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
Monday, March 31, 2008
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
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