A lot has been happening, basically since Christmas. I was laid off my job and have been unemployed since. Today, my last unemployment check sits in my mailbox and I don’t know what will happen after that. I only mention this in case a local employer is reading this blog. I’m still looking for a career. Please email me.
The little job wanted ad aside, let’s get down to the real gist of what is long overdue for a posting.
A chain of events started on Mother’s Day, with what will undoubtedly become known as the Mother’s Day storm of ’08. For a couple of weeks, the tides ran extremely high. The spring tides were in and the moon was full. Low tide was higher than our normal high tide.
Mother’s Day was a beautiful, warm Sunday with the sun shining brightly all day. If there were any flaws to the day, it was the constant easterly winds blowing in at around 20 mph with gusts over thirty. Easterly winds always bode bad news for Toddville. The winds blow the tides in, even when they are supposed to be going out.
Keith and I spent the day planting our new plants around the pond. Having any sort of garden down here is a challenge. If the salts don’t get to the plants, the constantly wet soil will. From fall through spring, the soil is like a sopping wet sponge. Many plants can’t tolerate hydric soils, as we are slowly learning.
Around five o’ clock in the evening, we finished our planting and headed to Cambridge for dinner and our weekly grocery shopping. By the time we headed home, the rain came down in sheets and the winds picked up to a steady 30+ mph. The stretch of Maple Dam Road cutting through the marshland began to flood.
Unfortunately, we discovered that when I hit the first stretch of water at 40 mph. The car’s battery light came on. I couldn’t figure out what was going on, so I kept driving. We were in the middle of nowhere and a good fifteen miles from home. As I turned onto Andrews Road, I saw steam coming out from under the hood. Keith immediately noticed the temperature gauge running hot.
I shut the car off to let it cool down. I popped open the hood, but I’m no mechanic and only knew that I was looking at an engine. I had no clue what I should specifically look for. The only thing I did see was the radiator overflow cap popped open and no coolant inside. The only thing I could think of was when I hit the water, something happened, but what I didn’t know and why the car battery remained lit I didn’t know.
The stop and go trip eventually got us home. In our mechanical aptitude reasoning, we figured the salt water had splashed onto the engine and shorted something out. The car made it home and we figured once it dried out, it’d be fine.
About an hour later, it stopped raining. I added water to the radiator and we took the car for a test drive. I planned the route to circle around from Tedious Creek Road to Wingate-Bishop’s Head Road to Farm Creek Road to Toddville Road to Bishop’s Head Road to home. All tolled, it was about a five mile course.
We got up to Farm Creek Road with no problem. A short ways down Farm Creek, it began to run hot. For the last half of the route, we had to do the stop-and-go method to get the car home. As we turned onto Bishop’s Head Road, the last stretch before getting home, a tree across the road blocked our path. We had to turn around and go back the way we came.
We made it as far as the docks, still two miles from home. The battery died. We started walking home when an elderly couple picked us up and took us home. The upper part of our road had started flooding – a bad sign.
Keith didn’t believe me, but I insisted that if we didn’t go back and push his car to higher ground, it would get flooded.
“No way,” he protested. “That water was well below dock level.”
I convinced him to hop in the truck so we could move his car. About half an hour had passed since we first left the car at the docks. When we pulled up, the water that was a couple of feet below dock level now lapped over the dock and into the spot where Keith’s car sat. “Oh my God! I can’t believe this in just such a short time!” Keith exclaimed.
We pushed his car to higher ground, called it a night, and hoped for the best।
I got up early the next morning. Worry has a way of cutting into a good night’s sleep. I got out of bed and looked down on our front yard. Water had begun piling in. “Keith, the flood’s coming.”
He jumped out of bed। “Oh no. Is my car ok?”
“I don’t know। We’ll have to go find out.”
Part II Coming in a few weeks – The rising waters, a broken down car, and more rising water
© 2008
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Monday, August 11, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
May 08 Around Dorchester County
Throughout the month of May:
Birds to See Around Toddville and Blackwater: Songbird migration peaks during the beginning of the month with warblers being the most conspicuous. Bald eagles begin fledging by the end of the month and continuing into June. Deer give birth to their fawns and the first waterfowl broods appear.
Normally, I follow the birds to see with a list of various events occuring throughout the month. After reading the fine print of the source for my listing, I have learned that nothing can be reprinted, in whole or in part. For this reason, only events sponsors email me will be posted in this section.
For the month of May, there are quite a few flower shows, a vintage airplane show, and, of course, dinners and buffets that benefit our local volunteer fire departments. If you want to list an event for June, please email me with the details and I will include it in the next edition of Around Dorchester County.
© 2008
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Birds to See Around Toddville and Blackwater: Songbird migration peaks during the beginning of the month with warblers being the most conspicuous. Bald eagles begin fledging by the end of the month and continuing into June. Deer give birth to their fawns and the first waterfowl broods appear.
Normally, I follow the birds to see with a list of various events occuring throughout the month. After reading the fine print of the source for my listing, I have learned that nothing can be reprinted, in whole or in part. For this reason, only events sponsors email me will be posted in this section.
For the month of May, there are quite a few flower shows, a vintage airplane show, and, of course, dinners and buffets that benefit our local volunteer fire departments. If you want to list an event for June, please email me with the details and I will include it in the next edition of Around Dorchester County.
© 2008
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Monday, March 31, 2008
Apr 08 Around Dorchester County
In case you have an itching to come visit Toddville and Dorchester County, here are some happenings around the area (taken primarily from the monthly, What’s Happening…In Dorchester County)
Throughout the month of April:
Birds to See Around Toddville and Blackwater: Ducks and geese begin their nesting and bobwhites, turkeys, and osprey begin nesting. Middle of April sees the return of the majority of the migrant shore birds. April to May is the peak shore bird migration time and late April into May is the peak song bird migration time with warblers being particularly abundant. Blue- and green-winged teal are passing through. Delmarva fox squirrels give birth and bald eagles hatch.
04 Apr, Friday
Fourth Annual Spaghetti and Meatball Dinner: 4:00 PM – 7:00 PM Minnette Dick Hall, 2002 Hambrooks Blvd. Benefits the less fortunate of Cambridge. Adults - $9 Children 5 to 12 - $4 Children under 5 – free. Carryout available. Sponsored by St. Vincent De Paul Society.
07 Apr, Monday
Jewelery Sale 7:00AM – 4:00PM. Dorchester Hospital, Main Lobby, 300 Byrn Street. Benefits programs and services of the hospital.
11 Apr, Friday
Mid Shore Cruisers Car Club Cruise-In 6:00 PM – til? Pizza Palace, Rte. 50, Cambridge. No entry fees. Dorr prizes. Call for more info: 410-943-0581.
12 Apr, Saturday
Ian Scott Book Signing and Talk 4:00PM at the Richardson Museum, 401 High street, Cambridge. Ian recounts his experience rebuilding a wooden Herreschoff sailing vessel. Call for more info: 410-221-1871 or visit www.richardsonmuseum.org.
Blackwater NWR Annual Earth Day Litter Pick-Up 9:00AM – 3:00PM starting at the visitor center, 2145 Key Wallace Drive. Please wear bright clothing and gloves. Low-traffic areas will be set aside for families with small children. Snacks and drinks will be provided by the Friends of Blackwater. Call REFUGE RANGER Tom Miller at 410-228-2677 for more info.
13 Apr, Sunday
All-You-Can-Eat Breakfast 7:00 AM – 10:00 AM East New Market Volunteer Fire Department. $6, adults. $3, kids. Call for more info: 410-228-5511 x8326.
25 Apr, Friday
Mid Shore Cruisers Car Club Cruise-In 6:00 PM – til? Pizza Palace, Rte. 50, Cambridge. No entry fees. Door prizes. Call for more info: 410-943-0581.
27 Apr, Sunday & 03 May, Saturday
Blackwater NWR Tree Planting 9:00 AM – 12:00PM and 1:00PM – 4:00PM on each day. Meet at the Refuge Environmental Education Building on Blackwater’s Wildlife Drive at least fifteen minutes prior to start time on each day. The refuge needs to plant 11,000 trees. Drinks and snacks will be provided. Call refuge forester Dawn Washington at 410-228-2692, x108 to sign up or for more info.
28 Apr, Monday & 29 Apr, Tuesday
$5 Sale 7:00AM – 4:00 PM. Dorchester Hospital, Main Lobby, 300 Byrn Street. All items are $5. Benefits programs and services of the hospital.
30 Apr, Wednesday through 02 May, Friday
31st Annual Flower Fair 11:00 AM – 6:00 PM United Methodist Church, 205 Maryland Ave, Cambridge. Flowers, vegetables, hanging baskets, arts and crafts, food including dinners, oyster fritter sandwiches and homemade ice cream. Bake and yard sales and silent auction. Call for more info: 410-228-1424.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Throughout the month of April:
Birds to See Around Toddville and Blackwater: Ducks and geese begin their nesting and bobwhites, turkeys, and osprey begin nesting. Middle of April sees the return of the majority of the migrant shore birds. April to May is the peak shore bird migration time and late April into May is the peak song bird migration time with warblers being particularly abundant. Blue- and green-winged teal are passing through. Delmarva fox squirrels give birth and bald eagles hatch.
04 Apr, Friday
Fourth Annual Spaghetti and Meatball Dinner: 4:00 PM – 7:00 PM Minnette Dick Hall, 2002 Hambrooks Blvd. Benefits the less fortunate of Cambridge. Adults - $9 Children 5 to 12 - $4 Children under 5 – free. Carryout available. Sponsored by St. Vincent De Paul Society.
07 Apr, Monday
Jewelery Sale 7:00AM – 4:00PM. Dorchester Hospital, Main Lobby, 300 Byrn Street. Benefits programs and services of the hospital.
11 Apr, Friday
Mid Shore Cruisers Car Club Cruise-In 6:00 PM – til? Pizza Palace, Rte. 50, Cambridge. No entry fees. Dorr prizes. Call for more info: 410-943-0581.
12 Apr, Saturday
Ian Scott Book Signing and Talk 4:00PM at the Richardson Museum, 401 High street, Cambridge. Ian recounts his experience rebuilding a wooden Herreschoff sailing vessel. Call for more info: 410-221-1871 or visit www.richardsonmuseum.org.
Blackwater NWR Annual Earth Day Litter Pick-Up 9:00AM – 3:00PM starting at the visitor center, 2145 Key Wallace Drive. Please wear bright clothing and gloves. Low-traffic areas will be set aside for families with small children. Snacks and drinks will be provided by the Friends of Blackwater. Call REFUGE RANGER Tom Miller at 410-228-2677 for more info.
13 Apr, Sunday
All-You-Can-Eat Breakfast 7:00 AM – 10:00 AM East New Market Volunteer Fire Department. $6, adults. $3, kids. Call for more info: 410-228-5511 x8326.
25 Apr, Friday
Mid Shore Cruisers Car Club Cruise-In 6:00 PM – til? Pizza Palace, Rte. 50, Cambridge. No entry fees. Door prizes. Call for more info: 410-943-0581.
27 Apr, Sunday & 03 May, Saturday
Blackwater NWR Tree Planting 9:00 AM – 12:00PM and 1:00PM – 4:00PM on each day. Meet at the Refuge Environmental Education Building on Blackwater’s Wildlife Drive at least fifteen minutes prior to start time on each day. The refuge needs to plant 11,000 trees. Drinks and snacks will be provided. Call refuge forester Dawn Washington at 410-228-2692, x108 to sign up or for more info.
28 Apr, Monday & 29 Apr, Tuesday
$5 Sale 7:00AM – 4:00 PM. Dorchester Hospital, Main Lobby, 300 Byrn Street. All items are $5. Benefits programs and services of the hospital.
30 Apr, Wednesday through 02 May, Friday
31st Annual Flower Fair 11:00 AM – 6:00 PM United Methodist Church, 205 Maryland Ave, Cambridge. Flowers, vegetables, hanging baskets, arts and crafts, food including dinners, oyster fritter sandwiches and homemade ice cream. Bake and yard sales and silent auction. Call for more info: 410-228-1424.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Monday, March 17, 2008
In Search of the Elusive Stars of Toddville, Part III
Saturday, we once again headed out in search of the wood duck (Aix sponsa). If you’ve read Part I and Part II of this series, there’s no sense in building excitement for Part III. No matter how many words I type, the climax will be the same as in the other stories – we saw none, on Saturday anyway.
Saturday’s trip started out on a sad note. Coming down Maple Dam Road about a mile before hitting Shorty’s Wharf, a painted turtle had ventured onto the road to get to the other side. I saw it last minute and swerved to straddle it. Before I could safely stop so we could back up and try to save it, the car behind us splattered it.
Yup, it’s that time of year again. The weather is warming up and the turtles are stirring out of hibernation. It’s also the time of year when Keith gets super pissed off at all the people down here blindly racing through the roads and running the turtles over.
“If I were governor, I’d kick all these people out of here. This is a wildlife refuge. If you can’t respect nature enough to go slow and pay attention to what’s in the road, your ass needs to be kicked out of here.”
Can’t say I don’t agree with him. I got lucky and saw the turtle last minute and was able to miss him. From that point on, I drove slowly expecting to find more turtles in the road. The car behind me not only killed the turtle, but kept on going at a high speed as if there wouldn’t be any more turtles in the road.
People like that should be shot. That’s why Keith would make the better governor. He’d just kick them out.
As we approached Shorter’s Wharf, I slowed down even slower. That stretch just before the bridge is a notorious turtle crossing area. Last year at this time, almost daily we’d have to stop and move a few turtles to the other side. Then in June to July, we’d always have to stop to help the babies across the road. Keith saved a half dozen or more baby terrapins one day, last summer.
A couple of weeks ago, we finally figured out what is so special about that particular stretch of road to the turtles. Sandy Island Road, an unpaved road, cuts through the marsh there. We decided to see where it went. It led to high country, high by Toddville’s standards. The hilltop must sit a good four or five feet above sea level.
On top of the hill is a cemetery. Someone was buried there last summer, so it must still be an active cemetery. It also contained the oldest grave we have seen. Someone was buried there in 1794.
For the turtles, the most important feature of the area other than being high ground is that the soil is sandy. The cemetery is a perfect nursery for the turtles to lay their eggs. In the spring, the adults cross Maple Dam road to get to the nursery. In the summer, the newly hatched babies head back across the road to open water.
Now, a good writer would easily depict the irony of this place with beautiful words and flowing prose. I’ve never professed to be a good writer, so I’ll let you, the reader, connect the dots of how a final resting place for us, a solemn place where the dead lay, is a joyful, life-giving place for the turtles.
Life truly does go on.
I don’t know how many miles we covered Saturday. Other than the turtle, the trip was rather uneventful. And out of those million plus wood ducks supposedly in the Atlantic Flyway, we saw none.
Yesterday, we headed out to go grocery shopping. We decided not to look for any wood ducks. I drove slowly through the marsh in case there were any turtles, but the weather turned colder and no turtles were out.
When we hit the high country nearer to Cambridge, I sped up. We crossed the little stream and, out of the corner of Keith’s eye, he saw a brightly colored duck. It was only a fleeting glimpse, but I turned around and came back.
The ducks were gone.
“I know I saw a wood duck. It was like a mallard, only its body was blunter and I saw bright red.”
I stopped the car at the stream and we got out to scan the area closer. Wood duck nesting boxes lined the stream as far as we could see. There were no ducks around, but obviously, this was the place to see them. And by Keith’s description of what he caught a glimpse of, there is at least one pair nesting there. It’s only a matter of time before we will get to see one in more than a fleeting glimpse.
It’s funny how we cross that stream every day and never noticed the wood duck nesting boxes nor saw any ducks. We’re always in a hurry to get to work or get our shopping done that we never slowed down to appreciate what this little wooded stream might offer. We learned an important lesson in appreciating nature. Never take any area for granted. Pay attention to it. What you are looking for may very well be in the place you least expect it.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Saturday’s trip started out on a sad note. Coming down Maple Dam Road about a mile before hitting Shorty’s Wharf, a painted turtle had ventured onto the road to get to the other side. I saw it last minute and swerved to straddle it. Before I could safely stop so we could back up and try to save it, the car behind us splattered it.
Yup, it’s that time of year again. The weather is warming up and the turtles are stirring out of hibernation. It’s also the time of year when Keith gets super pissed off at all the people down here blindly racing through the roads and running the turtles over.
“If I were governor, I’d kick all these people out of here. This is a wildlife refuge. If you can’t respect nature enough to go slow and pay attention to what’s in the road, your ass needs to be kicked out of here.”
Can’t say I don’t agree with him. I got lucky and saw the turtle last minute and was able to miss him. From that point on, I drove slowly expecting to find more turtles in the road. The car behind me not only killed the turtle, but kept on going at a high speed as if there wouldn’t be any more turtles in the road.
People like that should be shot. That’s why Keith would make the better governor. He’d just kick them out.
As we approached Shorter’s Wharf, I slowed down even slower. That stretch just before the bridge is a notorious turtle crossing area. Last year at this time, almost daily we’d have to stop and move a few turtles to the other side. Then in June to July, we’d always have to stop to help the babies across the road. Keith saved a half dozen or more baby terrapins one day, last summer.
A couple of weeks ago, we finally figured out what is so special about that particular stretch of road to the turtles. Sandy Island Road, an unpaved road, cuts through the marsh there. We decided to see where it went. It led to high country, high by Toddville’s standards. The hilltop must sit a good four or five feet above sea level.
On top of the hill is a cemetery. Someone was buried there last summer, so it must still be an active cemetery. It also contained the oldest grave we have seen. Someone was buried there in 1794.For the turtles, the most important feature of the area other than being high ground is that the soil is sandy. The cemetery is a perfect nursery for the turtles to lay their eggs. In the spring, the adults cross Maple Dam road to get to the nursery. In the summer, the newly hatched babies head back across the road to open water.
Now, a good writer would easily depict the irony of this place with beautiful words and flowing prose. I’ve never professed to be a good writer, so I’ll let you, the reader, connect the dots of how a final resting place for us, a solemn place where the dead lay, is a joyful, life-giving place for the turtles.
Life truly does go on.I don’t know how many miles we covered Saturday. Other than the turtle, the trip was rather uneventful. And out of those million plus wood ducks supposedly in the Atlantic Flyway, we saw none.
Yesterday, we headed out to go grocery shopping. We decided not to look for any wood ducks. I drove slowly through the marsh in case there were any turtles, but the weather turned colder and no turtles were out.
When we hit the high country nearer to Cambridge, I sped up. We crossed the little stream and, out of the corner of Keith’s eye, he saw a brightly colored duck. It was only a fleeting glimpse, but I turned around and came back.
The ducks were gone.
“I know I saw a wood duck. It was like a mallard, only its body was blunter and I saw bright red.”
I stopped the car at the stream and we got out to scan the area closer. Wood duck nesting boxes lined the stream as far as we could see. There were no ducks around, but obviously, this was the place to see them. And by Keith’s description of what he caught a glimpse of, there is at least one pair nesting there. It’s only a matter of time before we will get to see one in more than a fleeting glimpse.
It’s funny how we cross that stream every day and never noticed the wood duck nesting boxes nor saw any ducks. We’re always in a hurry to get to work or get our shopping done that we never slowed down to appreciate what this little wooded stream might offer. We learned an important lesson in appreciating nature. Never take any area for granted. Pay attention to it. What you are looking for may very well be in the place you least expect it.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Friday, March 7, 2008
Problems Getting Home
Keith is an avid American Idol fan. He has been since season one when Kelly Clarkson won the honor. In season two, he swore he would never watch the show again if Ruben Studdard won. After judge Simon blasted a woman contestant about her weight, but consistently gave glowing praise to Studdard, he couldn’t stand the show.
“Why doesn’t Simon say anything about Ruben’s weight?” Keith exclaimed. “I have to buy a new, wide screen TV just to fit his wide ass on the tube.”
Ok, at this point I should say I don’t know why Keith isn’t writing this article. When he gets on a roll, he can speak things a hundred times better than I can write. I would never have thought of the above classic line on my own. He’s a comedic genius. If only he would learn to type so he can capture these moments.
Needless to say, season three came along and the show had him glued to the set. It didn’t matter that he said, emphatically, that he would never watch the show again if Studdard won.
He begrudgingly accepted Fantasia Barrino’s win. She was a trashy, ghetto byiatch, but she could sing. So he watched season four and accepted Carrie Underwood’s win, although he thought country should have died out years ago with all the great country stars of yesteryear.
He swore up and down that if Taylor Hicks won season five, that would be it for his following of Idol. The crawdads down in the bayous of Louisiana had more singing talent in their left, bottom pinscher claw than Hicks had in his entire body.
Of course, Hicks won and season six rolled around. Jordin Sparks won the honor and I only know that because I looked it up. Keith doesn’t know. The season was so bland, he only half-followed it to the end. He swore the show would end and there was no point in watching it anymore.
Now season seven has rolled around. At this point in the show, Keith hasn’t formed any attachments towards his favorites nor formed any strong adverse sentiments towards any contestant. Yeah, he likes some more than others, but he hasn’t formed any really strong sentiments towards any of them.
He has, however, formed very strong sentiments against all three judges. Those feelings were cemented the night a contestant sang a song originally performed by Connie Francis. All three judges lambasted the performance as a disgrace to Patsy Cline. Now, Keith knows his oldies as well as a flea knows a dog’s ass. The fact that none of these judges knew Connie Francis was the original singer infuriated him.
“Randy needs to be thrown in a dog pound for reals. Paula needs to med up on her painkillers and be the bitch we all know she really is. And Simon needs to be deported back to Britain with all the rest of those limp-wristed, sissy-talking men wannabes. He’s probably an illegal alien anyways.”
Ok, I have to interject here. Do you see what I mean by Keith should be typing this? I’m not making this up. When Keith gets on a roll, he lets it rip.
So now we’re into season seven. The only contestant to rile him up is Daniel Noriega, but, so far, it’s really the judges riling him up. Noriega, though, should go because he can’t sing worth a bullfrog’s lament and he acts too faggy.
Ok, back up. Yes, most gay guys can recognize faggy behavior quicker than any straight guy. It’s nauseating. You’re gay, big deal. You’re a man, act like one. Let’s face it. If a gay man wants a man, why would he want an effeminate-acting man? He may as well as be straight.
Back to the point of the story – trouble getting home. (This is probably the point where Keith should start typing. That way, I could eliminate all of the background above and you’d get it all out of his telling of the story. Unfortunately, Keith is asleep right now, so you will have to struggle on with my telling of the story, which is as accurate as I can recall from his telling it to me when he finally got home.)
Keith got tied up at work and didn’t get to leave a bit early like he had hoped. It’s not like we live in a city where we can expect congestion. The twelve miles from Cambridge to Easton takes about fifteen minutes. It’s easy highway driving. It’s the thirty miles through the winding marshland roads that take up some time. There’s never traffic congestion. In fact, usually you are on the road by yourself. Nighttime and animals are what slows you down.
When Keith got home, he told me how he tried to rush home. He left Easton and came all the way down through Cambridge with no problem. He hit Maple Dam road to start the thirty-mile trek through the winding marshland. About three to four miles down the road, a car was stopped in the middle of the road. Off to the right was a car in the marsh.
“Fine, you want to stop to see if you can help, pull off to the side of the road so I can get on home,” Keith said to me frustratingly. “You’re there to help him. I’m in a car, which definitely can’t tow him out, so pull off to the side and let me go home. I got a show to watch”
“But, no. The asshole decides to continue on because he can’t help him either. As soon as he started on down the road, I gunned the gas pedal and got as far away from that jerk as I could. I just want to watch my show. I don’t need these games.”
“Well, you’re home, Keith. Relax and watch your show.”
“But you don’t understand. I get down here…I don’t know…just up the road here and there’s a truck in the ditch. My little car can’t pull out that truck. What the Hell was he in the ditch for anyway?”
“Was someone there to help him?”
“Yeah, but I had to wait for them to get organized. You know, all I wanted to do was come home and watch my show.”
“You got time. Go sit down and watch your show.”
“These damn rednecks down here. I probably missed who got kicked off because they don’t know how to drive.”
Keith clicked the TV on. One of the woman contestants was being eliminated.
“See? I missed the guys.”
Keith ranted some more and, after the commercial break, the show resumed with the elimination of one of the guys. In the bottom two was the faggy guy.
“Oh, good! I didn’t miss it.”
When the host of the show said, “Chikezie,” and then the long pause that’s supposed to build excitement, but really just pisses everyone off, “you may have a seat.”
“Yeah,” remarked Keith. “The fag is gone. Now how do we deport Simon? Is there a website you can go on and send his ass back to Britain?”
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
“Why doesn’t Simon say anything about Ruben’s weight?” Keith exclaimed. “I have to buy a new, wide screen TV just to fit his wide ass on the tube.”
Ok, at this point I should say I don’t know why Keith isn’t writing this article. When he gets on a roll, he can speak things a hundred times better than I can write. I would never have thought of the above classic line on my own. He’s a comedic genius. If only he would learn to type so he can capture these moments.
Needless to say, season three came along and the show had him glued to the set. It didn’t matter that he said, emphatically, that he would never watch the show again if Studdard won.
He begrudgingly accepted Fantasia Barrino’s win. She was a trashy, ghetto byiatch, but she could sing. So he watched season four and accepted Carrie Underwood’s win, although he thought country should have died out years ago with all the great country stars of yesteryear.
He swore up and down that if Taylor Hicks won season five, that would be it for his following of Idol. The crawdads down in the bayous of Louisiana had more singing talent in their left, bottom pinscher claw than Hicks had in his entire body.
Of course, Hicks won and season six rolled around. Jordin Sparks won the honor and I only know that because I looked it up. Keith doesn’t know. The season was so bland, he only half-followed it to the end. He swore the show would end and there was no point in watching it anymore.
Now season seven has rolled around. At this point in the show, Keith hasn’t formed any attachments towards his favorites nor formed any strong adverse sentiments towards any contestant. Yeah, he likes some more than others, but he hasn’t formed any really strong sentiments towards any of them.
He has, however, formed very strong sentiments against all three judges. Those feelings were cemented the night a contestant sang a song originally performed by Connie Francis. All three judges lambasted the performance as a disgrace to Patsy Cline. Now, Keith knows his oldies as well as a flea knows a dog’s ass. The fact that none of these judges knew Connie Francis was the original singer infuriated him.
“Randy needs to be thrown in a dog pound for reals. Paula needs to med up on her painkillers and be the bitch we all know she really is. And Simon needs to be deported back to Britain with all the rest of those limp-wristed, sissy-talking men wannabes. He’s probably an illegal alien anyways.”
Ok, I have to interject here. Do you see what I mean by Keith should be typing this? I’m not making this up. When Keith gets on a roll, he lets it rip.
So now we’re into season seven. The only contestant to rile him up is Daniel Noriega, but, so far, it’s really the judges riling him up. Noriega, though, should go because he can’t sing worth a bullfrog’s lament and he acts too faggy.
Ok, back up. Yes, most gay guys can recognize faggy behavior quicker than any straight guy. It’s nauseating. You’re gay, big deal. You’re a man, act like one. Let’s face it. If a gay man wants a man, why would he want an effeminate-acting man? He may as well as be straight.
Back to the point of the story – trouble getting home. (This is probably the point where Keith should start typing. That way, I could eliminate all of the background above and you’d get it all out of his telling of the story. Unfortunately, Keith is asleep right now, so you will have to struggle on with my telling of the story, which is as accurate as I can recall from his telling it to me when he finally got home.)
Keith got tied up at work and didn’t get to leave a bit early like he had hoped. It’s not like we live in a city where we can expect congestion. The twelve miles from Cambridge to Easton takes about fifteen minutes. It’s easy highway driving. It’s the thirty miles through the winding marshland roads that take up some time. There’s never traffic congestion. In fact, usually you are on the road by yourself. Nighttime and animals are what slows you down.
When Keith got home, he told me how he tried to rush home. He left Easton and came all the way down through Cambridge with no problem. He hit Maple Dam road to start the thirty-mile trek through the winding marshland. About three to four miles down the road, a car was stopped in the middle of the road. Off to the right was a car in the marsh.
“Fine, you want to stop to see if you can help, pull off to the side of the road so I can get on home,” Keith said to me frustratingly. “You’re there to help him. I’m in a car, which definitely can’t tow him out, so pull off to the side and let me go home. I got a show to watch”
“But, no. The asshole decides to continue on because he can’t help him either. As soon as he started on down the road, I gunned the gas pedal and got as far away from that jerk as I could. I just want to watch my show. I don’t need these games.”
“Well, you’re home, Keith. Relax and watch your show.”
“But you don’t understand. I get down here…I don’t know…just up the road here and there’s a truck in the ditch. My little car can’t pull out that truck. What the Hell was he in the ditch for anyway?”
“Was someone there to help him?”
“Yeah, but I had to wait for them to get organized. You know, all I wanted to do was come home and watch my show.”
“You got time. Go sit down and watch your show.”
“These damn rednecks down here. I probably missed who got kicked off because they don’t know how to drive.”
Keith clicked the TV on. One of the woman contestants was being eliminated.
“See? I missed the guys.”
Keith ranted some more and, after the commercial break, the show resumed with the elimination of one of the guys. In the bottom two was the faggy guy.
“Oh, good! I didn’t miss it.”
When the host of the show said, “Chikezie,” and then the long pause that’s supposed to build excitement, but really just pisses everyone off, “you may have a seat.”
“Yeah,” remarked Keith. “The fag is gone. Now how do we deport Simon? Is there a website you can go on and send his ass back to Britain?”
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Thursday, March 6, 2008
In Search of the Elusive Stars of Toddville, Part II
This past Sunday, Keith and I headed out in search of the wood duck (Aix sponsa). We are determined this year to see one. Supposedly, there are over a million birds in the Atlantic Flyway zone, so one would think we’d have no problem finding one of them.
We headed out towards Le Compte Wildlife Management Area. We found one small pond and one manmade duck nest. No wood ducks. We drove through the whole area keeping our eyes peeled in the trees and on the water. We saw a couple of mallards (Anas platyrhynchos) and that was it in ducks. Over a million wood ducks and we can’t find one.
Keith asked some people at work, who were born and raised on the Shore, if they ever saw a wood duck. Not one of the three or four people he asked ever saw one. We’re beginning to think the wood duck is a public relations ploy to lure bird watchers here, but the duck really doesn’t exist.
The whole day wasn’t a total loss, though. We did see a barred owl (Strix varia) and six or seven female wild turkeys (Meleagris gallopavo).
The owl flew up from the side of the road and onto a tree limb about ten feet off of the ground. It had its back to us, but we stared at it through our binoculars. It turned its head to face us as if to say, “What are you staring at?” After a couple of minutes, it flew about six feet further from us to a higher branch. We continued watching it. Again, it turned its head as if to say, “What’s your problem?”
We left it alone and continued on. A few miles down the road, we came across the turkeys. They scattered every which way to get out of the road. None of them really seemed sure which way to go and often changed their mind. We stopped as the last couple of birds finally decided which way to disappear into the woods.
Next weekend, we’ll once again head out to find a wood duck. If anyone out there knows where we can see one in its native habitat, please let us know. Gas is getting expensive and we want to see one before they lose their mating plumage.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
We headed out towards Le Compte Wildlife Management Area. We found one small pond and one manmade duck nest. No wood ducks. We drove through the whole area keeping our eyes peeled in the trees and on the water. We saw a couple of mallards (Anas platyrhynchos) and that was it in ducks. Over a million wood ducks and we can’t find one.
Keith asked some people at work, who were born and raised on the Shore, if they ever saw a wood duck. Not one of the three or four people he asked ever saw one. We’re beginning to think the wood duck is a public relations ploy to lure bird watchers here, but the duck really doesn’t exist.
The whole day wasn’t a total loss, though. We did see a barred owl (Strix varia) and six or seven female wild turkeys (Meleagris gallopavo).
The owl flew up from the side of the road and onto a tree limb about ten feet off of the ground. It had its back to us, but we stared at it through our binoculars. It turned its head to face us as if to say, “What are you staring at?” After a couple of minutes, it flew about six feet further from us to a higher branch. We continued watching it. Again, it turned its head as if to say, “What’s your problem?”
We left it alone and continued on. A few miles down the road, we came across the turkeys. They scattered every which way to get out of the road. None of them really seemed sure which way to go and often changed their mind. We stopped as the last couple of birds finally decided which way to disappear into the woods.
Next weekend, we’ll once again head out to find a wood duck. If anyone out there knows where we can see one in its native habitat, please let us know. Gas is getting expensive and we want to see one before they lose their mating plumage.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Friday, February 29, 2008
HB 1345 Riles Us Up
While I never really wanted to turn this blog into a political forum, something we saw on Maryland Public Television really riled us up last night. The station aired the proceedings going on in our State House yesterday, and the piece of legislation up for debate was HB 1345, a bill that would prevent same sex marriage and put the question to the voters of Maryland.
Keith and I would never have had an idea that the legislation was even proposed much less debated. It's amazing what one can learn watching late night public television. Needless to say, I spent this afternoon filing off letters to my representatives, both who not only support the bill, but are also co-sponsors of it.
Keith and I have always taken a lackadaisical attitude towards same sex marriage. If it were ever legalized, yes, we would get married. Even though everyone down here in the boondocks appears to support our relationship, we keep to ourselves and try not to make waves. We love the country life. We love the Eastern Shore. We'd rather people just leave us alone so we can enjoy it all without making an issue of our relationship.
Watching the performance of our legislators last night, though, riled us up. It's time to shake up the house, so to speak. Everyone got an earful from me, today, including our local news station. It'll probably come as a shock to them that a gay couple lives here. It'll probably make the breaking headlines.
For any of our readers who may live in Maryland or here on the Eastern Shore, I have tacked my letters to the end of this blog. The issue is important to us, not in that we want to get married, but in how our elected officials treat us as they greedily dig into our pockets and take more of our hard-earned dollars. If the issue is important to you, please take the time to write the delegates about HB 1345. Please write them to oppose it. If you write them to show your support, just please don't tell us about it.
The first letter is to Delegate Dwyer from Anne Arundel County. The gist of his argument and his supporters' arguments is that God is on their side and our children need good role models for parents, that is one mother and one father.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Keith and I would never have had an idea that the legislation was even proposed much less debated. It's amazing what one can learn watching late night public television. Needless to say, I spent this afternoon filing off letters to my representatives, both who not only support the bill, but are also co-sponsors of it.
Keith and I have always taken a lackadaisical attitude towards same sex marriage. If it were ever legalized, yes, we would get married. Even though everyone down here in the boondocks appears to support our relationship, we keep to ourselves and try not to make waves. We love the country life. We love the Eastern Shore. We'd rather people just leave us alone so we can enjoy it all without making an issue of our relationship.
Watching the performance of our legislators last night, though, riled us up. It's time to shake up the house, so to speak. Everyone got an earful from me, today, including our local news station. It'll probably come as a shock to them that a gay couple lives here. It'll probably make the breaking headlines.
For any of our readers who may live in Maryland or here on the Eastern Shore, I have tacked my letters to the end of this blog. The issue is important to us, not in that we want to get married, but in how our elected officials treat us as they greedily dig into our pockets and take more of our hard-earned dollars. If the issue is important to you, please take the time to write the delegates about HB 1345. Please write them to oppose it. If you write them to show your support, just please don't tell us about it.
The first letter is to Delegate Dwyer from Anne Arundel County. The gist of his argument and his supporters' arguments is that God is on their side and our children need good role models for parents, that is one mother and one father.
email: don.dwyer@house.state.md.us
The Honorable Don H. Dwyer, Jr.
House Office Building, Room 154
6 Bladen St., Annapolis, MD 21401
P. O. Box 667
Glen Burnie, MD 21060 – 0667
Dear Delegate Dwyer,
Last night, I caught your performance on the House floor with regards to HB 1345 on Maryland Public Television.
Presumably, you and I read the same Bible. Starting your support for the bill with a prayer to invoke a sense of “God is on my side” can, at best, be described as blasphemous. Fortunately, for you, God doesn’t care what goes on in our state legislatures. If He did, surely a thunderbolt from heaven would have put a quick end to the debate and your testimony.
Needless to say, I can’t, don’t, and won’t support your bill. Basic civil rights should never be put up for popular vote. If that were an acceptable practice for dealing with civil rights, then women would still be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen and Blacks would still be drinking out of “Coloreds Only” fountains.
Since we know laws aren’t to be passed based on whether we think God would approve or not, your supporters tried valiantly to claim the proposed ban on same sex marriage was “for the children.” If you are willing to put forth a bill that makes marriage contingent upon the couple being good role models for children, I will support that one. Drug users and alcoholics should be denied marriage. Anyone under the age of twenty-five should be denied marriage. And all marriage applicants should pass a parental test before a license is issued.
Oh, and let’s not forget to disallow Blacks from marrying. Single mother households are disproportionately represented in the Black community. A report just released show one in ten Black males is in prison. Certainly you would agree that single mothers and criminals are not good role models for our children.
Maybe now you see how ridiculous your supporters’ and your arguments were. When some members chuckled at your comments, you demanded respect. Respect is earned, not given by virtue of title. You failed to earn any respect.
Please don’t use my God to defend your homophobic prejudices. I, and I’m sure many other Christians, find the tactic highly insulting. And, until you are ready to set standards for all couples to meet for suitability as “role models” for our children other than solely one’s gender, allow homosexuals to marry. In most cases, they will be just as good, if not better, role models as many married couples are today.
Regards,
Mark Darien
House Office Building, Room 154
6 Bladen St., Annapolis, MD 21401
P. O. Box 667
Glen Burnie, MD 21060 – 0667
Dear Delegate Dwyer,
Last night, I caught your performance on the House floor with regards to HB 1345 on Maryland Public Television.
Presumably, you and I read the same Bible. Starting your support for the bill with a prayer to invoke a sense of “God is on my side” can, at best, be described as blasphemous. Fortunately, for you, God doesn’t care what goes on in our state legislatures. If He did, surely a thunderbolt from heaven would have put a quick end to the debate and your testimony.
Needless to say, I can’t, don’t, and won’t support your bill. Basic civil rights should never be put up for popular vote. If that were an acceptable practice for dealing with civil rights, then women would still be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen and Blacks would still be drinking out of “Coloreds Only” fountains.
Since we know laws aren’t to be passed based on whether we think God would approve or not, your supporters tried valiantly to claim the proposed ban on same sex marriage was “for the children.” If you are willing to put forth a bill that makes marriage contingent upon the couple being good role models for children, I will support that one. Drug users and alcoholics should be denied marriage. Anyone under the age of twenty-five should be denied marriage. And all marriage applicants should pass a parental test before a license is issued.
Oh, and let’s not forget to disallow Blacks from marrying. Single mother households are disproportionately represented in the Black community. A report just released show one in ten Black males is in prison. Certainly you would agree that single mothers and criminals are not good role models for our children.
Maybe now you see how ridiculous your supporters’ and your arguments were. When some members chuckled at your comments, you demanded respect. Respect is earned, not given by virtue of title. You failed to earn any respect.
Please don’t use my God to defend your homophobic prejudices. I, and I’m sure many other Christians, find the tactic highly insulting. And, until you are ready to set standards for all couples to meet for suitability as “role models” for our children other than solely one’s gender, allow homosexuals to marry. In most cases, they will be just as good, if not better, role models as many married couples are today.
Regards,
Mark Darien
The other letter is to the two Eastern Shore delegates who co-sponsored the bill, Delegate Eckardt and Delegate Haddaway:
Emails:
The Honorable Adelaide C. Eckardt
House Office Building, Room 213
6 Bladen St., Annapolis, MD 21401
601 Locust St., Suite 202
Cambridge, MD 21613 – 1012
The Honorable Jeannie Haddaway
House Office Building, Room 216
House Office Building, Room 213
6 Bladen St., Annapolis, MD 21401
601 Locust St., Suite 202
Cambridge, MD 21613 – 1012
The Honorable Jeannie Haddaway
House Office Building, Room 216
6 Bladen St., Annapolis, MD 21401
32 South Washington St., Suite 1
Easton, MD 21601
Dear Delegate Eckhardt and Delegate Haddaway,
Last night, I caught the discussions on HB 351 and HB 1345 on Maryland Public Television. Delegate Dwyer’s and his supporters’ performances infuriated me. It baffles me that our state legislature even entertains the idea that basic civil rights for our citizens should be put up for popular vote. Of course, it has always baffled me that our elected officials, both state and federal levels, even think that spouting off homophobic prejudices qualifies as intellectual debate. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you both not only support Delegate Dwyer’s homophobic legislation, but you both are also co-sponsors of the bill.
I would think you have more important matters to attend to other than to worry about whether my partner of eight years and I can get married or not. I’ve watched our farmlands fall to development because the family farmer can no longer make a profitable living off of the land. Severe restrictions, regulations, and tax burden have plowed them under. I’ve watched our independent watermen drown under the similiar restrictions, regulations and taxes. Generations of families have fished the Bay. This generation can’t break out of poverty fishing the Bay. One-by-one, they are throwing their hands up in the air and moving out of state and moving to states like Louisiana where they know they can make a decent living off the waters.
If HB 1345 passes, you know what? My partner and I won’t be able to get married, but our farmlands will still disappear, our watermen will leave the state, and those who are left behind will work two minimum wage jobs to make ends meet because, Lord knows, nothing is being done to ease the tax burdens and no one is trying to bring in businesses that are willing to pay 2008 wages. I think it’s time to get some priorities straight. Instead of worrying about who is marrying who, it is time to get our rural communities out from under the thumb of big city regulations and big city taxes. It’s time to sever our ties with the Western Shore and attract employers who will provide meaningful employment while respecting and preserving our rural character. And it’s time to help the family farmer and independent waterman earn a decent living by leveling the playing field for them against their corporate-run counterparts.
I urge you both to drop your sponsorship of HB 1345. It is a piece of homophobic legislation designed to punish a small segment of our society. I do urge you to find solutions for the problems I mentioned above. They are, by far, more important issues for the Eastern Shore.
Of course, if you continue to pursue this nonsense with HB 1345, my partner and I will have no choice but to vote against you come re-election time. Yes, hold on to your seat. We’re both registered Republicans. That makes us doubly ashamed that you are supposedly representing us.
Oh, heck. I’ve been unemployed since Christmas. I’ve had a couple of job offers, but they wanted to start me out at wages I earned twenty years ago. It’s a sad statement when I turn the offers down because my unemployment pays more than what they offered. Maybe I should go for one of your jobs, instead. We need at least one representative who thinks in the year 2008 and beyond. We don’t need two representatives who think in 1988 terms and believe that is progress for the Eastern Shore.
Regards,
Mark Darien
32 South Washington St., Suite 1
Easton, MD 21601
Dear Delegate Eckhardt and Delegate Haddaway,
Last night, I caught the discussions on HB 351 and HB 1345 on Maryland Public Television. Delegate Dwyer’s and his supporters’ performances infuriated me. It baffles me that our state legislature even entertains the idea that basic civil rights for our citizens should be put up for popular vote. Of course, it has always baffled me that our elected officials, both state and federal levels, even think that spouting off homophobic prejudices qualifies as intellectual debate. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you both not only support Delegate Dwyer’s homophobic legislation, but you both are also co-sponsors of the bill.
I would think you have more important matters to attend to other than to worry about whether my partner of eight years and I can get married or not. I’ve watched our farmlands fall to development because the family farmer can no longer make a profitable living off of the land. Severe restrictions, regulations, and tax burden have plowed them under. I’ve watched our independent watermen drown under the similiar restrictions, regulations and taxes. Generations of families have fished the Bay. This generation can’t break out of poverty fishing the Bay. One-by-one, they are throwing their hands up in the air and moving out of state and moving to states like Louisiana where they know they can make a decent living off the waters.
If HB 1345 passes, you know what? My partner and I won’t be able to get married, but our farmlands will still disappear, our watermen will leave the state, and those who are left behind will work two minimum wage jobs to make ends meet because, Lord knows, nothing is being done to ease the tax burdens and no one is trying to bring in businesses that are willing to pay 2008 wages. I think it’s time to get some priorities straight. Instead of worrying about who is marrying who, it is time to get our rural communities out from under the thumb of big city regulations and big city taxes. It’s time to sever our ties with the Western Shore and attract employers who will provide meaningful employment while respecting and preserving our rural character. And it’s time to help the family farmer and independent waterman earn a decent living by leveling the playing field for them against their corporate-run counterparts.
I urge you both to drop your sponsorship of HB 1345. It is a piece of homophobic legislation designed to punish a small segment of our society. I do urge you to find solutions for the problems I mentioned above. They are, by far, more important issues for the Eastern Shore.
Of course, if you continue to pursue this nonsense with HB 1345, my partner and I will have no choice but to vote against you come re-election time. Yes, hold on to your seat. We’re both registered Republicans. That makes us doubly ashamed that you are supposedly representing us.
Oh, heck. I’ve been unemployed since Christmas. I’ve had a couple of job offers, but they wanted to start me out at wages I earned twenty years ago. It’s a sad statement when I turn the offers down because my unemployment pays more than what they offered. Maybe I should go for one of your jobs, instead. We need at least one representative who thinks in the year 2008 and beyond. We don’t need two representatives who think in 1988 terms and believe that is progress for the Eastern Shore.
Regards,
Mark Darien
Again, feel free to bend their ear with your opinion on the matter. They need to earn our tax dollars somehow anyways. If you go the snail mail route, which is always more impressionable on our elected officials, I provided both their State House office address and their District office address.
If none of these are your delegates and you wish to write them, you can find out who they are and contact information here.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
In Search of the Elusive Stars of Toddville
A very large and diverse wildlife population lives in the Toddville Tidewaters. In the year and a half we have lived here, we have seen more wildlife than either of us have seen in our entire life. A lot of that wildlife includes animals (and plants) we never knew existed in Maryland.
In the plant line, we have saltmarsh fleabane (Pluchea odorata), swamp rose mallow (Hibiscus mosheutos), and our favorite, slender glasswort (Salicornia virginica). The glasswort is our favorite because all summer, you don’t see it. Its slender, green branches blend invisibly in the grass. When the cool weather of autumn sets in, though, it transforms into a scarlet red. The marshes appear to be dotted with colorful coral that somehow washed ashore.
While we have always loved plants and are avid gardeners, the diverse animal life is what fascinates us the most. Keith always thought pictures of wild turkeys (Meleagris gallopavo) were exaggerated to make them look bigger and prettier than they really are. When he saw his first male wild turkey strutting around with his tail feathers spread boastfully, he ranked the turkey right up there with a peacock for being majestically beautiful.
We also have been treated to animals we never knew lived in Maryland, or we knew they were supposed to be here, but in all our lives, had never seen one. The list includes the spotted turtle (Clemmys guttata), sika deer (Cervus nipal – though not native), indigo bunting (Passerina cyanea), and the bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), just to name a few. Our two favorites are the wood duck (Aix sponsa) and the Delmarva fox squirrel (Sciurus niger cinereus).
The wood duck I saw once when I was a kid. Keith had never heard of one and when I described it like a brilliantly painted decoy sitting in the top of a tree, he didn’t believe me. “Do I look stupid?” he asked. “Ducks don’t sit in trees.” I had to pull up the wood duck on the Internet to prove to him that I wasn’t making up another one of my exaggerated tales.
Unlike the wood duck, which numbers in the millions, the Delmarva fox squirrel is endangered. Once roaming the woods from southern New Jersey through southeastern Pennsylvania, and down the entire Delmarva Peninsula, its range is now restricted to four counties on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, with Dorchester County boasting the largest population.
Last year, we searched for the wood duck and the fox squirrel to no avail. We even cruised through Blackwater Wildlife Refuge’s wildlife drive several times in search of these stars of Toddville. None were to be found. (See also Friends of Blackwater)
We noticed the great blue herons (Ardea herodias) beginning to don their mating plumage with their tell-tale hippy ponytail so I figured the wood duck must be coming into his mating plumage, too. The one I saw when I was a kid was dressed in full, flamboyant gear in the second week of March. The time had to be right to start looking.
We paid our three dollars and slowly inched our way down the wildlife drive, carefully scouring the water and the trees for the elusive wood duck.
“Don’t forget to look in the trees, too,” I reminded Keith.
“Crazy birds. Whoever heard of ducks in a tree? Why couldn’t they be like normal ducks and swim in the water?”
“That’s why they’re called wood ducks.”
“Do you know how hard it is to keep my eye on the road and look in the water for this duck? Now I have to look in the trees, too? I’ll end up in the marsh trying to find this duck.”
“You concentrate on the driving. I’ll let you know if I see a duck.”
Slowly we crept along, but not a duck in sight. We stopped at the spot marked for wood ducks and walked out to the blind to check the nesting sites. No ducks. Nothing in the trees, nothing in the water, and nothing at the nesting sites.
We returned to the car. “Damn it,” I said. “No wood ducks last year and not a sign of them this year. When we get up here to the fox squirrel area, I better see one or I’m demanding my three dollars back.”
We slowly approached the wooded area where the squirrels were supposed to be. We inched along. A car passed us. Then another. And another. And one more. “These people!” exclaimed Keith. “They’re going to scare my squirrels away! Where do all these people come from anyway?”
We continued creeping along when Keith slammed his brakes. (No, I don’t know why he slammed them. We were barely moving as it was.) “There’s one!” he said excitedly.
“Where?”
“There,” he answered as he pointed into the woods.
I had no clue where he was pointing and I certainly didn’t see anything.
“See it?”
“No.” I no sooner answered when I saw it move.
“Is that one or is it a gray squirrel?”
I grabbed my binoculars to get a better look. It jumped up on a stump with its back to me. It’s long, thick, bushy tail streamed out behind it. “Yup, that’s one. You can tell because of its huge tail and it’s holding it straight, not curled like the gray squirrel does.”
We ogled the beautiful animal for many minutes, slowly following it as he headed on down through the woods before it disappeared. We were thrilled at finally seeing a fox squirrel, but we continued to creep along hoping to see another one, but closer to the road.
“I want to see one of the white or tan ones. I’ve never seen a white or tan squirrel before,” commented Keith.
We kept our eyes peeled to the forest floor. No squirrel in sight. As we neared the end of the woods, a squirrel moved in the leaves alongside the road. As calm as it could be, it shuffled through the leaves looking for food. We didn’t need the binoculars to see that it was definitely a fox squirrel. It wasn’t white or tan, but it was definitely a fox squirrel. Fox squirrels are normally shy, but this one didn’t seem to mind our presence. After a few minutes, he darted off into the woods. We continued our snail-pace trek looking for the wood duck.
We left the wooded area and rounded the curve to the marsh and open water area. Thousands of Canada Geese (Branta canadensis) filled the open fields, lined the shore, and gathered in the open water.
“We’ll never find a wood duck with all these dumb old geese around,” lamented Keith. “All these geese are probably eating all the food up.”
“Yeah, probably. Someone really needs to do something about this illegal immigration problem.”
“Huh?” Keith asked.
“They’re Canada geese, not Toddville geese. They should’ve kept their asses up there in Canada where they belong.”
“Oh Mark.” Keith sighed. After all these years, he still doesn’t always appreciate my humor, especially when he’s on a mission like trying to find a wood duck.
We slowly moved along. Canada geese. Canada. Geese. Canada geese. Great blue heron. Whoopee. Canada geese. Canada geese. Mallard. Double whoopee. Canada geese. Canada geese.
“Up there! What are those small birds swimming?” Keith couldn’t hide his excitement at maybe seeing his first wood duck.
“I don’t know. Get closer and I’ll take a look through the binoculars.”
We pulled up a ways and stopped. I focused my binoculars on a pair of ducks I had never seen before. “I don’t know what they are, but they are beautiful.”
Keith looked through his binoculars. “Wow. Are you sure they aren’t wood ducks? The male is so perfectly colorful he looks painted just like you said a wood duck looks like.”
“No, they aren’t wood ducks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I know what a wood duck looks like.”
“If you didn’t tell me, I’d think that was a wood duck. Look how perfect its colors are. I’ve never seen such a beautiful duck.”
“It’s not a wood duck”
“Are you sure? It’s been a long time since you were a kid. Maybe you forgot what one looks like.”
“I’m sure. It’s not a wood duck.”
“Then what is it?”
I peered through my binoculars again. They were feeding so we got a good look at their rear ends as they bobbed their heads down to the bottom looking for food. “See how their tail feathers are crossed like a pair of scissors. Maybe it’s one of those pintails.”
“Oh yeah, they are crossed. Maybe you’re right.”
That answer was good enough to convince him that it wasn’t a wood duck, but later we found out
it wasn’t a pintail, either. It was the northern shoveler (Anas clypeata). Well, I never did claim to be an ornithologist.
After staring at a few pairs of these beautiful ducks, we moved on to the final stretch of wetlands before exiting the wildlife drive.
Canada geese. Canada geese. Canada geese. All the way down, there was nothing but Canada geese. Someone really needs to do something about this illegal immigration.
As we exited the drive, Keith remarked, “It’s a scam that the refuge made up to make money.”
“Huh?”
“You said there’s over a million wood ducks. I haven’t seen one yet. Not last year and so far, not this year. There’s only a few thousand fox squirrels and I saw two of them today. The numbers don’t add up. There’s no wood ducks in this refuge. The rangers made up the story so people will pay their money to see something that isn’t here, but they’ll keep returning and paying, convinced that it must be here.”
“There’s wood ducks here, somewhere. I seen one when I was a kid. We just need to keep looking.”
“Yeah, sure you did. And I bet you think because people have claimed to see big foot in the marshes, he must be around here, too.”
“Once we find this dang wood duck, that’ll be the next thing we’ll look for.”
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
In the plant line, we have saltmarsh fleabane (Pluchea odorata), swamp rose mallow (Hibiscus mosheutos), and our favorite, slender glasswort (Salicornia virginica). The glasswort is our favorite because all summer, you don’t see it. Its slender, green branches blend invisibly in the grass. When the cool weather of autumn sets in, though, it transforms into a scarlet red. The marshes appear to be dotted with colorful coral that somehow washed ashore.
While we have always loved plants and are avid gardeners, the diverse animal life is what fascinates us the most. Keith always thought pictures of wild turkeys (Meleagris gallopavo) were exaggerated to make them look bigger and prettier than they really are. When he saw his first male wild turkey strutting around with his tail feathers spread boastfully, he ranked the turkey right up there with a peacock for being majestically beautiful.
We also have been treated to animals we never knew lived in Maryland, or we knew they were supposed to be here, but in all our lives, had never seen one. The list includes the spotted turtle (Clemmys guttata), sika deer (Cervus nipal – though not native), indigo bunting (Passerina cyanea), and the bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), just to name a few. Our two favorites are the wood duck (Aix sponsa) and the Delmarva fox squirrel (Sciurus niger cinereus).
The wood duck I saw once when I was a kid. Keith had never heard of one and when I described it like a brilliantly painted decoy sitting in the top of a tree, he didn’t believe me. “Do I look stupid?” he asked. “Ducks don’t sit in trees.” I had to pull up the wood duck on the Internet to prove to him that I wasn’t making up another one of my exaggerated tales.
Unlike the wood duck, which numbers in the millions, the Delmarva fox squirrel is endangered. Once roaming the woods from southern New Jersey through southeastern Pennsylvania, and down the entire Delmarva Peninsula, its range is now restricted to four counties on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, with Dorchester County boasting the largest population.
Last year, we searched for the wood duck and the fox squirrel to no avail. We even cruised through Blackwater Wildlife Refuge’s wildlife drive several times in search of these stars of Toddville. None were to be found. (See also Friends of Blackwater)
We noticed the great blue herons (Ardea herodias) beginning to don their mating plumage with their tell-tale hippy ponytail so I figured the wood duck must be coming into his mating plumage, too. The one I saw when I was a kid was dressed in full, flamboyant gear in the second week of March. The time had to be right to start looking.We paid our three dollars and slowly inched our way down the wildlife drive, carefully scouring the water and the trees for the elusive wood duck.
“Don’t forget to look in the trees, too,” I reminded Keith.
“Crazy birds. Whoever heard of ducks in a tree? Why couldn’t they be like normal ducks and swim in the water?”
“That’s why they’re called wood ducks.”
“Do you know how hard it is to keep my eye on the road and look in the water for this duck? Now I have to look in the trees, too? I’ll end up in the marsh trying to find this duck.”
“You concentrate on the driving. I’ll let you know if I see a duck.”
Slowly we crept along, but not a duck in sight. We stopped at the spot marked for wood ducks and walked out to the blind to check the nesting sites. No ducks. Nothing in the trees, nothing in the water, and nothing at the nesting sites.
We returned to the car. “Damn it,” I said. “No wood ducks last year and not a sign of them this year. When we get up here to the fox squirrel area, I better see one or I’m demanding my three dollars back.”
We slowly approached the wooded area where the squirrels were supposed to be. We inched along. A car passed us. Then another. And another. And one more. “These people!” exclaimed Keith. “They’re going to scare my squirrels away! Where do all these people come from anyway?”
We continued creeping along when Keith slammed his brakes. (No, I don’t know why he slammed them. We were barely moving as it was.) “There’s one!” he said excitedly.
“Where?”
“There,” he answered as he pointed into the woods.
I had no clue where he was pointing and I certainly didn’t see anything.
“See it?”
“No.” I no sooner answered when I saw it move.
“Is that one or is it a gray squirrel?”
I grabbed my binoculars to get a better look. It jumped up on a stump with its back to me. It’s long, thick, bushy tail streamed out behind it. “Yup, that’s one. You can tell because of its huge tail and it’s holding it straight, not curled like the gray squirrel does.”
We ogled the beautiful animal for many minutes, slowly following it as he headed on down through the woods before it disappeared. We were thrilled at finally seeing a fox squirrel, but we continued to creep along hoping to see another one, but closer to the road.
“I want to see one of the white or tan ones. I’ve never seen a white or tan squirrel before,” commented Keith.
We kept our eyes peeled to the forest floor. No squirrel in sight. As we neared the end of the woods, a squirrel moved in the leaves alongside the road. As calm as it could be, it shuffled through the leaves looking for food. We didn’t need the binoculars to see that it was definitely a fox squirrel. It wasn’t white or tan, but it was definitely a fox squirrel. Fox squirrels are normally shy, but this one didn’t seem to mind our presence. After a few minutes, he darted off into the woods. We continued our snail-pace trek looking for the wood duck.
We left the wooded area and rounded the curve to the marsh and open water area. Thousands of Canada Geese (Branta canadensis) filled the open fields, lined the shore, and gathered in the open water.
“We’ll never find a wood duck with all these dumb old geese around,” lamented Keith. “All these geese are probably eating all the food up.”
“Yeah, probably. Someone really needs to do something about this illegal immigration problem.”
“Huh?” Keith asked.
“They’re Canada geese, not Toddville geese. They should’ve kept their asses up there in Canada where they belong.”
“Oh Mark.” Keith sighed. After all these years, he still doesn’t always appreciate my humor, especially when he’s on a mission like trying to find a wood duck.
We slowly moved along. Canada geese. Canada. Geese. Canada geese. Great blue heron. Whoopee. Canada geese. Canada geese. Mallard. Double whoopee. Canada geese. Canada geese.
“Up there! What are those small birds swimming?” Keith couldn’t hide his excitement at maybe seeing his first wood duck.
“I don’t know. Get closer and I’ll take a look through the binoculars.”
We pulled up a ways and stopped. I focused my binoculars on a pair of ducks I had never seen before. “I don’t know what they are, but they are beautiful.”
Keith looked through his binoculars. “Wow. Are you sure they aren’t wood ducks? The male is so perfectly colorful he looks painted just like you said a wood duck looks like.”
“No, they aren’t wood ducks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I know what a wood duck looks like.”
“If you didn’t tell me, I’d think that was a wood duck. Look how perfect its colors are. I’ve never seen such a beautiful duck.”
“It’s not a wood duck”
“Are you sure? It’s been a long time since you were a kid. Maybe you forgot what one looks like.”
“I’m sure. It’s not a wood duck.”
“Then what is it?”
I peered through my binoculars again. They were feeding so we got a good look at their rear ends as they bobbed their heads down to the bottom looking for food. “See how their tail feathers are crossed like a pair of scissors. Maybe it’s one of those pintails.”
“Oh yeah, they are crossed. Maybe you’re right.”
That answer was good enough to convince him that it wasn’t a wood duck, but later we found out
it wasn’t a pintail, either. It was the northern shoveler (Anas clypeata). Well, I never did claim to be an ornithologist.After staring at a few pairs of these beautiful ducks, we moved on to the final stretch of wetlands before exiting the wildlife drive.
Canada geese. Canada geese. Canada geese. All the way down, there was nothing but Canada geese. Someone really needs to do something about this illegal immigration.
As we exited the drive, Keith remarked, “It’s a scam that the refuge made up to make money.”
“Huh?”
“You said there’s over a million wood ducks. I haven’t seen one yet. Not last year and so far, not this year. There’s only a few thousand fox squirrels and I saw two of them today. The numbers don’t add up. There’s no wood ducks in this refuge. The rangers made up the story so people will pay their money to see something that isn’t here, but they’ll keep returning and paying, convinced that it must be here.”
“There’s wood ducks here, somewhere. I seen one when I was a kid. We just need to keep looking.”
“Yeah, sure you did. And I bet you think because people have claimed to see big foot in the marshes, he must be around here, too.”
“Once we find this dang wood duck, that’ll be the next thing we’ll look for.”
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Never Become a Car Salesman
Times are tough. They’re even tougher down here in Toddville. Unless one is self-employed, Toddville residents can expect to travel a minimum of thirty miles, one way, to get to a job that pays wages slightly above minimum wage. If they are willing to travel forty to sixty miles, one way, they might fare better with a job at wages ten to fifteen years behind the wages offered by employers in major metro areas.
Keith, for example, took a little over a four-dollar-an-hour pay cut to do the exact same job he did for sixteen years in Baltimore. His employer is a major health care supplier on Delmarva, but they pay pennies on the dollar to their employees compared to comparable health care companies in the Baltimore area on the Western Shore.
Big companies aren’t stupid, I guess. They move into an economically depressed area and think, “Hey! Look how much money we can save in wages because these dumb rednecks will be happy for any sort of income!”
Now, I know the first thought city-smart people would claim is that the cost of living in a rural area is a lot cheaper than in a metro area, which is why companies can cut employee’s wages. That’s true, to a point.
Before moving here, I calculated the cost of living difference between Cambridge, the nearest major “city” to Toddville, and Baltimore. The difference equated to ten percent. For Keith to continue earning the same buying power as he did in Baltimore, his pay cut should’ve been less than half of what he had to accept. On top of that, his benefits are significantly less than what his employer in Baltimore offered. Bottom line: he took a ten-year step backward in his career development. (For privacy reasons and because everyone on the Shore knows everyone, I will not name the company Keith works for.)
I had to quit my job in Baltimore. I knew that. I couldn’t continue paying over $500 a month in gas to commute there. The problem was I couldn’t find an equivalent job down here.
Finally, last October, Sylvan Learning Center in Easton hired me to turn around the three-year loss the center had experienced. The pay was right so I took it. Unfortunately, the owner’s health took a turn for the worse and he decided to scale back his staff and, most likely, either close the center or find a buyer. I didn’t get my chance to turn the center around by June like I had forecasted.
Since Christmas, I have been trying to find a job. I’ve had offers, but the pay was significantly less than what unemployment affords me now. So I keep searching.
Two weeks ago, I came across an ad for a car salesman at Preston Autoplex. The ad read in such a way that I figured I was qualified – no experience necessary - so I applied. Eight days later, I was let go on the grounds that certain people felt I didn’t “have what it takes” to be a car salesman.
I have to agree with them. In the eight days I was there, there was no training of any sort. I made it no secret in my interviews that I never had direct sales experience. I knew how to talk to people and, most importantly, I know how to talk to Eastern Shore natives. They don’t like to be pushed. They don’t like the “hard sell”. They want to like you first and a handshake is as valid as a signature on any legal document.
Preston obviously had a different selling philosophy. In simple terms, it is no different than the philosophy of any other car dealership, especially the ones of the major metro areas. “Get people off the lot and in the doors and we’ll sell them a car.” Of course, that means they’ll sell you the car, warranties, and lifetime service memberships. The real money made by a car salesman and the dealership is not in the selling of a vehicle. The real money is made in the warranties and dealership services even though most purchasers of vehicles need neither.
While I am making my point using Preston Autoplex as an example, in reality, they are no different than any other major car dealership. I just happen to have first-hand experience with them as a brief employee. As an ex-customer of Norris Ford of Easton, I can relate what I experienced as a customer with what I learned as an employee at Preston.
By now, you might be wondering why I’m bringing all this up and why you should even read on. I have two goals for this article.
The first is to send the message to big companies considering a move to Delmarva that we know big city ways when we see it and we don’t like it. You’ll do fine here as long as big city people follow you, but for those of us born and raised here, we’ll resent and defy your intrusion. Save your breath on cheesy commercials about how your general manager was born and raised here (That’s a Norris Ford's radio commercial) or bringing on your eight-year-old daughter to show your “family friendliness” (That’s a Preston TV commercial). We locals recognize phoniness in a heartbeat. We’re still going to do business with you. We have no choice. You big city dudes have pushed out the genuine, family-owned businesses.
The second purpose for writing this article is to benefit my faithful readers. You have to buy a car. When you do, be harder than the most persuasive salesman. Pick out your vehicle, select any options you want, and tell the salesman to give you the best offer. He’ll run it to the sales manager, who will run it to the finance manager, and they’ll come back with an offer. Simply state, “Well, if that’s the best you can do, I should shop around more.”
The salesman and the sales manager will ask you what they can do to close the deal. Simply tell them nothing because you already asked them for their best offer and, if they are willing to do even better, then they didn’t give you their best offer.
They lied. Simple as that. Ask them to hold the offer for two weeks while you visit other dealerships. Other dealerships will more or less offer you the same thing on the same vehicle, but they may offer you better rebates, service or warranties. When buying a vehicle, that’s what you are really shopping for. You’re not even shopping for better interest rates on the loan. They all use the same thirty or so lenders. Whatever lender A quotes at dealership A, they’ll quote the same at dealership B.
When you walk out, though, expect the dealership to call you with an offer you can’t refuse. At that point, you need to decide if their lie to you on their original “best offer” is worth overlooking for their “new best offer”.
My last two weeks have taught me one thing. I need to pursue a career in local politics. The Bay is dying and our farmlands are disappearing. Big city companies are moving in. The trend needs to stop. The Bay needs to be revitalized; restrictions on the family farmer or independent watermen needs to be lifted; and big city companies need a crash course on the Eastern Shore culture before they can open their doors.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Keith, for example, took a little over a four-dollar-an-hour pay cut to do the exact same job he did for sixteen years in Baltimore. His employer is a major health care supplier on Delmarva, but they pay pennies on the dollar to their employees compared to comparable health care companies in the Baltimore area on the Western Shore.
Big companies aren’t stupid, I guess. They move into an economically depressed area and think, “Hey! Look how much money we can save in wages because these dumb rednecks will be happy for any sort of income!”
Now, I know the first thought city-smart people would claim is that the cost of living in a rural area is a lot cheaper than in a metro area, which is why companies can cut employee’s wages. That’s true, to a point.
Before moving here, I calculated the cost of living difference between Cambridge, the nearest major “city” to Toddville, and Baltimore. The difference equated to ten percent. For Keith to continue earning the same buying power as he did in Baltimore, his pay cut should’ve been less than half of what he had to accept. On top of that, his benefits are significantly less than what his employer in Baltimore offered. Bottom line: he took a ten-year step backward in his career development. (For privacy reasons and because everyone on the Shore knows everyone, I will not name the company Keith works for.)
I had to quit my job in Baltimore. I knew that. I couldn’t continue paying over $500 a month in gas to commute there. The problem was I couldn’t find an equivalent job down here.
Finally, last October, Sylvan Learning Center in Easton hired me to turn around the three-year loss the center had experienced. The pay was right so I took it. Unfortunately, the owner’s health took a turn for the worse and he decided to scale back his staff and, most likely, either close the center or find a buyer. I didn’t get my chance to turn the center around by June like I had forecasted.
Since Christmas, I have been trying to find a job. I’ve had offers, but the pay was significantly less than what unemployment affords me now. So I keep searching.
Two weeks ago, I came across an ad for a car salesman at Preston Autoplex. The ad read in such a way that I figured I was qualified – no experience necessary - so I applied. Eight days later, I was let go on the grounds that certain people felt I didn’t “have what it takes” to be a car salesman.
I have to agree with them. In the eight days I was there, there was no training of any sort. I made it no secret in my interviews that I never had direct sales experience. I knew how to talk to people and, most importantly, I know how to talk to Eastern Shore natives. They don’t like to be pushed. They don’t like the “hard sell”. They want to like you first and a handshake is as valid as a signature on any legal document.
Preston obviously had a different selling philosophy. In simple terms, it is no different than the philosophy of any other car dealership, especially the ones of the major metro areas. “Get people off the lot and in the doors and we’ll sell them a car.” Of course, that means they’ll sell you the car, warranties, and lifetime service memberships. The real money made by a car salesman and the dealership is not in the selling of a vehicle. The real money is made in the warranties and dealership services even though most purchasers of vehicles need neither.
While I am making my point using Preston Autoplex as an example, in reality, they are no different than any other major car dealership. I just happen to have first-hand experience with them as a brief employee. As an ex-customer of Norris Ford of Easton, I can relate what I experienced as a customer with what I learned as an employee at Preston.
By now, you might be wondering why I’m bringing all this up and why you should even read on. I have two goals for this article.
The first is to send the message to big companies considering a move to Delmarva that we know big city ways when we see it and we don’t like it. You’ll do fine here as long as big city people follow you, but for those of us born and raised here, we’ll resent and defy your intrusion. Save your breath on cheesy commercials about how your general manager was born and raised here (That’s a Norris Ford's radio commercial) or bringing on your eight-year-old daughter to show your “family friendliness” (That’s a Preston TV commercial). We locals recognize phoniness in a heartbeat. We’re still going to do business with you. We have no choice. You big city dudes have pushed out the genuine, family-owned businesses.
The second purpose for writing this article is to benefit my faithful readers. You have to buy a car. When you do, be harder than the most persuasive salesman. Pick out your vehicle, select any options you want, and tell the salesman to give you the best offer. He’ll run it to the sales manager, who will run it to the finance manager, and they’ll come back with an offer. Simply state, “Well, if that’s the best you can do, I should shop around more.”
The salesman and the sales manager will ask you what they can do to close the deal. Simply tell them nothing because you already asked them for their best offer and, if they are willing to do even better, then they didn’t give you their best offer.
They lied. Simple as that. Ask them to hold the offer for two weeks while you visit other dealerships. Other dealerships will more or less offer you the same thing on the same vehicle, but they may offer you better rebates, service or warranties. When buying a vehicle, that’s what you are really shopping for. You’re not even shopping for better interest rates on the loan. They all use the same thirty or so lenders. Whatever lender A quotes at dealership A, they’ll quote the same at dealership B.
When you walk out, though, expect the dealership to call you with an offer you can’t refuse. At that point, you need to decide if their lie to you on their original “best offer” is worth overlooking for their “new best offer”.
My last two weeks have taught me one thing. I need to pursue a career in local politics. The Bay is dying and our farmlands are disappearing. Big city companies are moving in. The trend needs to stop. The Bay needs to be revitalized; restrictions on the family farmer or independent watermen needs to be lifted; and big city companies need a crash course on the Eastern Shore culture before they can open their doors.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
Thursday, January 31, 2008
The Shanty Shoppe Opens in Toddville - Sort Of
There’s no hiding the facts. Toddville, and Dorchester County, is a poverty-stricken area. There is no real industry in Dorchester County, and what jobs are available barely pay above minimum wage.
For those of us living in Toddville, that means driving a minimum of thirty miles to Cambridge, one way, every day to get to a job. With today’s gas prices, half the paycheck goes to getting to and from work. It’s not like we have public transportation down here.
A good portion of the residents down here are either retired or their home is a summer home. Mr. Pritchett, down at Pritchett’s store, said back in the forties and fifties, there were about 800 families living here, all making their living off of the Bay. The Bay isn’t producing like it did in the good ol’ days so many children of the last generation or so have sold or abandoned the family home and moved to where the jobs are. The few watermen who hang in carrying on the family tradition of generations since the first settlers arrived are finding it harder and harder to make ends meet. For them, the Bay is all they know.
Driving through the Toddville area will give you ample evidence of the dying community. The marshes are dotted with many abandoned homes, slowly decaying and falling apart. A friend of ours is one of the remaining few watermen left. Some weeks he makes a bountiful catch and times are good. Then the next two or three weeks, it cost him more to take his boat out than what he earned for the day’s catch. He’s forced to hibernate in his home, unable to afford a Saturday night beer down at Carolyn’s Stonehouse.
Another friend of ours, a regular every Saturday night at Carolyn’s, recently threw his hands up in the air and said he had enough. He packed up his things and left. No one knows for sure where he went, but the rumors are he went west, maybe to the Dakotas or something.
As if the Bay dying isn’t hard enough to deal with, there is a problem of the ever-rising water levels in the Bay. On average, the bay rises a foot every century and the rise has little or nothing to do with global warming. The house Keith and I live in was built over a hundred years ago. The original family probably never concerned themselves with flooding. If we didn’t build up the land around us, we’d have the tidewaters at our doorstep on every higher-than-normal tide.
And the rising Bay levels affect the fishing grounds. The fish are constantly moving to new areas where the waters aren’t as deep. What were good fishing grounds last year may not yield so much as a minnow this year. It’s a never-ending game of wits pitted against a dwindling fish population and a changing and dying Bay.
About a month ago, our waterman friend lamented that he wished he knew something other than how to fish so he could make a decent living. His comment got me talking to him about Ebay, the famous online auction site. He and his girlfriend got excited over the idea, except for one problem. He doesn’t have a computer, knows nothing about them, and can’t really afford one anyway.
Keith and I always wanted to open our own little store one day, but we can’t afford the start up costs. Since I am currently out of work, we decided Toddville needed to be propelled into the Digital Age plus Keith and I would get our store, even if it weren’t the traditional brick and mortal one.
The Shanty Shoppe opened for business last month. Currently, it offers items from Keith’s collectible toys collection, but The Shanty Shoppe will expand to include a little of everything for everybody with a special department dedicated to items unique to Toddville and Maryland.
The great thing about The Shanty Shoppe is that all of the residents down here can share in the store, or at least the residents we know. Our waterman friend, for example, comes across a lot of stuff on a daily basis. He’ll bring it to the store (Keith or me) and we’ll list it for bidding at least twice. If it doesn’t sell, we’ll stock it on The Shanty Shoppe’s store shelves for anyone to purchase when they want.
We do have big plans for the store. We’re hoping to get it to at least earn us our beer money for the weekend. Sure, it’s not a big company that can employ a lot of residents and provide them with a decent paycheck and benefits, but it’s a small step towards helping the community survive.
So, enjoy your stay here in the Toddville Tidewaters blog, but before you leave, feel free to click on the link in the right hand column and come on into The Shanty Shoppe. Browse around, and, if you’re inclined to, buy anything you see. No high-pressure sales tactics down here. Take your time and enjoy yourself. Just remember, we could use the beer money next weekend.
© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article
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