex-

pire, however. As Leon had pointed out on the day of Peter Calhoun’s death, the man had roots on the Shore, widespread and deep set. One of many offshoots was bound to raise a stink when the preacher missed a family dinner or failed to wish a favorite cousin a happy birthday, and when Pastor Calhoun hadn’t reappeared by Christmas at the end of next week, all hell would break loose. The New Year would be filled with search parties, Earl feared.

They would deal with that eventuality when they reached it. In the meantime, the Higginses focused on getting their tiny sphere of influence in order, putting the memory of this madness so far behind them

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that their part in it faded as if it’d never been. It was going to take a collective effort, and they’d all need to be up to the task. Concerns abounded, chief among which for Earl was Leon’s state of mind. That in itself was nothing new; Leon had always been his own worst enemy. But the stakes had increased a hundredfold on Friday afternoon, right about the time Maggie first brought Pop’s hammer crashing down on Peter Calhoun’s skull, and heightened to the third power once she made it a family affair. All of them were culpable now; all would suffer the consequences if anyone slipped up.

Could they trust Leon to hold it together under scrutiny, if it came to that? And if not him, what about Maggie? Could Earl even trust himself? Ruminating on it would only make things worse, though. Distractions, distractions—that was the name of the game. Maybe by burying themselves in the doldrums of daily life they could stave off danger and despair.

Sunday night saw the Shore and islands of the Sound buried under a heavy snow. Since Earl and Leon had Monday off at the boatyard anyways and driving Margaret to the cannery for her shift was out of the question with the roads snowed over, Earl proposed venturing out by boat to find a Christmas tree.

“A great big one?” asked Margaret. She seemed excited by the idea, for a pleasant change. She’d spent too much of the last couple days nail-biting and picking anxiously at her face.

“Sure,” said Earl, glad to indulge his sister’s enthusiasm. “Big as we can fit in the house.”

“Can’t be too big, if it’s gonna fit in the rowboat with all of us,” said Leon. “Maybe I’ll just stay back.”

“No you don’t,” said Earl. He had a good idea what Leon would get up to if they let him stay behind, and it was nothing useful. “We’ll take Mister Gibbs’s boat out. He told me I was welcome to use her just the other day, and she can fit all of us easy, plus about as big a tree as we could want.”

“Nah, you two go on ahead without me,” said Leon, not about to relinquish the notion of lying abed all day so easily. “Geezer Gibbs don’t want me on his boat, anyhow.”

“He don’t mind none, long as I keep you away from the helm.”

“Can Clara come along?” said Maggie.

“She around? I thought her Pop Pop said she was staying with an aunt on the Shore.”

“Pretty sure she got in last night, before the snow started. I saw a car go past I didn’t recognize, anyways, and it turned in the Gibbses’ drive.”

So, she’d been watching the roads too. Probably not the best distraction in the grand scheme of things,

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but Earl was comforted to know he wasn’t alone in looking out for strange cars these past few days. Watching for lawmen, mostly, and trucks the color of dried blood.

“Go on next door and ask her, then,” he said, “and let the Geezer know we mean to borrow the Marylou while you’re at it, if it’s all the same to him.”

When she’d gone, Leon turned to Earl. “I can’t go if Clara tags along. I don’t know how the hell I’m s’posed to act with her anymore.”

“What, ’cos she spurned you?”

“No!” Leon’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment, and Earl instantly regretted the callous remark.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean nothin’—”

“You shouldn’t be making light of her, even if you are just using it to goad me! Clara’s had a rough enough go of it lately as is, dontcha think?”

Now it was Earl’s turn to feel ashamed. The words were quite similar to something Geezer Gibbs had said to him about Clara just the other day. “You’re right,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to poke fun at her expense, even in a roundabout way. And I shouldn’t be picking at your open wounds neither. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry ’bout me. I’m good and scabbed over where Clara Gibbs is concerned. Her Pop Pop don’t care for me, and he’s right. I

know I ain’t good for her—I drink and I cuss, and I’ve rarely seen a job I couldn’t find some way to shirk.” Earl, taken aback at this lucid selfassessment, said nothing. Leon seemed to interpret his silence for agreement, which wasn’t wholly offbase. “Anyways,” continued Leon, “It’s her I’m talking ’bout, not me. She’s got plenty to worry over without me putting my foot in my mouth all afternoon.”

“If she comes along,” said Earl, “I’m sure she’d prefer you just treat her normal. We could all use a spoonful of normal, dontcha think?”

“I s’pose.”

“’Course you do—and right now that means helping fell the family Christmas tree. I’m sure you’ll only put your foot in your mouth the usual amount.”

After weeks of inactivity, Geezer Gibbs’s workboat took a bit of coaxing to start. But within the hour, they motored onto the Sound. With Clara along for the ride, Leon had adopted a policy of keeping his mouth shut rather than risk sticking his foot therein. Better that than wallowing at home alone, so Earl supposed it’d have to do.

The girls, to their credit, chatted and giggled much as they ever had. True, Clara looked far too skinny for her eighteen years, like she hadn’t been eating, and avoided eye contact except with Maggie, but when she smiled hints of her old self

shone through. And though Maggie’s laughter was clipped and her smiles strained, neither were rare on the day. Even in this frigid cold, an afternoon on the water seemed to be doing them all some good.

Pines grew all along the water here, but most were too old and grand to make suitable Christmas trees, their rough-barked trunks bare for much of their height. The trick was to fi nd a stand of young trees, whose needle-laden boughs still fell within reach of merrymaking mortals on the forest floor. They spent an hour puttering up and down the snow-laden banks of Fishing Bay before settling on a candidate, making the obligatory detour up Tedious Creek so Clara and

Maggie could announce in unison, “how boring,” to dutiful laughter. A tedious joke if ever there was one, but Earl laughed along in the interest of normalcy. After all, what was normalcy if not tedium?

Leon, who’d warmed up as the outing progressed, spotted a promising thicket of yearling pines a little past the mouth of a creek about halfway up Fishing Bay. Earl drew them up close as he dared to the bank—not without trepidation; he would do himself no favors swamping the Marylou his fi rst time taking her out—and Leon hopped out and waded ashore in his oilskins. The girls in their skirts would have to wait until Earl found a landing or, better yet, a dock.

“Pick a good one for me, Leon!” said Clara. Leon responded with an awkward sort-of salute with the saw before striding up the bank into the pine grove.

“Don’t pick ours without my say!” called Maggie after him.

They returned to Moore Island a few hours later with a pair of sapling pines aboard, their boughs lightly shorn and bundled up tight with twine for transport. With the trees lying bound across the aft deck, Earl couldn’t help but be reminded of the macabre cargo with which he’d last braved these waters, in a rowboat in the dead of night. The ride back with their arboreal passengers was cramped, and the Sound choppier than when they’d

cast off for the day, but Earl availed himself at the helm. After all, what were these conditions compared with those he’d faced on his midnight voyage?

After docking the Marylou and depositing one of the Christmas trees at the Gibbs house, Earl and Leon said their goodbyes to Clara, leaving their thanks and well-wishes for the ailing Mr. Gibbs.

“Stay for a bit, Maggie?” said Clara on the front porch.

“’Course I will. Um…can I, Earl? Leon?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Earl. “Long as you get home at a reasonable time and don’t make us come looking for you.”

“I will!” said Margaret, “And I won’t! You know where to find me, anyhow.”

“S’pose we do, at that. Fine by me, then.”

“C’mon Maggs,” said Clara. “I’ll put on tea, and we can pop some corn to make garlands! Thanks again for taking us out today, Earl. And for my tree, Leon. You picked a real good one.” With a parting smile

for Leon—shy and fleeting, but with unmistakable warmth—she followed Maggie inside, then shut and bolted the door behind her, leaving Leon standing dazed on the stoop.

“You done good, brother,” said Earl.

“Yeah.” Leon’s face broke out in a slow grin. “I guess I did!”

The Higgins brothers headed next door to do their own decorating. Years past, the family Christmas tree had occupied an esteemed position in the den on the far wall from the hearth, where it was least in danger of catching flame. In fact, it was the only time of year during which Pop’s favorite reading chair ceded its customary territory, that Goldilocks zone in which a man could collapse exhausted after a long day and enjoy the heat of his blazing fire without sweating from it. But at Christmastime the big chair was pushed aside and supplanted by a tree with a porcelain nativity scene arrayed at its foot. Pop had continued the custom after Mom’s passing, and his children after him. This year, however, Earl

and Leon deviated from tradition.

They raised the tree instead in a far corner of the kitchen, in a space beside the dining table where once there had been an additional chair. Now, in its place, Earl laid down a rug to catch loose pine needles and keep sap off the floorboards, which were stained enough already as was. Never mind that he and Leon were forced to rearrange the table and chairs into an awkward cluster on the opposite side of the kitchen to accommodate the tree’s bulk. Looking at a Christmas tree would be a damn sight better than that vacant spot at the table, at least for the next little while. Besides, they were better off eating by the hearth in the den during these coldest weeks of the year anyways.

With the tree set up in its new spot and Maggie still next door at Clara’s, Earl figured it couldn’t hurt to abide by at least one ritual on the afternoon. Leon produced a quart of whiskey, which they shared as the sun sank. Once his elder brother was good and warmed up, Earl broached the subject of Maggie’s Christmas gift.

“Listen, I got an errand to run after work tomorrow. Think you can get a ride home with Bunky or somebody?”

“I s’pose, if you don’t need me along. What is it?”

“Just something for Maggie for

Christmas. Figured it might be a nice surprise for you too, if you don’t mind waiting a couple days to find out.”

Leon grunted and poured them each another drink, which Earl took for agreement. Maggie arrived home a short while later bedecked in the fruits of her labors, popcorn garlands which she strung gaily around the tree. She neither commented on nor questioned its odd placement, didn’t need to. But when Earl asked if she wanted to set up Mom’s nativity scene at the base of the tree, she declined. She would place the porcelain figurines on the mantel instead, she said, where they could watch over the den—and not, as went deafeningly unsaid, the erstwhile scene of Pastor Calhoun’s murder.

It was a good day, all in all.

Earl had arranged to cut out of work early on Tuesday to make the drive to Edgewater, where he would meet John Barnhart’s cousin to pick out a puppy. He was quite excited, for all that the dog was ostensibly a gift for Maggie. What better than a new pet to distract from recent horrors? And training a puppy might be just what Leon needed to shake his winter fugue. He could teach it to be as stern a guard dog as he wanted, so long as the pup knew who its masters were. Earl meant to choose a nice, big, loyal dog, the type they could take hunting or leave home with Margaret and not be worried either way.

He was disappointed, then, when John Barnhart stopped by the marina at lunchtime to announce a change of plans.

“Turns out that litter went quicker’n my cousin expected. He’s still got one for ya, but no need to make the drive. He’ll bring it by the docks end of the day, afore he heads home.”

“Dammit, John,” said Earl, transferring the last of Mr. Barnhart’s crab pots from the dock to the deck of his boat. “That wasn’t the deal!”

“I know it ain’t, and I am sorry. My cousin—well, he can be a little odd sometimes. Next time you need a pup, though, just holler and I’ll make sure you get pick of the litter.”

“Next time. Hah! Best believe I’ll hold you to it,” Earl scoffed, though he would doubtless have forgotten this whole conversation by the next time he was in the market for a dog—as John Barnhart well knew. “Those crab traps took more’n a couple hours off my life.”

“Better yours than mine,” said John in parting. That put a minor wrench in things. A puppy on Christmas was what Earl had envisioned, though, so he didn’t fuss over the switchup too much. By his reckoning, a puppy was better than no puppy at all. Maggie would certainly see it that way, though he couldn’t say the same for Leon. One more reason his brother needn’t be made privy to the specifics of the deal quite yet, a

fact complicated by John’s cousin’s decision to drop by the docks with the dog.

Earl soon devised a fix that appealed to Leon’s and Bunky’s mutual interests. Instead of leaving early to go to Edgewater, he offered to stay late to close up shop while Bunky drove Leon home whenever work tapered off for the day. The dockmaster accepted his proposal without question, and not two hours later Earl was watching Bunky’s Chevy cruise out of the marina lot with Leon waving from the passenger seat.

The sun soon set, and Earl began to worry that John Barnhart’s cousin wasn’t going to show. Then he’d be a fool and a sucker, too. But as the dark of night descended and the temperature dipped towards freezing, a white workboat appeared out of the gloom. Throwing open the door to the dockmaster’s office, Earl strode out onto the dock to meet her. The marina was lit by a series of electric lampposts at the corners of its boatyard and opposite ends of the dock. By their incandescent glare, Earl could see little more than the sloping silhouette of the workboat approaching the dock head on.

“I was hoping you’d get here soon! Starting to get cold.”

The boat’s motor cut out. Barely slowing, the captain swung her around and drifted up to the dock broadside, smooth as silk. As the

deadrise entered the marina’s halo of lamplight, Earl’s blood ran cold. He knew that boat, knew her with a sense of queasy recognition that had itself become all too familiar of late. It was the Jimsonweed. No chance of them bypassing one another in the night this time, oh no. This time there could be no question that the pale vessel was here for him.

What are the chances? For a moment Earl was gripped by the same stark terror he’d felt on the Blackwater as the ghostly vessel emerged from the broken ice. But he told himself it was nothing to worry about. He’d been bundled up tight against the weather on that cold, dark night, wearing a scarf and hat and high-collared coat, and the Jimsonweed ’s pilot had stayed out of sight for reasons known only to him. No chance the man had gotten a good enough look at Earl to place him here and now. And even if he had, that’d been well after Earl dumped Pastor Calhoun’s body.

Taking a deep breath to quell his nerves, wishing for something stronger, Earl went to help the Jimsonweed tie up. Her captain stepped onto the work deck as he approached, shaking his head. The message was clear: No need. I won’t be here long. Earl appraised the waterman, trying to be discrete about it. He was a hulking man, as Earl had observed at a glimpse on

their previous encounters, with a long, black beard and a thick head of matching hair that peeked out on all sides from under the brim of his hat, which he wore pulled down almost to his sumptuous eyebrows. A knee-length coat of heavy, dark leather completed the ensemble, which taken together reminded Earl of something akin to a demented father Christmas. Hopefully he came bearing a worthy gift.

Indeed, something squirmed in the man’s arms, a tiny puff of black fur that looked like it would rather be anywhere than squished against the waterman’s leather-clad breast. Earl felt a twinge of discontent to go along with his unease. Was that the puppy? But so small! He’d almost overlooked it at first, and not only because of its handler’s imposing proportions.

“I’m Ear—” he started to say, decided against it. He hated how squeaky and timid his voice sounded, despite his self-assurances to the contrary. “Guess you’re John’s cousin?”

“Yep,” said the other in the low and gravelly voice of a lifelong smoker. Without another word, he lifted the wriggling clod of black fur over the gunwale and deposited it unceremoniously in Earl’s arms. Earl was so unprepared for the transfer that he came close to dropping the puppy into the water.

“Whoa! What the—easy there, little fella. I gotcha.” Cradling the

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pup against his chest, Earl unbuttoned the front of his jacket and tucked the furry bundle inside, where it would be safe until he could get it away from the water. The captain of the Jimsonweed was already turning back to his cockpit, so unfazed by the precarious handoff that he felt no need to make sure Earl had the puppy in hand. Earl, meanwhile, was so put out by the encounter that he hardly thought to inspect the wares, as it were. A quick peek down the front of his jacket confirmed his initial suspicions: this was not the sort of dog he’d been expecting. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, exactly, but not this. Whatever this was—the puppy’s breed was indeterminate, though its status as the runt of its litter seemed beyond question. A miniature mutt. No wonder the man was so eager to offload it after sunset.

“Kinda small, dontcha think? Not quite what I was expecting.”

“Last one I got. Take it or leave it.” The rumble of the Jimsonweed ’s motor cutting back on suggested that her captain had no intention of sticking around to participate in Earl’s decision, despite presenting the choice.

“Wait! You ain’t even told me what breed he is yet! Or if it even is a he!” But his protests fell on deaf ears. The Jimsonweed was

disappearing into the gloom, her captain—still nameless—a receding shadow at her helm. The puppy shivered against Earl’s chest. He was shivering too, he realized. Not with fear, of course, just cold.

“C’mon boy,” he said, confirming the puppy’s gender with a glance. This time when Earl opened his jacket, the pup nuzzled his head further into Earl’s armpit for warmth. Pretty damn cute, for a runt. He was feeling rather taken with the tiny dog already, which meant Maggie would be smitten on sight. As for Leon, well…Leon would come around. “Let’s get you home.”

As not to spoil the surprise, Earl didn’t take the puppy back to the Higgins house just yet. Instead, he dropped him off at Dave Howell’s place on the far side of Moore Island, where he would stay until Earl was ready to retrieve him on Christmas morning.

“Cute pup,” said Dave. “Looks like some sorta terrier.”

“Thanks, I guess. Don’t know what breed he is, to tell you the

truth. Gotta say I was hoping for something a bit bigger.”

“Big he ain’t, that’s for sure. Who’d you get him off ?”

“Cousin of John Barnhart’s up the way of Edgewater.”

“Barnhart, huh?” Dave clicked his tongue. “That’s your fi rst mistake right there. Oh, well. I’m sure Maggie’ll take to a furball like that just fi ne.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Leon’s the one I’m worried about.”

“That scowlin’ scarecrow? He’ll take to him better’n Maggie, trust me. Nothing like a puppy for melting the hearts of the hardest men, and we all know Leon’s just pre-

tending to be that, anyhow.”

Earl laughed. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Let him! I always told that twiggy bastard I’d lick him in a fi stfight if I had to.”

“Well he won’t hear it from me! Thanks again for helping out, Dave. I’ll be back for the pup on Christmas, bright and early.”

“All right, Earl. See you then.” They shook, then Earl started up Betsy and headed home.

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.

Mid-Atlantic Symphony Premiere of “Rhapsody In Red, White And Blue” Honors America’s 250th Birthday

The Mid-Atlantic Symphony Orchestra will present the Maryland and Delaware premieres of Peter Boyer’s “Rhapsody in Red, White and Blue” on Sun., May 5, at 3 p.m. at the Todd Performing Arts Center at Chesapeake College in Wye Mills, MD, preceded by premiere performances. Fri., May 3 at 7 p.m. in Lewes, DE and Sat., May 4, at 7 p.m. in Ocean City, MD.

The musical composition, commissioned by and featuring worldacclaimed pianist Jeffrey Biegel, celebrates the 100th anniversary of George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in

Blue” and will be premiered until 2026 in each of the 50 states to honor the 250th birthday of the United States of America in 2026. The MidAtlantic Symphony Orchestra, the Delmarva Peninsula’s only professional orchestra, is honored to be awarded the premieres for Maryland and Delaware. Grammy-winning conductor Michael Repper, the Orchestra’s conductor, is teaming with Grammy-nominated composer Peter Boyer for the performance.

The work is cast like Gershwin’s in a single multi-sectional movement that similarly captures

propulsive energy along with allusions to blues influences and lyrical evocations of American vistas. The piano soloist, Jeff rey Biegel, has created a multi-faceted career as a pianist, recording artist, composer and arranger. His electrifying technique and mesmerizing touch have received critical acclaim and garnered praise worldwide.

The patriotic theme of the concert will be continued with Aaron Copland’s classical composition “Appalachian Spring.” The piece was originally composed as a ballet score for choreographer Martha Graham. The music is imbued with Copland’s characteristic open har-

monies, folk melodies and rhythmic vitality, reflecting his intention to create a distinctly American sound.

The third piece in this patriotic concert honors our Native Americans. “Chokfi,” the Cherokee word for rabbit, is an important trickster legend within Southeast American Indian culture. It was composed by Jerod Tate for the Oklahoma Youth Symphony. Different string and percussion techniques and colors represent the complicated and diabolical personality of this rabbit person and incorporate a popular tribal church hymn as the melodic and musical base.

Tickets are available online at midatlanticsymphonyorchestra. org

Deal Island in 1877

Deal I’lent in the 1880s

written about 1941 by Louis C. Wainwright, transcribed, edited and with notes by James Dawson from an old manuscript that he found.

{Note: These are Wainwright’s memories of Deal Island when he lived there in the early 1880s.]

The Chesapeake Bay washes the Eastern Shore of Maryland along its whole length, and what with indentations of the shore, the minor peninsulas and “necks” due to rivers and creeks, and severed areas called islands, the bay coast of the Eastern Shore is very irregular from Kent Island to Cape Charles. We may note that a line of islands tends to divide the main waters of the Bay from the coastal waters of the Eastern Shore.

Now noting particularly as we pass below Monie Bay in Somerset County, Maryland we may note Tangier Sound about to absorb the western tip of one of Somerset’s necks, and below that tip spreads the open mouth of the Manokin River.

That tip consists of two islands the larger one separated from the mainland by what is now an inconsiderable arm of the sound reaching round the island to the Manokin; and separated from this island is a small island seemingly on modern maps designated “Little Piny.” The former, Deal Island, long dubbed “The I’lent” as the locals called the island, is the subject of this story.

The I’lent has a now and a then,

for as one told me, “It has gone back.” A subsequent visit verified his statement. Now the thoroughfare has silted up. The bridge over it is not one that is a quarter or a half a mile long, but merely a long bridge. The houses are unpainted and the properties are “run down.” The place may be said to be uninviting if not desolate. The water-bushes seem to have been removed, the marsh grasses seem crowding nearer. The tide ditch remains the same.

But the I’lent’s yesterday was not repulsive. Its people throve on the oyster industry and ploughed the bay with white winged sloops and lively schooners. Seafoods tempted, and two or three pine groves graced the highway and added an emerald brooch to the island scenery.

Alas! some latter day genius induced the people to cut down the beautiful pines, the historic pines, beneath whose shade the olden camp meetings were held, to attend which ships came from Baltimore bringing enthusiastic neighbors crowded in; and from the country town and its vicinity, every horse and vehicle was pressed into service. There were impressive days then on “The I’lent”, and, the strains of song and hymn resounded back to colonial days.

The approaches to “The I’lent” from the Thoroughfare into the first cluster of houses was such as is familiar in low flat lands, unat-

tractive and devoid of imposing scenery, save only as one looked over the bounding waves leaping to touch the covering blue, and upon the jaunty, tossing vessels.

A sandy road led to the long bridge which was at the time I write (say fifty years ago) a furlong or two long and in winter swept by a bitter wind or blast. Having passed the bridge the road was sandy for half a mile, maybe, with a tax ditch running parallel for a furlong or two, and bordered with small bushes and marsh grass. That or similar is what one saw.

But if one stood and watched the sky till lines of wild ducks essayed passage over the bridge or watched the big blue clawed crabs in ascend-

ing parade with the incoming tide, large clean “blue claws,” anyone’s for the catching,

“The I’lent,” in truth, began to take on an inviting appearance. The road ran the length of The I’lent down to the stores and wharves and cluster of dwellings at the farther end.

Along those three miles were comfortable homes, with orchards, small farms yielding sweet potatoes, corn, and melons; and about midway was a commodious Methodist Church or for the forbears of the islanders were a religious people, for the greater part, and

their memories harked back to the great camp meeting days.

From “The I’lent” to the pretty Country Town [of Princess Anne] was a dreary drive of twenty miles through marshes, patches of sand, tick-infested pines, mosquito haunts and strong holds, and the higher island farms. Naturally the people on or near the coasts did not seek the County seat, except for court, medicines, and lawyers, but became segregated and though a century or more became a community apart, with its own society and customs and with its own gradations, socially considered.

The title “Cap’n” (captain) was very general since almost all of the

men “followed the water.”

If the region was remote from the Court House and difficult of approach by reason of long bad roads, full compensation was made by canoe travel or other vessels. Many of the families moved to Baltimore, and they trafficked from shore to shore and from Tangier to Baltimore. To them their fleet, trim canoes were livelihood and means of travel.

The families of The I’lent, and of the other regions of the shores and lowlands, are old, as indeed are most of the families of the Eastern Shore, some of whom date back to the beginning of 1700, and after so long a time almost all are interconnected by marriages. I was

astonished when I read some of the records of those who are well known regional names.

Some adventurous souls the while reached out beyond low, muddy rods and creeks and straits, and sought the financial or the political plums of Baltimore, or other towns, but the majority who took to the rich lands or to following the water merely inherited the lands or boats and carried on and so became provincial in taste, manner, and ambition; and in this manner they became a “peculiar people,” but a rugged and good sort.

Bad roads delayed outward progress, but the people flourished, drove trim canoes instead of sleek horses, and some laid by much mon-

ey, and, too, some became wastrels.

I have spoken of lowlands, tides, sandy roads, and defiling “blue claws” in the tax ditch, but be not discouraged. Remember that early settlers saw charm about the tidewater country, and if one has a heart that loves the haunts of nature, he will see beauty where the artificial and affected cannot, for old Deals Island has many charms, and had many more fifty years ago.

Though the coastal lowlands, sandy beaches, and islands offer no bounding cascades, laughing brooks, nor mirror pools; though a mountaineer may miss his cliffs

and peaks and see only black water inlets and stagnant pools with shadows floating across them; may see only the inverted bowl of the blue skies overarching reedy flats and sandy points like fingers dipping into the plashing waters of the sound.

Nature is neither parsimonious nor narrow, nor is she partial. In mountain gorges she sets the sublime, on the coast, she spreads infinity almost to view; for rugged scenery of towering mountains she deals to the sea washed coast surges that roll tremendously and follows that awe with their tumult.

Her beauty and charm are not limited to hillsides or fountains. Her gold of sunrise in the hills finds counter part in the sheen of seas of glory at sunset. “He who loves the haunts of nature may find her choicest treasure in the ripple’s smile by the shore, or may be waked to vision by the lullaby of the wind on the wave; in the pines of the lowlands he hears a voice, and to him nature speaks in divers tones where the wild duck feeds, or where the great

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white heron stalks the oozing edge of rivers, while red wings chatter, or where bilwillets call along the sandy beaches.

On looking beyond where heaven embraces the world in the far horizon; or where the great ships seemingly drop over the verge to another world; or yet to the storm that bends the tall masts, and to the water spout that trails the wild waves of the bay, the lover has only to tread the shores of old Chesapeake or thread its island heads to find that romance is abroad, and spreads gilding to cover land and sea.

At morn he may behold the rose of dawn opening in the eastern sky; at sunset he may gaze upon the unrivaled grandeur of the pa -

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rade of closing day with its gilded cars and its regiments of redcoats, troops with gleaming armor and the trundling tanks of dull grey clouds.

At night while winds ruffle the mere and sigh with mysterious melancholy in the rushes, he may see the glory of the marshes, when fireflies summon twinkling myrmidons to supplement or to rival

the splendor of closing day with a visible, unaccountable host of the molecules (may we say) of light, twinkling points of light that stipple the waves of the marsh green.

The fireflies at dusk light their candles among the marsh grasses which sway with the soughing winds until the great meadows, marshes, and lowlands seem vast undulating sea with phosphorescent swells that glow, wave on wave, a very sea of glory. Beyond waver the harbor lights, their lanterns swinging with the swaying masts, their trembling clusters quivering like night’s twinkling stars.

The beaches wave-swept every

day, the water courses with rails and ducks and plunging canoes, the wide opened rose of sunset on the horizon—these, all, need no pity; need no apology for their dancing waves and luminous floods, for shores that loom in the distance and the swift march of sky parades; no, they need only seers, men with eyes that see, and souls that apprehend—with intelligence that gleams.

Deals Island, Hollands Island, Smith and Tangier Islands—it is the pride of these and of other islands near them that, whether later day tradesmen know them or not, whether the extravagant and sophisticated members of modern affectation know them or not, the British of Revolutionary days knew them and their prowess. In the days when men and not histrionic parvenues, when women and not imitation of great hearts were in demand, when brave men and loyal women were needed to stand between the bayonets of the Red Coats and a new world’s freedom, the British knew the Islanders and coastal companies, and the unerring aim of their muskets and rifles.

They may appear, these Islanders and land lubbers, as behind the times in sports, club houses, and fashions, but when rugged patriots were needed the British knew where to find and if possible to avoid them; they knew whose powers drove the schooners, sloops, and pungies over Tangier’s waves and over Chesa-

peake’s green waters, as many a chain-shot found on the island fields bears witness even yet.

My work was on the mainland, but my boarding house lay about a mile from the bridge on the sound side about fifty feet from the water’s edge.

In windy storm the foam flew almost to my window. At dusk there was a kindly breeze in summer, always welcome for its musical murmur, its cooling breath, and its barrage against assaulting mosquitoes, which cannot make flight against a wind.

It was only an island beach on Tangier Sound, but experience,

views, and visions made it a delight. Of course there were oysters and ducks, local customs, captains, and a variety of vessels—sloops, schooners, sharpies, canoes, bugeyes, skiffs, bateaux and yawls, even dories.

Socially there were belles and beaux, and boors, too; there were cake and games, and local inventions. There were sailing parties, oyster roasts, and music, all these; but more, there were the haunts of nature, the laving ripples, the roaring anger of the tempest beating the shore or against “the palisade of pine trees,” the stars dropped in the bosom of the waves, and moonlight’s long fingers were shaken across the brine.

Skies, billows, and dunes and phosphorescent seas; the voice of the surge, shells like glistening buhl, all these repeated with variations, variety in unity, all by the shore. Golden skies and roseate dawns, these also.

Once all the sky’s seasonal pageantry, while the mockingbird’s song penetrated to and laid hold the spirit, was transcended, was surpassed, became as silver in Solomon’s day, a commonplace. It occurred in or about the fall of 1883 or ’84, or both. Though I attempt to describe those sunsets it is as Shakespeare said, “but casting a perfume on the violet.” And

how shall one narrate in words the ineffable? None of that generation had seen such sunsets. Not even the aurora borealis set that naught. None could explain, and with such a roseate flood of beauty to enchant the wondering eyes, who wished any prosaic explanation.

Months, or perhaps years after science lifted up her voice and attributed these floods of beauty to volcanic dust. So it pronounces the tears of grief salt water. Is it the voice of a seer or only that of a book made commonplace?

The glory of those sunsets filled the dome of the skies from the water’s edge to the zenith.

It was as though all the gold, all the rubies, all the jasper, all the

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roses of dawn from the beginning had been gathered and splashed upon the arch of the sky; and all the prismatic colors had been drafted from the rainbow to clothe the sunset, or that all the variety of the colors of the gorgeous tropics were displayed in sunset arrays.

It was grand, it was glory, it was awful, it was dread; were the heavens in conflagration?

Night by night, all that fall, the sunset reclined on a funeral pyre on a bed of roses. Dawn with draperies of tulips and roses rode into morning on her glistening chariot, but the sky’s garlands recked not of the loss.

The drifting clouds went by as barges and barks freighted with roses and peonies. The drapery of the sky’s broad arch were of cloth of gold, and were edged with golden glow commingled with hyacinths.

Such must have been the beauty of the heavens in days primeval, when earth was ushered in among

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Great Food and Fire Trucks, of course!

the planets, amid the shout of the morning stars.

The splendorous beauty that characterized those sunsets of the early eighteen eighties will abide in the memories all who really saw them. The brilliance of sunset may often have suggested to the attentive mind, the gleaming pavement that leads beyond earth’s troublous cares to love, rest, and home; but of such surpassing beauty and ever changing, and unfolding grandeur were those of which I write, when language seems suddenly impoverished and becomes too impotent to describe them; and besides, the whole heaven was garnished with

rainbow splendors and were blanketed with colorful skyey flowers. Heart, mind, and soul were uplifted.

Among hills of gold, walls of jasper, gazing upon emerald cliffs and sapphire heights, gates of pearl and topaz gateways it did seem that it was not mere approaches to the City one saw, but that the City gates were opened exposing to view its streets transparent gold and on either side shone the mansions of light, the prospect love sets before all who will hear, will look and live.

Love rest and home in the glory beneath whose “contemplation sinks heart and soul to rest.”

Notes by J.D.:

Deal Island which Wainwright reported had become run down and the thoroughfare silted up was rejuvenated and dredged after the second world war. Today Deal Island has several fine communities.

A progger was one who made his living foraging and hunting for food in marshes and along the shoreline.

The Thoroughfare is the small bay that cuts Deal Island off from the mainland.

A tax ditch is a drainage ditch that is dug by the state which benefits several land owners who are taxed for its maintenance.

Blackwater: the dark color of tidal or slow moving river water is caused by decaying vegetation.

Spectacular sunsets: In 1883

eruptions of the volcano Krakatoa in the Sundra Strait in the Pacific peaked on the morning of Aug, 27 when over 70% of the island of Krakatoa was destroyed in what has been called the deadliest and most destructive volcanic blast in recorded history. There were over 36,000 deaths and the sound wave traveled around the globe seven times. Volcanic dust darkened the skies and caused spectacular sunsets around the globe for months, even reaching to Deal island, Md.

These were likely the most spectacular sunsets ever seen in historic times.

James Dawson is the owner of Unicorn Bookshop in Trappe.

Tidewater Times July 2024 Cover Painting Contest

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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.

Queenstown was the original county seat when Queen Anne’s County was created in 1706, 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 .

Changes: Smart Guys Retrospective part

3 of 3

by Roger Vaughan

A recent article in The New York Times about Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company (T.S.M.C.) measuring the advanced microchips it makes in single digit nanometers (billionths of a meter) reminded me of a group of amazingly creative people in the hi-tech world who were in the forefront of twentieth century computer and electronics development. I interviewed them in 2007, seventeen years ago, when advanced micro-chips were roughly the size of a quarter, and contained less than a million gates. While the accomplishments of these passionately intellectual pioneers were often considered seminal breakthroughs that opened gateways to further progress, their motivations and their concern about the implications of their work were equally engaging. Here are a few more examples.

Glenn Henry: “Whatever part you make, no matter how great it is or how well you do it, by the time you ship it you need a better one.”

Glenn Henry says he is a man on a treadmill, but he seems to savor it. After a long search, he finally found something challenging enough to satisfy him, something so difficult to design and build that only three companies in the world have managed to do it with success. That would be the X86 processor, the PC-industry standard that is almost, but not quite, “owned” by the mammoth Intel Corporation. Designing and building this chip that is (currently) roughly the size

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of a quarter trimmed to rectangular proportions, and that contains 95 million gates (or transistors), is beyond the comprehension of not only most people, but most scientists. A processor is like the floor plan of an enormous house. Each room is a separate, designed piece of the integrated puzzle. Now imagine 500 microscopic rooms designed independently, then connected with tens of millions of wires. To call these designed blocks “rooms” is a gross oversimplification. As Henry says, “It’s baroque, full of towers and dungeons, and it changes constantly.”

Being able to build this extraordinary device is just the beginning. Add to that the controlling, Microsoft-like bullying of Intel—all the patents they have; the disinforma-

tion Intel issues about their product to keep even small competitors at bay; the fact that the “floor plans” are locked in Intel’s secret archives; the reverse engineering required to keep pace with Intel’s development in order to make the product acceptable in the marketplace—and you have a mission impossible that Glenn Henry couldn’t resist.

“Four of us started Centaur in 1993,” he says. “We said we needed $15 million, leave us alone for two years, and we’ll deliver an X86 processor. We financed the company quickly because the PC industry is a minute thing. There are less than a billion people who have seen a PC. Sales is 300 million (in 2007). The market is saturated. Dell’s major business plan is having customers replace their machines every three years. The great market is the

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SAT. 5/11 - Dar Williams & Heather Maloney - Avalon - 8 p.m.

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SAT. 5/25 - Boy Band Review - Avalon- 7 p.m.

FRI. 5/31 - Wicked Sycamore - Stoltz - 7 p.m.

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other 5 billion people in the world who are more interested in personal computers, ultra mobile PCs and mini notebooks. In other countries the wireless infrastructure is better. They never had copper cables running to all the houses, so they went right to wireless.”

Not many in the business gave Henry’s shot at Goliath much of a chance. But thirteen years later Centaur is going strong, with a new “part,” as Henry calls it, ready to ship in September 2008. He says his secret was not to try to compete with Intel directly, but to develop a niche they were ignoring.

“Intel’s parts are designed to be very fast,” Henry says. “They charge a lot for them. The ad campaign is big: if you don’t have an Intel dual core chip in your machine, you’re not a real man. We don’t try to compete with that. All

the important decisions I make I learned at Dell, sometimes listening to Michael Dell, sometimes the hard way. If I hadn’t worked at Dell I might have said let’s build the world’s fastest X86. Instead, our approach is to build a processor that runs the same software as Intel. But they are building SUVs. We build a Yugo, a car with good mileage. It will only go 70 mph, but we argue that only 10% of all computer users need to go faster than that.

“Our part is so unique and different there are companies that have to use it. It’s low cost, low power. These are companies building small machines that are not in line for Intel’s higher end parts. Then there’s Hewlett Packard, that won’t bow to Intel’s demand for branding. Intel wants the “Intel inside” sticker on the machines. HP won’t do it. So HP is our customer.”

Centaur’s processor powers HP’s 2133 mini-note PC that hit the market in 2008, and it’s new, faster part is designed with that and other mini notebooks in mind. As Henry says, “If it fits in your shirt pocket, use our older part. If you want something with an 8-to-14 inch screen, a light notebook, use our new part.”

Many companies have tried to enter the X86 business. All but Centaur and Advanced Micro Devices (AMD) have folded up their tents. Having the technical capability was at the core of the business.

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Henry himself writes half the microchip code, work that consumes 95% of his time. But Henry says his secret is the people involved, and Centaur’s overall philosophy. “In our first year we hired world class people,” he says. “The good news is they are still here. We have 50 designers, self-starters, a small, efficient team. Intel has 500. We created a whole new culture. Smaller is always better in my view. The seeds for how we run the company came from my experience. What we have is an anti-fusion of IBM and Dell, based on the things I learned from each company that didn’t work.

“Why do we stay alive? I attribute that to Michael. At Dell we were debating how to beat Compaq. Michael said that in the long run, we’d beat them because the cost structure was lower, and we could move faster. Given that we have the

technical know-how, speed of decision making and a lean organization are the key things.”

Henry says he jokes about retiring if his company becomes larger than 100 employees. As of September, 2008, there were exactly 100. You can bet Glenn Henry wasn’t placing any want ads. If employee 101 should arrive, Glenn Henry will simply remind people he was joking.

David Altounian: “To work successfully with someone you have to like ’em, trust ’em, be able to put up with ’em, and understand you are dispensable.”

In June 2008, David Altounian became an adjunct professor at St. Edwards University, a private, Catholic liberal arts school in Austin, Texas. He was teaching an undergraduate course in entrepreneurialism called New Venture Creations. He applied for the job on the advice of a dean at the Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern, where he plans to go for his PhD. “The dean convinced me I should teach a little before I jumped into the PhD thing,” Altounian says, “do some teaching, some research, see if I like it.”

A little more than a month later, Motion Computing, which he founded, called Altounian and asked him to return as CEO. Motion makes slates [tablets without an attached keyboard] in the ten-

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to-twelve inch size, thin, lightweight computers with writable screens aimed at the health care industry and mobile professionals of all persuasions. Altounian had the idea for this product at Dell, but Dell wasn’t interested. Michael Dell told Altounian if he was so convinced it was a good idea, he should start a company and produce the product. If it worked, Dell would buy them from him. Altounian did, and he currently sells Motion products to Dell.

When the board ganged up on Altounian in the fourth year of operation, opting for a Dell-type strategy of a low cost, minimally designed, crank-it-out product, Altounian decided to leave.

He started an internet company called iTaggit, a personal asset management system to change the way people collect, organize, and enjoy their personal items and collections. It was free, and no selling was involved. The site is advertis -

er-supported. It was inexpensive to start and maintain, a big and welcome change from Motion.

“Going back to Motion was not something I expected to do,” Altounian says. “The board asked me to help the company get back on track in this tough economy. They needed more hands on deck. And I had founded the place. But I was gone. Gone. I wasn’t on the board, I had no role other than being an investor, no other ties. From a personal standpoint I didn’t want to hear all the news. I’m not into gossip. I don’t need anybody else’s drama.”

But he agreed to go back because of an obligation he felt to the 125 employees. “It was clear that it would take longer for someone from outside to figure it out. They needed me, and I have an obligation because it’s my baby. And if I’m successful, it’s good for me long term as well as the company. I wouldn’t go into a position where there wasn’t a positive end in sight. I joke, I tell people I did it because of a combination of guilt and bribery.”

Right now, Altounian’s plate is full. He works at Motion all week and teaches his class at St. Edwards three evenings a week. At night he grades tests and works on the paper he’s doing for a Kellogg professor on web marketing. He has executive meetings at Motion on Saturdays so everyone is available for customers and employees

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during the week and spends Sundays at the office working on ITaggit.

“I’m having fun with all of it,” he says. “It’s good stress, not bad stress. But I like the teaching. When this is all over, that’s what I really want to do long-term.”

Jon Rubinstein: “It’s a matter of right place right time, and you have to be lucky.”

It was 8:30 a.m. on a Thursday in the late spring of 2008 and Jon Rubenstein was answering his cell phone at the airport. That meant he’d been up since 5:30 packing, grabbing a bite to eat, fielding a couple calls and sending emails before jumping into a taxi and going through the laborious check-in/security process. For Ruby it was just another day in an 80-hour week.

That was a bit of a surprise. The last time I had seen Jon in person was just before Christmas 2006. He had retired from Apple in the wake of the runaway success of the iPod he was instrumental in creating (nearly 155,000,000 units sold as of January 2008) and was fully involved with building a formidable house on the beach in Mexico. At the local volunteer fire company, “fully involved” means totally consumed by flames. Jon Rubenstein can’t do anything without being fully involved.

So much marble was specified for his house in Mexico, he had bought a quarry. He had 200 people working on the place every day. When I visited him in California in December 2006, he had dragged out his laptop and showed hundreds of construction photographs. Several pictures were of him on the site, crawling under here and climbing up there, not missing a detail, no doubt driving the contractor crazy.

I thought by now the house would be finished and maybe Rubenstein would be contemplating high-tech thoughts while enjoying the place, maybe catching a few fish in the Gulf, savoring the way the late afternoon light played on the polished marble surfaces, riding his bike and running a little to stay in shape. The house was finished six months ago, in fact, and Ruby continues to crank off the miles on his road bike. And oh, yes, he runs. He completed the

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marathon du Medoc in Bordeaux, France, in September 2007. Fully involved. But it was nothing compared to the sixteen years he spent as Steve Jobs’s number one.

The 80-hour weeks started again in October of 2007 when Rubenstein became Executive Chairman of Palm, Inc., a company that had gained fame with the first generation of personal digital assistants (PDAs) in 1996. The original device was called a Palm Pilot, and it captured “next new thing” honors at the time. The PDA was almost a commodity in 2007, with too many versions and manufacturers to count. Along the way Palm’s status in the field has fallen from innovator to also-ran. When Elevation Partners, a private equity firm, bought 27% of Palm in 2007, part of their deal to engineer a turnaround was that Jon Rubenstein be hired to run the company.

It never occurred to Ruby to refuse the offer. He was still young, in his early 50s, loaded with ener-

gy, still chasing the high big-time. “I love building teams and producing really cool products,” he says when asked why he would jump back into the high-tech fire. He’s certainly proved himself, and the consensus in the business is that turning Palm around is a mission impossible. But Jon Rubenstein sees opportunity.

“We’re just at the beginning of mobile devices,” he says. “When I was at the Ardent startup, we were in transition from main frame computers to desk tops. In the years after that we were going from desk tops to notebooks. Now we’re at the beginning of a transition from notebooks to mobile devices, mobile phones, smart phones, products along that line. The iPhone, iTouch, Palm Centro are showing the way to the future. If people want to have connectivity to the rest of the world it will be through mobile devices.”

Ruby says there will be lots of “cool products” to come from Palm. The details are under his hat, but his enthusiasm is on his sleeve. He says every time he sees someone plugged into an iPod, it gives him a kick. “That’s one of the great things about being an engineer and building products. Whenever you go somewhere and see someone using the product it makes you feel really good.”

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