Toddville Tidewaters

New Years 2012: Our first Burning Man celebration

2012-01-11T00:08:00.001-05:00

Last year on New Years, Keith and I stayed home. We celebrated the New Years watching Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve and I swear I didn't see a ball fall. I saw a lot of lights get lower and lower, but nothing fell. I've been watching that dang ball fall since I was a kid, and all I ever see is a bunch of lights. I wanted something different for next year.

After we rang in 2011, I announced to Keith that next year I was going to have a Burning Man celebration to ring in the New Year. "What the Hell is a burning man?" he asked.

Keith had never heard of the annual Burning Man celebration in the Nevada desert so I started explaining. "Every year, they erect a hundred foot scarecrow in the middle of the desert. Tens of thousands of hippies come from all over the world to get drunk and dance naked around the scarecrow while listening to sixties music. At night, they set the scarecrow on fire and the dancing and partying continues for days."

"Ohh, sixities music? That sounds like fun," Keith remarked, but remained unimpressed. "I don't want all those people in my yard."

I assured him our celebration would be just me and him unless he wanted to invite a couple of friends. People from all over the world wouldn't descend on Toddville to watch our little scarecrow burn in a little bonfire. He remained unimpressed.

When spring arrived, I planted the pole that would hold up our scarecrow and told Keith that as we took care of the yard, anything yanked or cut is to be placed around the pole for our Burning Man celebration on New Years. I know a yeah-whatever-look when I see one and that's what I got from him.

Throughout the spring and summer, nothing to burn ended up around the pole except for some branches I moved so I could cut the grass. October rolled around and I cut down two holly trees so our chaste tree would get more sun next year. I piled all the wood and branches from both trees around the pole. "That should give us a good Burning Man celebration," I said. I got another yeah-whatever-look.

I resigned myself to thinking that I would be the only idiot around a bonfire on New Year's Eve. I didn't even feel like building the scarecrow. I figured a nice bonfire would be better than watching a bunch of lights on TV. Deep down I knew Keith would come out just before midnight to ring in the New Year and then go back in, but I would still be out there listening to my music and enjoying the warmth of the bonfire by myself.

The night before New Year's Eve 2012, I picked Keith up from his work and we headed home.

Keith was all excited and full of energy. "I thought about the Burning Man all day and, look, I made my New Year's resolutions." He held out a notepad piece of paper and read, word-for-word, what he wrote. "New Year's Resolutions," he began as he pointed to the words. "And look, I even signed it." Underneath the title, he read his signed full name and then proceeded to read each of his resolutions. "Now I gave this a lot of thought. We have to have a story behind the Burning Man if we want it to be a good tradition."

Up to this point, I never considered we needed a good story to justify standing around a burning scarecrow to drink beer. I thought the fact it was New Year's Eve was a good enough story. But Keith wanted a good story and he gave us a good story.

He explained the Burning Man represented our old selves. We had to write our resolutions down and before we set the fire, we had to read our resolutions to the Burning Man and then pin them to him. Then we would set the fire and the Burning Man represented our desire to get rid of our old selves. The Burning Man would go up in smoke and take our resolutions with him. That way, the Burning Man would know what our resolutions were.

"And," Keith excitedly explained, "if you break a resolution, the Burning Man will come back and burn your ass."

I loved the story. "But we need a specific song to play at midnight that reflects the story and New Years. But it has to be sixties style because that's the kind of music you're supposed to play at a Burning Man celebration."

Keith had no problem coming up with not one, but two songs. "Out With the Old by Chameleon Church and Hell Fire by The Crazy World of Arthur Brown. "The first one because that's the whole theme behind the Burning Man and the second one because we want to make sure he burns," Keith explained.

We were all set except for one thing. We had the story, we had the song, but we didn't have the Burning Man and I had only one day to make him.

Let me tell you, putting together a scarecrow isn't as easy as it looks. We've all seen one hanging in a field or even staked in the middle of the family vegetable garden. They look easy enough to put together, but if you never put one together, it's a difficult task.

Getting the old clothes together was easy enough. Stuffing it was almost as easy. The hard part was gathering all the reeds to stuff it with. Our little scarecrow took several wheelbarrow's worth of reeds. The head was particularly difficult. I got it as round as I could, but it was still lopsided. It was also at this point I realized our scarecrow would have no arms because I used a short sleeved shirt. I figured it would be dark and no one would notice.

When I first tried to hang it, the pants fell down and all the upper body stuffing fell out. I laid it back down on the ground and re-stuffed it. I decided I needed to learn how to sew. Trying to get the thread through the eye of the needle almost stopped my plans for a Burning Man. My eyesight used to be so good, I could thread a needle blindfolded. It took me almost half an hour to get that needle threaded. I don't know what happened to my eye sight, but suffice it to say it sucks getting old.

I hung the Burning Man, but the dang thing wasn't high enough over the wood for the fire. On top of that, the body of the scarecrow flopped into an odd posture. I don't know how they get them straight in the fields, but ours limply flopped every which way. It was past dark and I wanted to take an hour nap before celebrating, so I decided what I had would have to do.

Keith came out to look at the finished product. "Can't you fix it? Look how it's posed. We have an armless, gay Burning Man."

"No, I can't fix it because it'd probably fall apart again. It'll have to do."

Keith shook his head. "That's the gayest looking thing I've ever seen. I hope we do better next year."

About fifteen minutes before midnight, I opened a beer, grabbed the burnable trash, and headed outside. Keith followed with a glass of wine in hand and his sixties music. As he got his music ready, I placed the burnable trash in the pile of wood, prepared to start the fire.

Once we were ready, Keith pulled out his resolutions and read all three of them to the Burning Man. I pulled out my resolutions and read all six.

"Six?" Keith asked. "Just a couple of hours ago you couldn't think of one."

"That was then. This is now." I proceeded to read all six of my resolutions.

When I was done, we pinned our resolutions over the heart of the Burning Man and I set the fire. DeeJay Keith started the song, Out With the Old as the fire struggled to burn. As the song was about to end, our fire finally started to take off.

Keith ran to the truck to play the next song. At this point, we realized we were three minutes late ringing in the New Year. Good thing we didn't sell tickets to the event. Of course, down here in Toddville, we all do things at our own pace so even though the clock said we were late, we were really on time. I reckon over the last couple of centuries, ringing in the New Year a few minutes late added up to why we're a good fifty years behind everyone else now.

As Hell Fire played, our friends, Brian and Shana joined the celebration. As we stood around the bonfire (the Burning Man had disappeared into ashes), Brian asked what the celebration was about. He thought for sure it was some sort of witchcraft celebration. I knew he never heard of the Nevada celebration so I simply said there was no witchery involved. It was just an excuse to drink beer on a nice night. That explanation was good enough for him.

Keith was going to play his sixties music all night, but when Hell Fire ended, he played the classic rock station as he searched for the next CD to play. A Lynryd Skynrd song played and Brain began serenading Keith. In Brian's defense, anytime a Lynryd Skynrd song plays, Brian serenades anyone who will listen. No one's ever serenaded Keith before and he was flattered. He decided to leave the classic rock station play for Brian since he enjoyed it so much.

By this time our fire was back to a candle flame and struggling to catch the wood on fire. While Brian serenaded Keith, Shana went and got a friend, Mary, to come over. Mary came up to the dwindling flames with her resolutions and asked me, "What do I do? Just throw them in the fire?"

"Well, even though the Burning Man is ashes now, you still need to read them before throwing them in."

"But their personal."

"Then read them to yourself and toss them."

She quickly read her resolutions and threw them in the fire. I joined Keith and Brian in drinking beer and took their pictures. None of us noticed Shana and Mary had disappeared.

A couple of minutes later, they reappeared, Mary with a truckload of paper and cardboard. She tossed it all on the near-gone fire, even tucking it behind the pallet we used for wood. She made a couple of trips to her truck for more cardboard and paper to get the fire going. Her eyes were focused on the one task - get the fire burning.

It only took a few minutes and we had a roaring fire that soared a good ten or fifteen feet in the air. We'll never know what Mary's resolutions were, but she wanted to make sure the Burning Man took care of them. Unfortunately, Mary disappeared before I could get her picture, but I hope whatever she threw in that fire means this year will be a better year for her. She was so determined to get that fire going, I never got to wish her a Happy New Year, so, Mary, if you are reading this, "Happy New Year!"

Brian had enough beer so we offered him some of our egg nog. It must've been good stuff. He drank the whole bottle by himself. By about two-thirty, the fire still put out heat, but most of the wood was burned. And the egg nog was gone. It was time to bring our Burning Man celebration to an end.

Keith and I had a great time. Our whole concept of the celebration went better than we had thought, despite having the "gayest Burning Man" in town, with no arms, no less. We're already making plans for next year to ensure an even better celebration. I think I know how to make a better and taller Burning Man. Keith is working on compiling a Burning Man CD so all the songs will play in order without having to change CDs between songs. And I think next year I'm going to include some food. Stay tuned for next year's celebration....

If you want to see some of the excitement, hear the music mentioned, or, for some of our Internet friends who are curious what Keith and I and some of our friends look like, please feel free to watch the short video below. The middle of the movie includes live video footage of the Burning Man.

Problems getting to work Toddville style

2011-10-21T02:51:00.000-05:00

Since I could write a book about this, I decided to do a TTW radio broadcast instead. It's a lot faster than writing, although I'm not certain it's more entertaining. Perhaps I may write the story at a later date, but, for now, my narration should give you an idea of the problems we had getting to work.

Truth smacked us in the face

2011-09-20T22:19:00.001-05:00

Reading the paper this morning, reality hit us hard. Derek McCoy, President of the Maryland Family Alliance, spoke out against gay marriage at the Easton Volunteer Fire Department last week. Fearing Maryland may follow New York's legislative lead next year, he vowed to rally national organizations and the citizens of Maryland to defeat next year's planned bill. He also vowed to take the issue out of the legislative process and force a referendum so Marylanders can decide if same sex couples should be allowed to marry.

We've said it before in prior posts, but it's worth reiterating. When Keith and I moved here, we were scared to death of what the reaction of the local people would be. We held the stereotype that our neighbors would be dumb, macho rednecks living a mentatility of fifty years ago. If they knew we were gay, they would vandalize our home with nasty spray paint, if they didn't burn it down first, and for a Saturday night of fun, they'd beat us up and leave us in the marsh for dead.

Yeah, I know. What extreme thinking. Unfortunately, both Keith and I have known gay people who suffered such violence for no other reason than they were gay. We won't bore you with our stories, but you can see our fears of moving here weren't without basis.

For almost the first year we were here, we said nothing. When we were at Carolyn's Stonehouse, a couple of people would hint around about us being gay to see how we would respond. We simply blew them off without admitting we were a couple, nor denying it. Everyone knew we were a couple and bent over backwards to make us feel welcomed and accepted in the community. It became apparent to us we had to be honest and forthcoming with them.

The people down here in Toddville shattered our stereotype of the local people here and on Delmarva. They were very much with the times and accepting. Sure, a couple of people had a problem with the gay couple who moved in.  We could see their expressions when we walked into Mr. Pritchett's store or Carolyn's Stonehouse. But no one gave us a hard time.

After six years of going around town up in the high country to do our shopping, employees of the Food Lion, Royal Farms, Lowe's, Snow's Turn, and a couple of the restaurants we eat at fairly regularly have figured out we must be a couple.  We don't hold hands or kiss in public like a straight couple will do, but I reckon they know two guys don't hang around with each other as much as we do for as long as we have. They figure we must be more than friends. It's something we know they know, especially if one of us shows up without the other and the waitress or cashier will ask, "Where's your partner?"

We get a real charge out of the talking heads on TV or the radio who complain about the growing acceptance of gay people. "Why do they have to go around telling everyone they're gay?" they'll rhetorically ask.

Well, we told no one and still tell no one, yet everyone knows. So we have to rhetorically ask, "Why the Hell do you care?"

Back to last week's meeting with Derek McCoy, president of the Maryland Family Alliance.  Let's not gloss this one over. Anytime there's an organization with the word, family, in its name and the organization's purpose is to promote strong healthy families based on Christian values, you can be guaranteed it's members simply hate gay people. Derek McCoy and the Maryland Family Alliance is no exception.

Obviously, we take exception to Derek McCoy and the Maryland Families Alliance's comments and stance on the issue of same sex marriage. Keith and I will be starting our twelth year together. So far, we have stayed together almost twice as long as about half of the legally married couples who tied the knot when we first committed to each other. Derek McCoy, if you and your organization are about promoting strong families, why were those couples allowed to marry, only to bail ship, but we aren't allowed to marry?

At the time we got together, Keith's daughter was nine-years-old. Because we couldn't get married, I couldn't add his daughter to my health insurance plan.  As you push for legislation to make families stronger,do you consider the sons and daughters of gay people as being not as important as the children of straight people?

People in prison, people on the sex offenders list, people with a history of spousal abuse, and people with a history of child abuse or neglect can all legally get married. In your effort to create a positive environment to raise strong families, are you saying all these people are good role models, but gay people aren't?

Alcoholics and drug addicts can legally marry. Are you saying they're good role models for a strong family unit, but gay people aren't?

Almost half the marriages in this country end in divorce. Aside from trying to prevent same sex couples from marrying, what are you doing to prevent couples, who don't understand the meaning of "Until death do us part", from marrying or are you saying that a straight marriage ending in divorce is better than a life long marriage between a same sex couple?

In 1967, the Supreme Court ruled a marriage between two people is a basic, civil right. Since when did you and your organization decide the people should get to vote on which civil rights we'll let people have?

Much to Keith's chagrain, I sort of hope Maryland does take the issue of same sex marriage to the people to vote on. Whether it will pass or not is beside the point for me. If you really want to start letting people vote on which civil rights we allow to which groups of people, I have a whole list of referendums to start flooding our state legislature with. I guarantee you nor anyone affiliated with your organization will like any of them.

Oh wait. Up until about fifty years ago, we did vote on which civil rights people were or were not entitled to. It wasn't a pretty picture, was it?

For once, we would like to see someone from any homophobic organization out there, including the Maryland Families Alliance, publically answer any, preferably all, of the questions we posed above. For the casual reader of Toddville Tidewaters, we ask you ponder the questions we posed for yourself.

Suriving two weeks of an earthquake, hurricane, and tropical depression

2011-09-18T03:30:00.003-05:00

Three weeks ago, we had our worst nightmare forming out in the Carribean. A strong hurrican named Irene had its sights set for Delmarva. A week in advance, before it even hit Puerto Rico, we were on edge. A tropical storm or hurricane usually hits us within a week of Labor Day weekend. In fact, we moved into our house on Labor Day weekend, and the day we moved into our new home five years ago, tropical storm Ernesto welcomed us.

Since that time, Keith has pondered, every year, what would happen if a category one hurricane hit us on a path right up the Bay. Hazel was our last category one hurricane to hit and that was way back before either one of us were born. Fifty-seven years ago, to be exact. A major storm like Hazel is supposed to hit us every thirty to fifty years so we figured we were on borrowed time.

On Friday, the day before the Big Storm, I went out on a mission to get sandbags and some other storm prep supplies. I couldn't find a sandbag within a fifty mile radius. To top it off, I couldn't find a decent flashlight nor batteries to operate the little ones we already have. Knowing Irene was going to blow in with a vengeance, we realized too late the importance of being prepared way before you even know what might hit you.

I managed to get twelve bags of sand and bought my own bags to make my own sandbags. On the night of the storm, I sandbagged the doors and had a few more ready to fight the water anywhere else it could find a way in. We also got everything - and I mean everything - off the first floor. The big things that we left behind were ready to be moved when the tides came pouring through. We were set as much as available supplies and our budget would allow.

Saturday came and Irene began knocking on our door. She brought heavy rains and breezes, a warning that she could be vicious and gentle at the same time. All we could do was wait. Our flood tides don't happen during the storm. They always come as the storm exits.

So we waited - and drank beer. The original forcast had the brunt of the storm coming after midnight, but on the five o'clock news, the forcasters upped the time for the strongest part of the storm to hit after eight pm. That was only three hours away, and while we had a deluge the entire day, the winds were only breezy. We've had stronger nor'easters.

Keith's pessimism began to show through. "Where's the hurricane? The trees are supposed to be bending back and forth and things are supposed to be flying through the air."

In Keith's defense, his pessimism wasn't without foundation. Three days earlier, as we drove to work, he mentioned that he had never experienced a category one hurricane and he wanted to experience one. His grandmother talked about how bad Hazel was in '54 and Irene was his chance to experience what his grandmother had told him. He added, "I've never experienced a tornado or an earthquake, either. I don't want to experience a tornado, but I'd like to see one. And I'd want to feel an earthquake. I can't imagine what one feels like."

"If you want to feel an earthquake, you have to go to California, and I ain't going to California. If Apryl [his daughter] moves to Ohio, you can visit her during tornado season, but I ain't going," I replied.

That afternoon, I ate my lunch under the pine tree on the hill behind where I work, then lay down to take a nap. As I dozed off, the ground felt like jello and I instantly sat up, startled. I rocked as if I were sitting on a bowl of jello, and the hill felt as if it were going to slide down. The sensation only lasted a few seconds, but by the time I gathered my senses, I sat there wondering if there was something physically wrong with me or if we had an earthquake. I lit up a smoke and then I heard someone yell, "We had an earthquake!"

I breathed a sigh of relief knowing there was nothing wrong with me. Then I remembered Keith and our conversation this morning and wondered if he felt the quake he caused. Yes, he caused it. He wanted a blizzard and we got two back-to-back blizzards. He wanted the spring to dry out so his flowers would grow, and we had no rain for two months, plunging us into a moderate drought. He wanted to feel an earthquake, and we got a 5.8 quake. Mother Nature listens to Keith, but, unfortunately, gives him more than he asks for.

I felt the quake he asked for. He didn't. He was in his work van and didn't feel a thing. He's still upset about that. All I can say is everyone east of the Mississippi should brace themselves for another - and much larger - quake, one that drivers will even feel.

Now here we were, three hours away from the height of a category one hurricane, and all we had were breezes and lots of rain. "I missed the earthquake and now we ain't going to get the hurricane," he lamented.

I pulled up the weather observations for Bishops Head. Winds were steady at 23 mph, gusting to near 40. We weren't even in tropical strength, yet. Maybe Keith was right.

About an hour later, I refreshed the stats, and winds were steady at 39 mph, with gusts just over 50. I woke Keith up. "It's coming, Keith. We're in tropical strength now and the peak is still two hours away. Grab some beer and let's go."

Keith got excited until he looked outside. "It doesn't look all that much more windy."

I packed our beer and explained, "We'll go out to the docks and see the full force. We're too protected here with all the trees."

We headed out to the mouth of Tedious Creek, where we go fishing and crabbing. Normally, Tedious Creek is calm with little ripples lapping the shore. During storms, it turns into a viscious flood machine. When the winds blow right, the water is forced up the creek, over the land, and, at least once a year, into our yard. Now, keep in mind, we don't live on Tedious Creek. Tedious Creek is a mile or two from us. So when it comes into our yard, you can imagine the volume of Bay water the wind has pushed up the creek to reach us. It doesn't even have to be a strong wind. A steady, persistent breeze from the right direction is all it takes. The Mother's Day storm of '08 testifies to that.

We got down to the docks and the wind howled. Waves crashed on the shore. For the first time that day, we felt we were in a tropical storm. The good news was the waves slammed against the east side banks of Tedious Creek instead of blowing straight up the creek.

"We're not going to get flooded, Keith. Look where the waves are going."

"You're sure?"

"With the tides around here, no, the tides do what they want, but what I'm seeing is a good sign. The waves are wrong and high tide is still a good six hours away." (It's only an 11-second shot, but you can view the peak of our storm as seen at the mouth of Tedious Creek following the rest of the story.)

As darkness crept in and our beer supply dwindled, we went home. There's only so much wind and repetive wave action one can watch before you realize you're running out of beer. As we left the docks, the winds seemed to get less harsh. By the time we got home (ten minutes later), there was no storm. It wasn't even raining.

I pulled up the radar and it showed the storm passing us. The stats showed the steady wind speed at 23 mph with gusts to almost forty. The storm was over, which meant the flood tides were coming. Keith, already dejected because he didn't get to exprience a category one hurricane, had fallen fast asleep on the sofa. I didn't expect much of anything, so I let him sleep and headed out on my own.

The exiting storm brought in a bit stronger winds, I'm sure, but nothing stronger than what we had seen all day. The tides, however, were coming in. On my short trip around the block, the block being about a square mile radious of country roads, the usual low-lying parts of the road had water coming across.

I got home and woke Keith up. "The tides are coming in. Let's go fo a ride."

You're expecting something exciting to happen here, huh? Sorry, no. The flood tide was nothing more than a full moon tide. The low spots of the roads flooded and that's about it. Irene turned out to be a non-event. Our sandbags not only didn't hold back flood waters, they didn't even get wet.

About five days later, the remnants of tropical storm Lee hit us. I can cut this story short. Yes, we had more rain, maybe an inch or two, but no winds and no flooding. Lee had no effect on us.

Ironically, between the two storms, people living in the high country had way more problems than we had. One thing we learned is that no matter how much rain falls, the marsh asorbs it all. It's the winds partnering with the tides that flood us. Irene and Lee proved that. Between the two storms within the same week, we had well over a foot of rain. We had no flooding. Last spring, we had a nor'easter that dropped about an inch of rain, but the winds brought in a tide that flooded our house.

Keith missed our earthquake and our category one hurricane. He'll get over it. According to the Mayans, the end of the world is a little over a year from now. He figures that December 2012 will bring a major earthquake, hurricane, tornado, and probably an asteroid. He's already planned his time off and started thinking about an end-of-the-world party. If Mother Nature really does listen to him, we're in for some wild events next year.

Irene's peak fury

Tour Toddville Tidewater's Tombstones

2011-06-10T21:45:00.000-05:00

Keith and I are getting dangerous. Ok, I'm getting dangerous. I've been playing with Window's Movie Maker, again.

There is logic to my madness. Keith loves his music, particularly anything from the '50's, 60's, and early '70's. While he favors doo wop and surf, he is almost as equally entralled with the psychedelic '60's and the garage bands of that era. Lately, he's been into the cover craze mode. Many songs he loved and thought were the original, he is now discovering that someone else had done them before.

Ok, I started him on the cover craze. I put together a cd and included the song, Love Hurts, by Nazareth released in 1975. To rock and roll fans, we all know Nazareth was the original and Nazareth soared to fame with the number one song. Who would dare cover such a huge hit?

No one. The song, though, was not a Nazareth original. It was an Everly Brothers original released in 1963. The song never charted and, as much as Keith knows his oldies and loves The Everly Brothers, he never knew they originally did the song until I made the cd. He's now on a cover craze theme with six volumes made and counting. Oh, and Nazareth wasn't the first to take the song to number one, as Keith learned. While not a hit in this country, Roy Orbison did take it to number one in Australia.

Keith's cd collection is dang near large enough to rival any radio station's collection. He gets excited about his music and always laments that he wishes he could share it with others. After a little research, I figured our own radio station would be just too dang expensive.

Now that I took you through the meadow, over the hills, and across the ocean to Australia, let me bring you back to Toddville and the point of why I've been playing with Window's Movie Maker. Simply, I wanted to create a way for Keith to share his music that we could afford.

You Tube is affordable because it's free. I like free. My first attempt at how we could share our music resulted in a short clip dedicated to Keith, Experimenting with music videos. Of course, Keith loved the video, but it didn't seem impressive enough to motivate him to do his own clips to share his music with y'all.

This time, I learned a bit more and got a bit more creative. This past Memorial Day, we discovered a long forgotten cemetary that someone else remembered. After writing the article, I went through my files of pics and realized I could give everyone a tour of a few of the cemetaries down here. I also realized I could be a little more creative and, hopefully, inspire Keith to start sharing his music as he always wishes he could.

My idea for Toddville Tidewaters Radio (TTW Radio) was born. Sure, it's not a live broadcast, but y'all can select the segments you want to listen to. That's what we do when we listen to the radio in the car. We're always switching stations to hear something better. With TTW radio, you browse the titles of the segments and decide what you want to hear as if you're switching stations on the car radio.

So, under our new tag, TTW radio, you will find all of our programming. And, tonight, we bring you our second installment, "Tour Toddville Tidewaters Tombstones", featuring the song, Saudade, by Love and Rockets.

Memorial Day 2011

2011-05-31T23:00:00.002-05:00

Coming home from shopping, we passed Cedar Creek Road on the main road, Wesley Church Road. When the short way out of Toddville isn't flooded, this is the route we have taken for years. Cedar Creek Road is a simple dirt road that dead ends about a mile back at what we would assume is Cedar Creek.

We've been down Cedar Creek Road hundreds of times. We tried fishing, but caught nothing. Another old timer fishing there claimed he caught lots of catfish, but that might have been the typical fish tale enhanced with beer. He had left, but we stayed awhile trying to catch something. About a half hour later, we called it quits and headed out. On our way, there was the old timer, cold beer in hand and truck stuck in the marsh. He was waiting for his son to come tow him out. The road doesn't go quite the same way as one sees it when they've had a few too many beers - as the old timer found out. We think the one too many beers also had something to do with his catching a lot of fish that obviously weren't there.

Mostly, we love going down Cedar Creek Road a night. It leads out to the wide open marsh and we get an unlimited view of the night sky. We've enjoyed many meteor showers and plenty of more nights just gazing at the vastness of space while our dogs run around doing dog things.

In all these years, we never knew there was a cemetary right on the corner where Cedar Creek Road meets Wesley Church Road. The corner was too overgrown with bacchus bushes, greenbriars, poison ivy, and phragmites.

Someone knew that cemetary was there. Sometime late Saturday or early Sunday, the day before Memorial Day, they cleared the corner out to reveal the gravesite of the Insley family. They placed a single flag in front of the fallen tombstone of William Insley, whom we believe was the father of the family. Behind this plot stands a tall tombstone of a twenty-eight-year-old Captain William T. H. Insley, whom we believe was the son. A single flag was placed in front of his tombstone, a silent tribute to someone who served our country 120 years ago.

To the left of the Captain's grave are two small graves. The tombstones are too weathered to be readable, but the size of the plots and tombstones lead us to believe two children, newborns or, at most, one or two years old, lie here. To the right of the Captain's grave is where we believe the mother of all three lies.

We don't know who the Insleys were nor do we know any Insleys currently living here. But someone remembered.

© 2008
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Spring has been a wild ride!

2011-05-08T01:12:00.000-05:00

If there is one natural event that defines how we live down here in Toddville, unquestionably that event is our tides.  To most people, tides are the natural cycle of rising and falling waters that follow a predictable, roughly six to eight hour cycle and are strongest during a full moon. Spend some time down here in Toddville, and you will learn tides are everything except predictable.

When we first moved here, Keith and I tried to learn all we could about the tides. To our surprise, the watermen born and raised here knew as much about the tides as we do. That fact didn't strike us as any more odd than the number of watermen down here who don't know how to swim. We decided we had to learn about the tides ourselves.

Here's what we know: tides come in and they go out. How far they come in and how far they go out can be explained only after they've done their cycle. In general, fall and spring tides are the highest and always peak during a full moon cycle. They also peak during the new moon cycle, but not at the level of a full moon cycle. And they don't necessarily peak at the times listed on the tide tables. Wind speed, direction, and duration plays a key role.

We're in the middle of our spring tides. With two exceptions, each lasting about a week or less, we haven't had our spring tides. The past two springs, the short way out of Toddville was flooded from about the middle to end of March until about the end of May. Last year, the spring tides persisted until July. We have since learned the long spring tide cycle was due to strong currents out in the Atlantic that affected tides all up and down the East Coast. This year, we haven't had the spring tides. Two coastal storms brought in the tides for a few days, but the normal spring tides lasting several weeks have been nonexistent.

In fact, by April 16th, we had no spring tides. The tides were actually running below normal, almost like winter tides. (Winter tides are our lowest.)  On April 16th, a strong coastal storm moved through, bringing strong easterly winds from Friday night through Saturday night. We had no doubt we were in for a strong tide, but because the tides were running so low prior to the storm, we weren't worried about our house flooding.

The morning tide was a flood tide, but one of the normal spring nuisance tides. Keith and I left for town to do some shopping and were gone for most of the day. When we returned, what should have been our low tide was still a near flood tide. Those persistent, strong easterly winds never let the water flow out to the Bay.

Around eleven-thirty at night, the winds calmed to a dead still. We saw no sign of flooding and peak high tide was only an hour and a half away. We felt sure that we were safe from flooding. The two hours before peak high tide and the two hours after peak high tide are the critical times. The winds were calm and no sign of flooding meant we had to be safe.

About one in the morning, the peak high tide time, I let the dogs out and there still was no sign of flooding. The dogs and I came back in (we go out with the dogs because Kiwi is high on the owls' menu list) and I confidently told Keith we had nothing to worry about with possible flooding.

An hour and a half later, I looked outside.  Water surrounded our house and was rising fast. It came, literally, within a hair's breadth of breaching our front door threshold. Unfortunately, where the original house joins the extension added in the seventies sits a little lower than our front door and water began seeping through.

Since it was nighttime, we can't say for sure how extensive this flooding was. Judging by what we could see, we reckon this flood was worse than the Mother's Day flood of '08. After that flood, we did some changes in our yard to allow the water to run more freely and obviously that helped on this flood. Instead of the whole bottom floor of the original part of the house suffering water damage, only a small part in the living room received water damage this time around.

We're back to redesigning the yard a bit. Flood insurance will help us raise the low part of the house where it joins the extension. Maybe the next tidal flood will just flow on by our house without incidence - at least to the house. Our gardens suffered under the salt water inundation. One thing we all agree on down here: the tides will go wherever and whenever they damned well please and there's no stopping them. All we can do is mitigate the damage.

Oh, and now we understand why the watermen born and raised down here don't understand the tides. The tides have a mind of their own and just when you think you understand them, they go and do something different.
© 2008
Mark Darien
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29 April Around Dorchester

2011-04-29T10:43:00.001-05:00

MAY 3, 2011

Main Street Gallery Meet and Greet With Chesapeake Film Festival 6:00 p.m. 413 Muir Street, Cambridge, MD 21613. Chesapeake Film Festival welcomes Cambridge and Dorchester County film lovers and the business community to the Main Street Gallery on May 3 for a meet and greet session with the film festival staff. You will hear about the plans for this year's film festival, the goals of the educational outreach program, what to expect for Cambridge, and how you can help with the continued success of the film festival and its objectives. Please come and join in the excitement of another year of great independent films and the filmmakers who create them. Staff members will be available to discuss volunteer and sponsorship opportunities. FREE For additional information, email at info@chesapeakefilmfestival.com or call 410.822.1012. http://www.chesapeakefilmfestival.com/

May 4, 2011

Veterans Recognition Committee Meeting 6:00 p.m. at Pleasant Day Adult Day Care Center, Route 16, Cambridge Maryland. Please join us; everyone is welcome in planning the annual tribute, which takes place in September 2011.

May 5, 2011

Cambridge Mainstreet Farmers' Market 3:00 p.m. - 6:00 p.m. The market is open every Thursday until the end of October in downtown Cambridge at the corner of Muir & Academy St. Cambridge, MD 21613 Buy fresh local produce, fruits, and meats from local farmers. Craft vendors, plants, and baked goods available as well. Every Thursday May 5 through October 13/ For information: http://www.cambridgemainstreet.com/, office@cambridgemainstreet.com, 443-366-3741.

May 6 & 7, 2011

Hot and Tangy BBQ Chicken at Linkwood Salem VFC 10:00 a.m. till? Rt. 50 - 9 miles east of Cambridge in Linkwood, Maryland 21835 1/2 BBQ chicken with bread $6.50. 1/2 BBQ Chicken with bread with Baked Beans & Macaroni Salad $8.50. Also 16oz. cup Sweet Tea $1.00. Feel free to call-in your orders!!! 410-221-0169

May 6, 2011

Happy Hour is Back at Layton's Chance! 5:00 p.m. at Layton's Chance Vineyard and Winery 4225 New Bridge Rd. Vienna MD http://www.laytonschance.com/ 1 st & 3 rd Fridays at the winery. Live music, spiced wine, Frappe Vino and all your favorite wines! Buffet includes homemade chili, hot wings and fresh veggies for only $7. Music starts at 5, winery closes at 8:00 p.m. This evening: JohnE Wa2C

May 7, 2011

Visit Emilys Produce Mother's Day Weekend Family on the Farm 8:00 a.m. - 2206 Church Creek Rd. Cambridge, MD 21613. "Kyle's Farm Fun" activity area, Coty Jones Photography will be taking "Pictures in the Patch" So come ready for a special family photo. 410-228-3512 Emily's Produce is now open 7 days a week through October! http://www.emilysproduce.com/ "Moms" can finish the weekend at Emily's Produce on Sunday with a dish of FREE Strawberry Shortcake...an annual tradition! Get ready for a weekend full of fun along with their own LOCAL Strawberries too! 443-421-0789 visit their website: http://www.emilysproduce.com/ or on facebook: www.facebook.com/emilysproduce Emily's produce is open every day through the October!

Chesapeake Classics Grand Opening/Ribbon Cutting At Their New Location 12:30 p.m. 300 Sunburst Highway, Cambridge, MD 21613 410-228-6509

Lighthouses of Dorchester Town Hall Event 2:00 p.m. - 4:00 p.m. Dorchester Visitors' Center 2 Rose Hill Road Cambridge, MD 21613. FREE All ages are welcome. Guest speaker from US lighthouse society, Chesapeake Chapter, light refreshments, historical displays. Come hear about lighthouses serving Dorchester County since the 1870's, and learn about the progress of the Choptank River Lighthouse Replica project. Also Lighthouse book signing by the Author of "Keep Your Glow On".

Cambridge Mainstreet's SPRING FLING! 6:00 p.m. - 9:00 a.m.At the Cambridge Yacht Club. Mad Money, Music, Food and Fun! Watch for details at http://www.cambridgemainstreet.com/ and www.facebook.com/cambridgemainstreet Tickets are $50. Call ahead to reserve yours now! 443.477.0843

Terry Allen Gives Bird Walk at Blackwater NWR 8:00 a.m. 2431 Key Wallace Drive, Cambridge, MD. At the Blackwater NWR Visitor Center (their temporary location at the head of Wildlife Drive) and usually lasts 3 to 4 hours. The Birding party is usually in car pools, stopping at various points around the refuge's Wildlife Drive. Binoculars and field guides are recommended, and they will gladly lend you one of theirs. No fee or registration. Please call 410-228-2677 for more information.

1 Hour Walking Tour of Cambridge Historic District 1 11:00 a.m. - 12:00 p.m. $8 Adults, Children under 12 free when accompanied by an adult. Meet your colonial costumed guide at Long Wharf at the foot of High Street. Free parking available. www.weca@cambridge.org. 410-901-1000.

Skipjack Sail on the Nathan of Dorchester 1:00 p.m .- 3:00 p.m. Long Wharf, Cambridge MD. 21613. Adults $30; children 6-12 $10, under 6 free. Reservations: 410-228-7141 or info@skipjack-nathan.org http://www.skipjack-nathan.org/

2011 Six Pillars Century-Blackwater Bicycle Tour Character Counts Mid-Shore
6:00 a.m. Check in begins at Great Marsh Park, Cambridge, MD. 21613. This bicycle tour starts at Great Marsh Park in Cambridge. The majority of the ride is through the picturesque Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge. 4 ride choices, including a 11 mile family ride, a 37 mile fun and fitness ride a 56 mile Ironman Eagleman 70.3 Course, and a 100 mile Century Course. Rain or shine and the cost of registration is $55 through March 31, and $65 per person through May 1. Registration for family ride is $40. For on-line registration and info please go to http://www.6pillarscentury.org/. 410-829-0436 or asteward@goeaston.net

May 9, 2011

The Early Bird Gets the Brunch At Adkins Arboretum Adventure/to Benefit Choptank Habitat 8:00 a.m. Starting at the Arboretum in Ridgley (Rain date Tuesday, May 10) Cost $65 per person. Hosts: Anne Croker and Margaret Worrall. 12 lucky enthusiasts will enjoy an early morning bird walk with Dr. Wayne Bell, noted bird expert and co-founder of the Washington College Center for Environment and Society. A sumptuous brunch at the home of Anne & Doug Croker will make for a lovely beginning to a spring day. To sign up for this event please call 410-476-3204

© 2008
Mark Darien
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April 22 Around Dorchester County

2011-04-22T13:52:00.001-05:00

Looking for something to do around Dorchester County? Check out these upcoming events: (Reprinted with permission from the Dorchester County Chamber of Commerce)

April 23, 2011:

One Hour Walking Tour of Historic High Street 11:00 a.m. And Continues every Saturday (weather permitting) April through October. Adults $8, Children under 12 years of age free (when accompanied by an adult) Meet your colonial costumed tour guide at Long Wharf at the foot of High Street, Cambridge, MD 21613. Free parking available. Reservations not necessary, but appreciated. 410-901-1000 http://www.cambridgemd.org/

Easter Egg Hunt at Layton's Chance Today! 2:00 p.m. - 5:00 p.m. 4225 New Branch Rd. Vienna MD 21869 Bring the family to the winery for an afternoon of crafts and games. They'll have an Easter Egg Hunt with candy and prizes (including something for the adults!) http://www.laytonschance.com/ 410-228-1205

April 24, 2011:

Harry Armistead Gives Bird Walk at Blackwater NWR 8:00 a.m. 2431 Key Wallace Drive, Cambridge, MD. At the Blackwater NWR Visitor Center (their temporary location at the head of Wildlife Drive) and usually lasts 3 to 4 hours. The Birding party is usually in car pools, stopping at various points around the refuge's Wildlife Drive. Binoculars and field guides are recommended, and they will gladly lend you one of theirs. No fee or registration. Please call 410-228-2677 for more information.

Easter Brunch at Clearview at Horns Point 11:00 a.m. - 3:00 p.m. 5650 Country Club Rd. Cambridge, MD 21613 410-221-0521. $25 per person, Children (10 and under are 1/2 price) - $12.50. Featuring Eggs Benedict, Bacon, Sausage, Waffles, Home fries, Smoked Salmon, Steamed Shrimp, Veg. of the day, Chicken Potstickers, Spiral Ham, Fruit, Desserts, Caesar Salad, Rolls and butter. 1 complimentary glass of champagne or mimosa. Reservations are Required. http://www.clearviewathornspoint.com/

April 27-29, 2011

Country School Flower Market Easton, MD 9:00 a.m. - 5:00 p.m. 716 Goldsborough St. 410-822-1935 Annuals, geraniums, perennials, herbs and vegetables. A garden gazebo features accessories, baskets, ceramic and clay pots and fun garden related surprises. Select a ceramic pot or bring one in of your own and they'll plant in it for you! http://www.countryschool.org/

April 27-30, 2011

St. Paul's Flower Fair St. Paul's United Methodist Church 205 Maryland Avenue, Cambridge, MD. 21613 Join us during our annual event and start your garden growing with flowers, seedlings, bedding plants (flowers, vegetables and herbs) and hanging baskets. April 27 & 30, at St. Paul's United Methodist Church, 205 Maryland Avenue in Cambridge. Delicious crab cake and oyster sandwiches, clam strips, hot dogs, french fries, homemade candy and baked goods, funnel cakes, homemade ice cream, and more. This years events include a silent auction and an indoor yard sale, Thursday night dinner in the Fellowship Hall, beginning at 4:30pm with music following. You won't want to be late to the Yard Sale that will open on Wednesday morning at 8am for all you early birds. Wednesday hours, for plant sales only: 10am 7pm. All booths will open Thursday and Friday: 10AM to 7PM. And, NEW THIS YEAR - OUR FAMILY FRIENDLY SATURDAY HOURS are from 10am - 3pm. You won't want to miss out! For more details call 410-228-1424 or http://www.stpaulscambridge.com/

April 28, 2011

Emily's Produce Opens Today! 8:00 a.m. - 11:00 a.m. 2206 Church Creek Rd. Cambridge, MD 21613. Fresh strawbberry pies, their own fresh picked strawberries, beautiful hanging basket, flower planters and a BRAND NEW LOOK for the market. 410-228-3512 http://www.emilysproduce.com/

Learn More about the Bay at Horns Point Laboratory Aquaculture and Restoration Ecology Laboratory (AREL) Lecture Hall. 3:30 p.m. - 4:30 p.m. "How an Estuary Works" Bill Boicourt. Suggested text book for outside reading during the series: Life in the Chesapeake Bay

Hurrricanes and the Chesapeake Bay Region 3:00 p.m. HSTC Auditorium 17 2S. Washington St. Easton, MD 21601. Sponsoring Organization: Talbot County Historical Society. Cost FREE. Rick Schwartz will discuss his findings and show track maps and photos from his seven years of research on 400 years of mid-Atlantic hurricane history.

April 30, 2011

Free Skipjack Sails on the Nathan of Dorchester During Oxford Day 9:30 a.m. - 3:30 p.m. In Oxford. No advance reservations accepted. Sailing from the Oxford ferry dock. www.skipjack-nathan.org

One Hour Walking Tour of Historic High Street 11:00 a.m. And Continues every Saturday (weather permitting) April through October. Adults $8, Children under 12 years of age free (when accompanied by an adult) Meet your colonial costumed tour guide at Long Wharf at the foot of High Street, Cambridge, MD 21613. Free parking available. Reservations not necessary, but appreciated. 410-901-1000 http://www.cambridgemd.org/

Celebrate The Return Of The Shad Festival In Vienna, MD 10:00 a.m. - 2:00 p.m. On the banks of the Nanticoke River. Featuring events, demonstrations, vendors, music and the cooking of the shad. Cooking begins at 5:00 a.m., and the finished product will be available to the public at 11:00 a.m.. Shad planking demo by the Chicone Club. Sponsored by the Chicone Ruritans. 410-901-6124 ext. 22 for more information.

May 01, 2011

Gather At The River Today at "Old Trinity" in Church Creek 12:30 p.m. Old Trinity Church Road, Church Creek, Maryland 21622. Regional outdoor service and picnic sponsored by the Dorchester Episcopal Churches. All are invited to join in this celebration of Soil and Water Stewardship Week. Observed since 1955, Stewardship Week is one of the largest conservation-related observances in the United States. Speaker is Dee Zeller, Director of Camp Wright. All are invited to bring a dish to share. Chairs will be provided. Old Trinity Churchyard, 8 miles west of the Cambridge Hyatt on Route 16.

© 2008
Mark Darien
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Experimenting with music videos

2011-04-11T10:26:00.001-05:00

We've made our first music video. Ok, more aptly stated, we made our first music slide show. We're fairly certain the video isn't headed for VH-1 Top Video Countdown nor will it get a Grammy or Oscar nomination, but we certainly won't object to anyone out there making the suggestion.

I made the video to show Keith we can at least do simple slide shows set to music. Keith loves his music and spends hours compiling his own CDs. The next logical step for him is to start compiling videos so that not only can he listen to his music, but also watch it. Somewhere down the road, we'll master the animation software we downloaded (Blender) and maybe be able to afford a digital cam to produce live videos. In the mean time, a simple slide show suffices as a good start to learning how to make videos.

The video documents the changes in our yard from a sloppy, swampy mess to a decent piece of land over the last five years despite all the challenges Mother Nature has thrown at us. All of the pictures in the slide show were taken down here. Now hold on to your seat. We have a special guest appearance by Daphne, our tree frog that has made the side of our house her home. Hey, what good is a music video if you don't get a big-named star to make a guest appearance?

© 2008
Mark Darien
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Shop Local Delmarva

2011-04-04T10:48:00.000-05:00

Once again, we've been neglectful of this site. I reckon Keith and I simply lead rather mundane lives and there isn't always something to write about.

We are coming out of the winter doldrums and now we spend a lot of time trying to fix the yard up so we can grow something - anything. Between heavy clay, water less than a foot down from fall to late spring, and the periodic flooding with salt water from the Bay, growing anything isn't just a challenge - it's dang near impossible. But every year we try.

We've also been very busy doing things on the computer. Every fall to spring, Keith lives on the computer getting his music compiled onto CDs. I've been busy building Shop Local Delmarva, learning You Tube, and trying my dangdest to figure out movie making and animation. Shop Local Delmarva is my contribution to help our locally owned businesses maintain a competitive presence on the Internet with the nationally owned chains. Learning You Tube and animation is both Keith's and my desire to take our CD making skills to the next level - making music videos of how we interpret the songs we listen to.

With spring here and us being more active, we'll try not to be neglectful of this site. And the faster we learn this movie making and animation software, the sooner we'll be able to add a new, and hopefully entertaining, dimension to Toddville Tidewaters. If anyone has any tips on animation software and how to use it, please share.

I tried Synfig and frustratingly deleted it. I am now trying Blender. So far, I think I'm about as smart as an oyster when it comes to this animation stuff. I had no idea so much went into even the most simple animation sequence. I can't wait for the day when the computer gee-whiz kids figure out how to hook my brain up to the computer and all I have to do is think of the movie or animation I want and the program would automatically compile it. Mr. Gates, if you're reading this, please send me the beta software and I'll test it out for you. I know someone has to be working on telepathic software. You are, aren't you?

Now that I got you to read this far, I'll close with a sales pitch. Shop Local Delmarva!

© 2008
Mark Darien
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Spring is right around the corner!

2011-01-04T08:14:00.000-05:00

Spring is right around the corner, or so three little birds and two squirrels told me yesterday.

I'm working the third shift this week, and tried to sleep yesterday. No one wanted me to sleep. Dogs want to go out. Phone rings. Heating oil man comes. Each time, I'd wake up and then it'd take about another hour before I could go back to sleep.

During one of my sleep interruptions, I looked out the bathroom window, and there was the first lone robin of the season. He performed his tell-tale scuttle: head up listening intently; head down and quick shuffle a foot or so across the grass; stop with head up listening intently; then head down and another quick run. He stopped at a puddle of rain water to drink. As he drank, not one, but two bluebirds flew down to join him for a drink at the watering hole. They were beautiful sky blue with a patch of ruddy bronze on their throats.

The first of the spring birds have arrived so spring has to be right around the corner.

As if the treat of seeing the two bluebirds and robin weren't enough, two squirrels visited the bird feeder, but these weren't your every day squirrels. I am almost positive they were our endangered Delmarva Fox Squirrels. They were huge and sported a tail almost as big as their bodies. The one on the feeder kept his tail straight out and the one on the ground kept her tail flat on her back, curling slightly at the tip to the back of her neck.

I assume they were male and female since they were together and Delmarva Fox Squirrels give birth in February or early March. If they were truly Delmarva Fox Squirrels, then they are preparing to mate and nest now, which surely is another sign that spring is right around the corner.

Keith was at work so he missed the exciting news. "Robins," he said, "stay practically year-round now-a-days, thanks to global warming, and our woods are too thick for Delmarva Fox Squirrels."

He's skeptical, but I put binoculars by the upstairs window and the downstairs window so he can see it all for himself. I know they were Delmarva Fox Squirrels.

© 2008
Mark Darien
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Scaring up the ghosts of Dorchester County

2010-12-30T12:52:00.001-05:00

Every community has their ghost stories. Dorchester county is no different. The most famous ghost story of Dorchester County is the one of Big Liz. Back during the Civil War times, a local farmer here supported the Confederate States by funneling money to the Confederate army. Lincoln, of course, had an extremely strong grip on Maryland because, if Maryland were to become a Confederate state, Washington DC would be surrounded by the Confederacy. Even though, back in those times, the Eastern Shore of Maryland was geographically isolated, the importance of keeping Maryland, including the Eastern Shore, with the Union was paramount.

The Union Army figured out what this farmer over on the Eastern Shore in Dorchester County was doing and set out to put an end to his finacing of the Confederate Army. The farmer caught wind of the impending Union invasion and acted on hiding his endeavors.

In the middle of the night, he took all of his wealth and silver and gold and hauled it out to Green Briar Swamp. He took with him his trusted slave, Big Liz. Big Liz was a well-built, huge woman with a heart of gold. She was the only person the farmer trusted and he needed a trusted person to bury his silver and gold. Big Liz dug a deep hole for the treaure and as she began to climb out of the hole, the farmer whacked her head off with a machete. No one but he could know where the treasure lay.

Legend has it that the farmer never did retrieve his gold and it still lays buried somewhere in Green Briar Swamp. Many have searched for it, but it has never been found. No one, however, searches for it after sunset. Big Liz guards the treasure and her headless body can be seen tromping through the swamp carrying her head by her side.

At night, if you park your truck on Decoursey Bridge, turn off the engine, and say "Big Liz" three times, your truck won't start until sunrise. If Big liz is in a testy mood that night, you won't stay in your truck, either. When you see her coming towards you carrying her head like a pocketbook, you'll be out of that truck and miles down the road faster than a race horse running from a swarm of hornets. And you won't dare go back for your truck until sunrise anyways.

I'll get back to Big Liz, but first I need to tell you about our own ghost right here in Toddville. The night Keith and I moved in, unknown to me, Keith had broken down on the other side of the bridge. I knew he was ok because he had his sister with him and his mom following him. I figured something happened and he would get here when he got here.

Night fell and I was tired. I decided to lay down on the floor in the living room to catch a nap. I was very tired from the long day and needed to rest before heading back to Baltimore if Keith still hadn't shown up. As I lay on the floor, the old house creaked and groaned like old houses do. I don't know why, but I suddenly got the impression that a young girl had died in the house many years ago and she was wandering around the house making all the creaks and groans. After fifteen minutes, I knew I wasn't going to sleep so I got up and headed out to look for Keith.

It's too late to make a long story short, but to make it shorter, I never told anyone about the creaks and groans and how my imagination conjured up a child ghost. No point in telling anyone, really. Anyone's imagination can run wild when they are alone, at night, in a strange house. That's all it was - my imagination getting the best of me.

Two years later, Keith woke up and told me of the ghost that visited him in the night. She was a young girl dressed in old garb like maybe from around 1900 or so. She stood by the side of the bed and stared at him. He tried to wake me up, but he couldn't move and when he tried to call my name, no sound except a slight gasping sound came out. I slept through it all.

Over the course of the year, the ghost appeared to Keith several more times, usually around three in the morning. Each time, he got braver and fought hard to yell my name so I could see her. I slept through it all. A couple of times he mustered the strength to grab her, but she'd fade away before he could reach her. Once he did feel the coat like garment she wore. It was rough to the feel, like wool.

One night, she came right for him. Fear paralyzed him. She stopped inches from him and he caught a glimpse of her face. She was sullen and ghastly. She lurched forward to him and through him. His body twitched with the contact and then he was awake staring at the ceiling. I slept through that, too.

On her next visit, Keith was determined to grab and hold onto her and then wake me up so I could see her myself. I always said he dreamed this ghost and he wanted to prove to me she was real. He even felt her lay in bed next to him one night when I was at work. He couldn't possibly be dreaming something so real.

One night she appeared beside his bed. He grabbed her by the arm and held on tight with both hands. He called for me to wake up, but she looked at him sad, yet scared, and faded away. I still didn't wake up until the next morning and he had to tell me what happened.

That was her last visit a little over a year ago and she hasn't been back since. Keith began to accept the fact that he had been, indeed, dreaming. The first night he dreamed of the ghost, the experience was so real to him, his mind latched onto the idea of the dream being a real ghost and recreated the visits several times over the course of the year. The ghost was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him.

Which brings us back to Big Liz. We drove over Decoursey Bridge many times and I told him of the legend of Big Liz. When we were in Barnes and Noble, I even pulled out a book about ghosts in Maryland and showed him the legend in print.

"It's a story these dumbass rednecks concocted to entertain themselves, " he scoffed. "There is no such thing as ghosts."

Deep down, he didn't really believe that. One night coming home, out of the blue he said, "Let's take a little detour to that bridge to see Big Liz. Everyone else has seen a ghost and I want to see a real ghost for a change."

Reluctantly, I agreed. It's not that I believe there are ghosts out there, but I firmly believe we shouldn't tempt the unknown and one can't get more unknown than death. "If the car don't start, though," I said, "I'm booking it on down the road and I'm not waiting for Big Liz to get my feet a running."

It was a dark, moonless night in the middle of Greenbriar Swamp, but, of course, all good ghost stories take place on dark, moonless nights. We stopped the car, turned off the lights, and shut down the engine. "Ok, Keith, say it three times."

Keith looked at me nervously. "No. You say it."

"Hell no. If Big Liz is going to get mad at anyone, it's not going to be me. You want her; you say it."

There was an awkward moment of silence. Finally, Keith mustered his courage. "Big Liz. Big Liz. Big Liz."

"Ok, let's see if the car starts and get ready to run if it doesn't," I said. With one hand on the door latch, I turned the key with the other hand. The engine started right up.

"Well, so much for that legend," I said nonchalantly.

I drove to the other side of the bridge, turned around, and headed home.

"Go slow over the bridge. I want to see Big Liz." Keith poked his head out the window eagerly looking for any sign of Big Liz.

Half way over the bridge, Keith shouted out the window, "Why don't you bring your fat Black ass out here, Big Liz?"

"Keith! What are you doing? Don't tempt her."

"I want to see a ghost, damn it and if I piss her off, maybe she'll come." He poked his head back out the window and shouted, "Your fat ass ain't so tough now, is it Scaredy Cat Liz. C'mon, I dare you to bring that ugly head of yours around."

I stepped on the gas. "That's it. I've had enough. There is no Big Liz and no ghosts."

"I told you it was a dumbass legend made up by dumbass rednecks to entertain themselves," Keith said with a bit of disappointment in his voice.

"Of course it's a legend, but tell you what. I'm sleeping downstairs on the couch because if you pissed Big Liz off enough and she follows us home, she's taking your skinny White ass and leaving me alone."

The night came and went without incidence and many more nights came and went without incidence. About four or five months of nights have come and gone without incidence. I think it's safe to say that Big Liz didn't follow us home.

The other night I asked Keith if the young girl ghost has ever been back. He said no because there is no such thing as ghosts.

"No, there is, but you scared them away. You grabbed the one in our bedroom and then cussed the other one out in the swamp. Ghosts are supposed to scare us, but somehow, you've managed to scare them. They're not used to that. I reckon we won't be seeing any ghosts for a long, long time because word is out in the spook world, 'don't mess with that Keith guy in Toddville. He's a scary dude.'"

"If she does come back, I'm going to hold onto her as tight as I can and, damn it, this time you will wake up and see her."

If that day ever comes, I will have to finish this story. Until then, I reckon there really aren't any ghosts running around to scare us. Only our wild imaginations do that.

© 2008
Mark Darien
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We're in the middle of the fun time of the year

2010-12-07T12:50:00.000-05:00

Around the middle to end of September, the sika deer announce the beginning of the fun time of year down here. September is the beginning of the rutting season and the male sikas bleat a woefully sad song to the females. If there were words to his song, they would be something along the lines of "I'm so lonely. Where are you, my love?"

The gentleman we let hunt on our land came down to fill his deer feeder up and he was telling me how the sikas proudly announce their terrotory to the other sikas. The sika's song is a defiant warning to other male sikas to stay away - the does in his territory are his and that's that. When we told him how we interpretted the song, he laughed. "I never heard it that way, but I guess it can sound sad and lonely. But trust me. it's a warning song, not a lonely pleading."

People who have never heard the song have been known to call the police to report a woman crying for help somewhere in the marsh. Even when they are told it's a sika's mating call, they still believe a woman is in trouble somewhere. No deer could sound that desperate and in so much pain.

No matter what the song really means in sika language, it does announce the beginning of the hunting season and the beginning of a season's worth of fun antics the city boys bring to the marsh. The fun antic that occurs every year without fail is the city hunter's underestimation of the dangers of our roads. There is little room for error when driving on our roads. One miscalculation of the bend in the road can catapult one into the marsh. Even if you miss the marsh and end up in the ditch, you're stuck. And the solid shoulder to park your truck on usually isn't all that solid. The embankment can give way and you slide right on into the ditch.

So far, it's been a quiet season for the truck-stuck-in-the-marsh event. I've only seen one stuck truck. Of course, it has been a relatively dry fall so the shoulders and other off-the-road parking spots are relatively stable.

Going to Carolyn's Stonehouse where the hunters gather for a beer is a lot of fun. If you thought fishermen told fish tales, you should listen to the hunters' tales. Apparently, we have the biggest bucks in the country and they all get away because the hunter didn't have a clear shot. I've never seen these prized, 10- and 12-point bucks, but every hunter has seen at least one.

You can tell who the real hunters are, though. They're the ones who come in all muddy from head to toe. We're in a marsh. If you're hunting, you're going to get muddy. One hunter boasting of the big buck that got away looked as if he were the centerfold for the GQ edition of Field & Stream. Brand smacking new camoflage hunting outfit neatly pressed, creased, and starched. I could comb my hair in the reflection on his boots. I'm sure this city boy thought he was "it", but for us locals, we had a good laugh at the hunter wannabe.

As I headed out to work the other night, up in the high country, a hunter parked his SUV alongside the road. No doubt he was in the adjoining woods sitting in a deer stand waiting for one of those many prized bucks every hunter boasts about seeing. On the other side of the road, two fully mature whitetail does galloped across the field away from the woods where the hunter lay waiting. Herding the does away was a proud, 8-point buck. I reckon you don't become an 8-point buck by hanging out in the woods where the hunter lay waiting.

No doubt the hunter later showed up at Carolyn's Stonehouse and boasted about the 12-point buck that got away. I know, and the 8-point buck and his two does know, that he probably never even seen a deer the whole time he sat in his stand. Otherwise, he would've boasted about the real 8-point buck that outsmarted him.

The hunting season is only half over. I'm sure more entertaining events are in the making. I can't wait to see the next episode....

© 2008
Mark Darien
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When it rains, it pours - Part II

2010-12-03T02:43:00.000-05:00

Wow! I can't believe over two years have past since my last post. So much time and so much has happened, I couldn't possibly get it all down with the detail I would want. My apologies, but here's the condensed version:

The rain did stop and the flood tide poured in. The car was fine, but our house wasn't. Our flood insurance was a blessing. The next month, Minnow died. The summer came and ended and I was still unemployed save for a part time job. In September, our friends down the road gave us Kiwi, our only bright spot since I was laid off in Dec 07.

Fast forward to the present: I'm still unemployed save for a part time job, but not the one I had two years ago. Somehow, we have managed to hold onto our house and I keep looking for a new career. It will come, I'm sure. In the mean time, I have created a website, http://www.shoplocaldelmarva.com/. Because of my lapse in a meaningful career, I made the site for three reasons. First, I truly believe our locally owned businesses need our support or we'll lose our rural identity. Second, by creating the site, I can show potential employers my real abilities. And thirdly, if my efforts are well-received, we could use the little extra money the site may generate.

Well, that's a fast recap of the last two years. My promise for the new year is to post on this blog at least once a month and not let my stories get old and stale. Please stay tuned....

© 2008
Mark Darien
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When it rains, it pours – Part I

2008-08-11T18:43:00.003-05:00

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
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May 08 Around Dorchester County

2008-05-07T20:22:00.002-05:00

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
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Apr 08 Around Dorchester County

2008-03-31T16:08:00.002-05:00

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
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In Search of the Elusive Stars of Toddville, Part III

2008-03-17T16:35:00.007-05:00

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
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Problems Getting Home

2008-03-07T16:22:00.001-05:00

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
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In Search of the Elusive Stars of Toddville, Part II

2008-03-06T02:35:00.002-05:00

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
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HB 1345 Riles Us Up

2008-02-29T17:59:00.006-05:00

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.

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

The other letter is to the two Eastern Shore delegates who co-sponsored the bill, Delegate Eckardt and Delegate Haddaway:

Emails:

adelaide.eckardt@house.state.md.us

jeannie.haddaway@house.state.md.us

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

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

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.

In Search of the Elusive Stars of Toddville

2008-02-27T17:19:00.010-05:00

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

Never Become a Car Salesman

2008-02-23T02:18:00.003-05:00

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

The Shanty Shoppe Opens in Toddville - Sort Of

2008-01-31T18:32:00.000-05:00

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
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

A New Member to the Family

2007-12-04T14:35:00.000-05:00

Thistle is an old lady now. In human years, she’s around fifty-three. For the last couple of months, she’s been acting like a cranky old lady, too. She moped around the house and demanded our constant attention.

She knows better than to try to get on the furniture, but she’d weasel her way up on the couch anyway. First, her front paws. Nudge a little closer and stare at you with those brown, hound dog eyes. It’s her way of saying, “Give me some attention, daggonnit!”

Tell her to get down, and she’d nudge a little closer. There’s nothing left to do but scratch her behind the ears so you can watch TV uninterrupted. Then the one back leg is slowly lifted onto the couch.

“Get down!”

So the other leg gets up on the couch as she presses her head into your chest as if she’s lonely and just wants some love.

Keith and I decided she needed a companion – another dog. A couple of Saturdays ago, we went to the Dorchester County Humane Society to find a canine companion for Thistle.

We had been to the pound several times over the course of the year, and, while we wanted to adopt every dog there, realistically, we knew we couldn’t and we never did find one we thought would be perfect for Thistle.

We didn’t want another big dog. (Thistle’s about 60 lbs.) We wanted a little dog and Keith is partial to the wiener dogs. For the most part, the pound only had pit bulls and retrievers. Much bigger than what we wanted.

This particular day, the pound had a kennel of four puppies – three sisters and a brother. Ok, all puppies are cute, but these were irresistibly adorable. We never heard of a redbone coonhound much less a redbone coonhound crossed with a dachshund, but we knew we found a perfect companion for Thistle. They had the sad, hound dog eyes; big, floppy ears; and the wiener dog body.

We didn’t even have to think about it. After watching the four puppies at play, we chose Emma, the runt of the litter. Her personality stood out over her brothers and sisters. She didn’t appear to chew much. She was quiet. And she sat proudly like a young lady while the other three were tripping over themselves to get attention.

Keith came up with her name, Minnow. As we drove home, he ran through a whole list of female country names, favoring Elly May of Clampett fame. We favored that name, but tried to recall other country names to make sure we had the best name for her.

“Who was that woman who always wore a hat with a price tag daggling from it?” Keith asked.

“Minnie Pearl.”

“You like that name?”

I thought for a minute. “How about Minnow. She’s the runt and we live in the marshlands. Sounds appropriate.”

“Minnow. I like that.” He paused for a moment. "How about Lisa for a middle name?”

I mumbled the full name under my breath. “Perfect!”

We didn’t need to discuss it any further.

And that’s how Minnow Lisa became a part of our family.

© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Oct 07 Around Dorchester County

2007-10-02T20:39:00.000-05:00

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)

Editors note: I apologize for missing September

Throughout the month of Sep:

Birds to See Around Toddville and Blackwater: (Oct-Dec) Autumn colors peak. Blackbirds, the last of the songbird migrants, peak in October and November. Abundance of ducks and geese gradually increases. Peaks occur in late October or November. Tundra swans from Northwest Canada usually arrive in early November. Several hundred remain throughout the winter. White-tailed and sika deer breed from October to December. Bald eagle numbers increase with the arrival of migrants from the north. Golden eagles are occasionally seen during winter. Waterfowl numbers decrease. Some remain all winter, others move south or disperse throughout the Delmarva Peninsula. Prescribed burning of the marsh begins for regeneration of specific waterfowl food resources.

One Hour Walking Tour of High Street Every Saturday, 10:00 AM through Oct 27 (weather permitting). Cambridge. West End Citizens Association. Meet your colonial costumed guide in front of the Wallace Office Building, 301 Gay Street. Adults: $8.00 Children under 12 free if accompanied by an adult. Reservations are appreciated, but not necessary. Contact 410-901-1000 or weca@cambridgemd.org.

Farmers Market Every Thursday, 3:30 PM – 6:30 PM until Oct 25. Academy Street parking lot across from Cambridge Fire Department. Questions, call John Steward, 410-310-6093.

06 Oct, Saturday

Annual Blackwater Refuge Open House 8:00 AM – 4:00 PM Children’s programs, exhibits, bird walks, demonstrations, displays, and food. Youngsters can meet Smokey Bear and learn about firefighting techniques. Free admission. For more information: 410-228-2677.

Hurlock Fall Festival 10:00 AM A little of everything: parades, train rides, line dancing, music, craft tables, singing, pony rides and plenty of food. Tickets for round trip train rides are $5.00 and can be purchased at the train station while they last. Call the Hurlock town office for more information: 410-943-4181.

Harvest Festival at LaGrange Plantation 10:00 AM – 4:00 PM Home of the Dorchester County Historical Society. Old-fashioned festival celebrating Dorchester County’s traditions includes music, food, games, re-enactors, and traditional Chesapeake Bay food. The Society’s own Antiques Roadshow returns. For $25.00, you may bring in three items to be appraised by three, locally well-known antiques appraisers. For more information: 410-228-7953.

Bucktown United Methodist Church Fall Bazaar 8:00 AM. Yard sale, country store, bake table, soups and oyster sandwiches, flowers, silent auction and more.

Dr. Hines Fall Festival 7:00 AM – 1:00 PM. Grace United Methodist Church on the corner of Race and Muir streets. Homemade food and bake table, flea market, and silent auction. To donate to the bake or flea market tables, you may drop off items (no clothes) at the Church office, Mon-Fri between 9:00 AM and 3:00 PM or call 410-228-4353 if you need the items picked up. If you want a table of your own for $10.00, please call the number above. In the event of rain, the festival will be moved indoors.

12 Oct, Friday & 13 Oct, Saturday

Immanuel Church Octoberfest For more information, call 410-228-5265.

13 Oct, Saturday

Nathan of Dorchester Public Sailing 1:00 PM – 3:00 PM Departs from Long Wharf in Cambridge. Call for reservations or private charter information: 410-228-7141 or visit www.skipjack-nathan.org.

Horn Point Laboratory Open House Visitors will learn about environmental sciences. For more information, call 410-221-8425.

American Legion Crab Feast 6:00 PM – 9:00 PM Crabs and food, beer, slots, big wheel with country music 8:00 PM – 11:00 PM. $30.00 per person at the Dorchester Post #91 in Cambridge on Rte. 50. For more information, call 410-228-3070 or Adrien Hansen at 410-228-5925.

BBQ for Habitat for Humanity 2:00 PM – 5:00 PM at Governor’s Hall at Sailwinds Park, Cambridge. ¼ chicken, pulled port, baked beans, cole slaw, and roll for $8.00. Eat-in or take out. Live music. Help Habitat build more homes in Dorchester County!

Pirate look-alike contest and treasure hunt 5:00 PM – 9:00 PM. Following the contest will be an outdoor movie, Pirates of the Caribbean. A special sidewalk sale featuring Cambridge’s downtown merchants. For more information, please call Cambridge Mainstreet at 410-228-0020.

14 Oct, Sunday

Fall Festival at Lollipop Lane 1:00 PM – 4:00 PM Lollipop Lane is celebrating 30 years with pony rides, hay rides, moon bounce, pumpkin hunt, 4-H barnyard, the Amazing Zorak and much more.

2nd Annual Sailwinds Park Kite Festival Free festival featuring all sorts of kites including the 130-foot long, octopus kite, the largest of its type in the US. More information: 410-463-5366.

Cambridge Coin Show 11:00 AM – 5:00 PM at the American Legion Post #91, Cambridge. Features dealers of US and foreign coins, medals, and currency to buy, sell, or trade. Youngsters can get started on a penny collection and other special activities. Free admission. For more information: 410-463-5366.

19 Oct, Friday – 21 Oct, Sunday

2nd Annual Cambridge Schooner Rendezvous 12:00 PM – 4:00 PM Cambridge Maritime festival featuring Chesapeake Bay schooners and tall ships. Classic and modern schooners will converge on the Port of Cambridge after the Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race with the visiting Virginia State Tall ship, Virginia, the replica, Mystic Whaler, from Mystic Seaport, CT, and General Patton’s former private yacht, When and If. Bluegrass and maritime music. For more information, call Ann Strauss: 410-221-7858.

19 Oct, Friday – 31 Oct, Wednesday

Haunted Forest For more information: 410-883-3500

20 Oct, Saturday

Neck District Day at Spocott Windmill The Windmill will be grinding grain and fresh apple cider will be made on the grounds. 410-476-5058

Beckwith Apple Festival at the Neck District Fire Hall Large flea market, crafts, pony rides, face painting, food including oyster sandwiches, BBQ chicken, burgers, and, of course, apples, apple dumplings, and apple pie. For more information: 410-228-2434.

2nd Annual Rock Fishing Tournament 3:00 PM – 7:00 PM at the East New Market fire department. Shrimp dinner and more. Tickets for fishing tournament are available at Danny’s Marine, Chuck Budd Marine Center, R&D Boat Supply, Goatees Marine, and Taylors Island Campground. For more information, call David or Stephanie Carrier at 443-521-9739 or 443-521-3198. All money raised supports the East New Market Volunteer Fire Department.

21 Oct, Sunday

Hoopers Island Volunteer Fire Company Gun Bash 11:00 AM – 6:00 PM at Sailwinds Park in Cambridge. $45.00 admission includes food and drink and chances on (29) guns, (6) cash prizes, and (2) ATV 4x4’s. For more information: 410-397-3311, 410-397-3578, 410-397-3557, or 410-397-3631. Sponsored by Preston Buick Pontiac GMC of Cambridge.

Fried Chicken and Oyester Fritter Dinner 12:00 PM – 4:00 PM at Linkwood-Salem Volunteer Fire Company (9 miles east of Cambridge on Rte. 50). Served family style with a variety of vegetables, homemade biscuits, and coffee. Baked goods available for sale. Cost: adults - $14, children 6 to 12 - $4, and children under six – free. Carryouts - $14. For additional information, call 410-221-0169.

Nathan of Dorchester Public Sailing 11:00 AM – 12:30 PM Departs from Long Wharf in Cambridge. Call for reservations or private charter information: 410-228-7141 or visit www.skipjack-nathan.org.

27 Oct, Saturday

Nathan of Dorchester Public Sailing 11:00 AM – 12:30 PM Departs from Long Wharf in Cambridge. Call for reservations or private charter information: 410-228-7141 or visit www.skipjack-nathan.org.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Aug 07 Around Dorchester County

2007-08-01T20:51:00.000-05:00

In case you have an itching to come visit Toddville and Dorchester County, here are some happenings around the area (taken, in part, from the monthly, What’s Happening…In Dorchester County)

Throughout the month of Aug:

Birds to See Around Toddville and Blackwater: Wading bird numbers are on the increase. Blue-winged teal arrive from the north on their southward migration. Bald eagle numbers are down as they disperse after the breeding season. Be forewarned! Expect large concentrations of mosquitoes and flies. Wear light clothing and bring the Deet.

One Hour Walking Tour of High Street Every Saturday, 10:00 AM through Oct 27 (weather permitting). Cambridge. West End Citizens Association. Meet your colonial costumed guide in front of the Wallace Office Building, 301 Gay Street. Adults: $8.00 Children under 12 free if accompanied by an adult. Reservations are appreciated, but not necessary. Contact 410-901-1000 or weca@cambridgemd.org.

Farmers Market Every Thursday, 3:30 PM – 6:30 PM until Oct 25. Academy Street parking lot across from Cambridge Fire Department. Questions, call John Steward, 410-310-6093.

Nathan of Dorchester Public Sailing Every Saturday 1:00 PM – 3:00 PM through 18 Aug and on Sunday, 19 Aug from 11:00 AM – 12:30 PM Departs from Long Wharf, Cambridge. Call for information, reservations, or private charter 410-228-7141 or visit http://www.skipjack-nathan.org/.

01 Aug, Wednesday

South Dorchester Folk Museum Program 7:00 PM at the Blackwater Refuge Visitors Center. Claude Goatee will present “Trade Bills – Revealing Dorchester’s History”.

05 Aug, Sun

Church Creek Vol. Fire Co. Breakfast Buffet 7:30 AM – 11:00 AM at the Church Creek Fire Hall, 1902 Church Creek Road, Church Creek, MD (About 7 miles west of Cambridge). All you can eat breakfast. Adults: $6.00, Ages 4-10 yrs.: $3.50, Ages 3 and under: free. For information, contact Tom Coghlan 410-228-0091.

10 Aug, Friday & 11 Aug, Saturday & 31 Aug, Saturday

Linkwood-Salem Vol. Fire Co. Hot & Tangy BBQ Chicken 10:00 AM until sold out at the Linkwood-Salem Volunteer Fire Company in Linkwood (9 miles east of Cambridge on Rte 50). ½ chicken: $6.50, platter: $8.00. Feel free to call ahead and place order 410-221-0169.

11 Aug, Saturday

Church Creek Vol. Fire Co. Ladies Auxilliary Family Bingo 5:00 PM at the fire hall, Cambridge. For information, contact Helen Rizzo 410-228-1710.

Rescue Fire Company Seafood Feat-I-Val 1:00 PM – 6:00 PM at Sailwinds Park, Cambridge. All-you-can-eat seafood, live entertainment, crafts, and exhibits. Car Show hosted by Mid Shore Cruisers. Dash plaques will be issued to the first 50 entrants. Top three winners will also receive cash prizes. For information on the Car Show, contact Les Reazor, 410-943-0581 or Tom Coghlan, 410-228-0091. Tours of the historic town will available hourly, sponsored by West End Citizens Association for a small fee. Advanced ticket prices: Adult, $25.00 Children (6-11), $10.00 Children under 6, free. Price at the gate will be $30.00 for adults. Soft drinks included in the price. For more information, call 410-228-1211 or email seafoodfeatival@yahoo.com or visit http://www.seafoodfeatival.com/

19 Aug, Sunday

Ducks Unlimited Midshore Shoot 9:00 AM – 2:30 PM at Woodlands Sporting Clays, Rte 50, Vienna (about half hour past Cambridge). 75 targets. More info: 410-376-0200. Must be registered by 1:00 PM and on course by 1:30 PM. Lunch served between 11:30 AM and 1:30 PM. Cost: $75.00 per shooter (includes lunch). $10.00 for lunch only.

25 Aug, Saturday

Annual Crab Feast 2:00 PM – 6:00 PM at Sailwinds park, Governor’s Hall, Cambridge. Sponsored by Fraternal Order of Police Cambridge Lodge #27. Door prizes, crabs, fried chicken, sweet corn, beer, and sodas. Band – Golden Touch. Cost: $25.00 per person. Advance ticket sales only. For tickets, please mail check or money order no later than 15 Aug to: FOP Lodge #27, PO Box 401, Cambridge, MD 21613 or call 410-330-8968. All food to be consumed on premises. No containers, etc. Please bring your own crab knife and mallet.

Harvest Festival 11:00 AM – 3:00 PM. The Dorchester County Historical Society presents this old-fashioned celebration of the county’s traditions both past and present. Music, food, contests, wildlife exhibits,, and games are planned at La Grange Plantation, which includes the Meridity House historic home and Neild Farm Museum. For more information, call 410-228-7953.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Hazards of Driving Through the Marshlands

2007-07-26T23:40:00.000-05:00

One thing I hated about driving in the city of Baltimore was the hazards of too many people. Roads are crowded with drivers who got their license out of a Cracker Jack box and pedestrians crossing the road everywhere except in the crosswalk when and where they are supposed to cross.

“Ahh, the country life!” I thought. “No people and quiet roads.”

Almost.

First, the locals down here don’t know what “Stay in your lane” means. Through all the twists and turns, they do their best to straighten out the road – at seventy miles per hour on a road best traveled at thirty. That I haven’t rounded a turn and into a head-on collision is nothing short of a miracle. (Of course, I now travel those same roads at seventy, but I do stay in my lane. That’s a hazard of becoming too familiar with a road. I need to slow down.)

On the thirty-mile trip through the marshlands, I might meet one or two cars. During rush hour, I might meet as many as five. While the occasional time I round a sharp turn and meet a car is startling, I’m fairly comfortable that the marshland roads are a hundred and two times safer to drive than any city street as far as being concerned about the other driver.

Pedestrians are another story.

In the city, pedestrians are easy to spot. And they’re usually pretty smart. They might start to cross the road, but then have second thoughts and jump back up on the sidewalk until you pass. Sure, some just like to tee you off by pretending they own the road, but none does anything really stupid like run out in front of you as if they were a blind mouse.

On the marshland roads, the pedestrians aren’t people. The multitude of animals freely cross the road wherever and whenever they want. The animals haven’t quite figured out what a vehicle is and always act scared and surprised when they see one. Some animals love to frolic in the road. As much as a vehicle scares them, they haven’t made the connection that roads equal vehicles.

And, unlike pedestrians in a city who you clearly see on the sidewalk before they try to do something stupid, the animals come out of nowhere, without warning, from inside the woods or tall grass.

Reptiles and amphibians are notorious for loving the warm pavement of the road. I’ve long since lost count of how many turtles I have moved off the road and how many frogs I have dodged. Rescued snakes are fewer because I swear people purposely swerve to hit them. Just last week, though, Keith and I did rescue a king snake resting in the middle of the road. He rested peacefully on the warmth as we passed him. We got him out of the middle of the road within minutes of another car coming. There’s no doubt that that driver would have purposefully aimed his vehicle at the snake as he rested comfortably.

We did meet one person who is so terrified of snakes that when we asked her if she purposefully runs them over if they are in the road, her answer was an emphatic, “No!”

“Really?” we asked.

“Of course not. If I try to run them over, they might jump up under my car, get inside, and attack me.”

So to anyone who wishes to visit Toddville, heed this warning. If you try to run over a snake, it’ll get you. If it can’t get into your car to attack you for your mean-spiritedness, it’ll hitch a ride under your car until you get home. Then it will slither into your house and get you while you are asleep. Word to the wise: swerve to miss the snake in the road.

Below is a list of cautions anyone should be aware of if they choose to drive through the Toddville tidewaters.

Early spring or late fall when the nights are cool, watch out for the amphibians and reptiles. They like the warmth of the road and will be lying on it. Surprisingly, even a large turtle is hard to see until you are on top of it. Drive slowly and watch out for them.
After a rainstorm, watch out for the frogs and toads. They’ll blanket the roadway. No matter how hard you try, you will hit some, but drive extra slow and avoid as many as you can. Think of your drive as that old arcade game, Frogger. The twist, of course, is that you aren’t the frog getting across the road. You’re the driver of the vehicle trying to allow as many frogs to get across as you can.
From about sometime in September to about sometime in December, keep in mind that deer are especially dumb. It’s their rutting season so between raging hormones, does trying to escape the non-stop amorous advances by the stags, and hunters behind every tree, the deer aren’t thinking straight. They’re running every which way and, in that split second you see one, the way you think they are running is not the way they choose to run. It’ll take a lot longer, but from dusk to dawn, slow your speed down to less than forty. It could save a fortune in insurance bills.
Early spring around April and May at sunrise watch for the ducks standing in the road. I’m not sure what fascination the road holds for them, but they’ll be there. In that early morning light, you won’t see them until you hear the splat. If there’s water around, go extra slow. That pretty much means go extra slow through the whole road.
Middle to end of July from late afternoon to dusk, be wary of the mother turkeys. Their young are out an about and, as the sun starts setting low, Mom is trying to find a roosting place for her and her young. Without warning, the mother will dart out of the tall grass in the ditches alongside the road and take flight. They wait until you are close enough before they dart out. Unfortunately, getting more than twenty pounds airborne takes some effort so if you’re going to fast, you’ll hit Mom. Drive slower and don’t hit Mom.
Dusk or dawn, watch out for foxes. They’ll dart out in front of you and you’ll slow down thinking they have plenty of room to get across, but then they’ll double back on you. Sometimes, they’ll double back and race your vehicle. Sometimes, they’ll double back and double back again. It must be their smartness. Foxes are known to double back on their tracks to confuse their predators. To them, your vehicle is a predator and they are doing their best to confuse you. If you see a fox, come to a near stop until the dang thing figures out where it wants to go.

There you have the safety rules of driving in the Toddville tidewaters area. If you can’t remember the specifics, sum it up as drive slowly and be alert. On your trip, if it’s not already in the road as you’re coming, it’ll surely dart out in front of you while you’re going.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

A White Buck and Turklets

2007-07-23T16:40:00.000-05:00

Yesterday held a wildlife surprise for us. Heading home down Bucktown road, past the SPCA by a mile or two, were three whitetail deer grazing in the field. A young buck, probably his first year, sported a white coat with a brown splotch on his side. It is the first white deer either one of us have ever seen. Turns out, white deer aren’t uncommon, but a true albino is. Since the deer we saw had a definite brown splotch, it wasn’t a rare albino. Rare or not, it was our first and a special treat to see. It was as special as the black deer we saw last winter, although we’re sure he was a sika deer and not a whitetail.

As we turned off of Bucktown Road onto Maple Dam Road, we spotted a female wild turkey running across the road. We slowed down to a stop as we watched her run across the drainage ditch, up the hill and into the cornfield. As she wandered through the first three rows of corn, what at first looked like a small quail flew out of the tall grass on the side of the ditch and joined the female turkey. Immediately following him were two more quail-like young ones flying out of the grass to join the two. The female turkey was a mother to three turklets.

Ok, I know a baby turkey is really called a poult, but since I didn’t know that until I just looked it up, for a lack of a better word, I called them turklets. I like that word better than poult so I’ll always refer to them as turklets.

If you come down around the Blackwater Wildlife refuge, keep your eyes peeled for the family of turkeys and the white buck around the Bucktown – Maple Dam roads area.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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98 Rock Invited to Toddville

2007-06-06T09:38:00.000-05:00

When it comes to the radio, Toddville is severely limited. As someone who commutes to Baltimore daily, I figured it was time to get a Baltimore station on the dial to keep us commuters informed of what's going on in Baltimore so that we would know what to expect on our daily trip.

It'd be nice if the two radio stations we do get would keep us informed, but, like most residents on the Eastern Shore, their philosophy is that the state is everything east of the Bridge. Anything west of the Bridge is international territory so is of no concern to anyone.

98 Rock wasn't my first choice. It was my only choice. Mick and Amelia are a big city dude and dudette and are more interested in travelling to exotic places than to Maryland towns that don't even make it on the state map. Toddville isn't Iceland (their trip last year), but maybe they'll surprise us and at least get us a signal.

In case any station managers from other radio stations are reading this, consider the letter below an open invitation.

Hi Mick and Amelia,

I know you guys didn't really go country, but where I live, 98.7 on the radio dial plays country - the once in a blue moon I can get it in. I have to drive to Easton to be able to tune in you guys. (Since I still commute to Baltimore for work, right now that's not a big deal. I have plenty of time to flip back and forth between your show and The Bay, 100.7)

I live in Toddville, now. All we can get down there is an oldie station that plays music from my Grandma's day and the Eastern Shore's version of Jack FM called Joe FM. Unlike Jack, Joe plays the more modern oldies like the 70's pop crap.

I figure there's plenty of room on the FM dial for you and no competition to your style. Do you think you could get the station manager to turn the radio tower a tad so we can tune you in without having to drive to Easton? I'm pretty sure the rednecks down here would like you Mick. You could get a whole new fan base built up. And I'm sure they would like you, too, Amelia, because you're a woman.

Hey, I just had a thought! After the station manager turns the radio tower, both of you (and Josh, if you must) could air live from Toddville. There are a lot of watermen down here. Maybe you could go out on the boat and give your listeners a taste of life in Maryland outside of Baltimore. And the next time y'all have a crab feast for some fundraiser or other, maybe your listeners will appreciate just how hard - and expensive - it is to get those crabs to the table.

If you decide to come down, though, don't plan on a happening night life. Our bar has been known to close at 10:00 PM on a Saturday night. If you want an idea of what's going on in Toddville before you come, you can check out toddvilletidewaters.blogspot.com. There hasn't been a new entry in about a month, but the site will get you up to speed and current on what's going on in Toddville.

Ok, the airing live down here was a crazy thought. It'd create too much of a stir, anyway. Maybe even a scandal. Toddville may not be ready for a loud-mouth, definitely not a bleeding heart liberal (by Toddville standards), most certainly not a strange guy with a funny voice, but they would probably welcome the rock music - for awhile anyway.

If nothing else, please do get your station manager to turn that tower towards us. Please!

A faithful fan,
No,
A desperate fan,
No,
A desperate rocker,

Mark Darien

Daphne Makes a Return Visit

2007-05-03T20:38:00.000-05:00

Daphne, the tree frog who stuck her self to the outside of our house under our light, made a return visit.

Last summer, she enjoyed an all you can eat buffet under our light every night. She would get so full, she’d fall asleep there and would periodically wake up to snatch another bug.

She returned a couple of nights ago, but hasn’t been back since. The light, apparently, isn’t attracting enough bugs to keep her hanging around.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Sika Deer Rescued

2007-04-11T21:38:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, on our way to work, we spotted a sika deer lying on the side of the road. She was alive, but not moving.

We swung the car around to check her out. As we approached her, she struggled on wobbly legs to get up. I reached out to touch her and she slowly took a few steps to the woods and stopped. She was too weak to go any further.

I scratched her behind the ears and she started to go to sleep, swaying back and forth on her wobbly legs. Except for a touch of blood around her eye that appeared to be from a scratch, she wasn’t bleeding. Her hind legs, though, were weak. We figured a car must’ve clipped her hindquarters and bruised her pretty badly. Fortunately, her legs weren’t broken.

I gently nudged her towards the car. In her condition, we couldn’t leave her unattended on the side of the road. Our biggest fear was a car speeding through might hit her or, being helpless, dogs in the area might find her. She would be safer in our yard.

(For our readers who may not be familiar with sika deer, sikas are actually small elk from eastern Asia that have naturalized in the lower Eastern Shore of Maryland. They are about the size of an overgrown Great Dane, weighing in at around a hundred pounds.)

I lifted the deer into the back of the car. At first, she tried to kick, but immediately calmed down. It was as if she sensed we wanted to help her, not harm her. I put her in the backseat. She knelt on her knees, but refused to lay her rear end down.

I got behind the wheel and slowly headed towards home. She got a bit nervous and shuffled in her seat. Her head poked between the two seats so I told Keith to scratch her behind the ears to calm her. He did and she closed her eyes.

We took her behind our house and placed her on some dry reeds in a small clearing behind a thicket of bushes and briars. She calmly lay there as we headed back to the car. We didn’t know if rescuing a deer would be a valid reason for being late to work, but at least we knew she would be safe.

That night, on the way home, we stopped and bought a couple of apples. Our hopes were that Elly May (yes, we named the deer after the Beverly Hillbillies character) would have rested through the day and be gone before we got home. Our worst fear was she would be dead. Our second worst fear was she would’ve wandered a little ways from where we placed her and then collapsed and died.

We got home after dark. I grabbed a pocket flashlight out of the house and one of the apples. So as not to scare Elly May, we slowly and quietly headed to the back of the house where we left her.

She was gone.

We scanned the light around the surrounding area to make sure she hadn’t crawled off a ways and died.

Nothing.

We had Thistle with us. I figured she would find Elly May if she were still in the area. Any doubts of Thistle having hound dog mixed in with her boxer blood were quickly erased.

She sniffed the whole bedding area where we put Elly May that morning. Thistle used her nose to push some of the reeds aside to get a better scent, then, with her nose still to the ground, she’d head a few paces away from the bedding area, only to return again to reinforce the scent she wanted to follow.

After the third bit of sniffing and circling, she quickly arced her way through the woods following the strongest scent. We were convinced Elly May was gone and headed back towards the house. We weren’t paying attention to the fact that Thistle wasn’t following us.

We barely entered our yard, content with knowing Elly May was safe and running with her kind, when our conversation was interrupted by a loud crash as if a tree fell and a single yelp from Thistle.

We quickly headed back towards the woods, calling Thistle.

Nothing but silence.

I told Keith to wait in the clearing as I penetrated deeper into the woods. Navigating through the woods in pitch blackness and avoiding all the briars with only one pocket flashlight isn’t easy for one person much less two.

I called Thistle and scanned the woods with the flashlight.

Nothing.

Keith yelled out that he could hear Thistle yelping. I heard nothing. I returned to where Keith stood to try to pinpoint what he heard. By the time I joined up with him, he couldn’t hear Thistle anymore.

I headed into the woods with Keith in tow. He couldn’t stand there alone doing nothing for Thistle. As we entered the woods, I told Keith to take my hand. Since I had the only flashlight that shone slightly brighter than a candle, I knew he wouldn’t be able to follow me and avoid the fallen logs and briars.

Slowly, we snaked our way through the woods, stopping every few feet to scan our surroundings in the dim light of the flashlight and calling Thistle. We got almost to where the marshy part of the woods begins. I knew we couldn’t go any further and Thistle still wasn’t responding.

Images of Thistle lying in the mud with a broken leg or crushed under a fallen tree that gave way filled our heads. “Let’s go back and circle around to the path I made to the sanctuary. Maybe we’ll find her back there somewhere,” I suggested.

The sanctuary is a clearing in our woods near the edge of our marsh (the one pictured in the sidebar). A couple of weeks ago, I cut a path through the thickets of briars so we could easily reach the clearing. Until I did that, the only way to reach the end of our woods was to wear hip boots and trudge through the swampy part. Through the sanctuary, we can come up on the back of our property without the hip boots.

As we came out of the woods, Thistle came bounding up to us, crashing through all the briars. Her body was a mass of electrified excitement – and covered in wet mud. She smelled like the marsh, a smell that rivals a skunk.

But she showed no signs of injury. Whew!

We’ll never know for sure, but we’re fairly certain she found Elly May and the chase was on. Anytime she chases a deer, she yelps in her excitement. Apparently, she went well beyond our property line and far into the marsh.

Elly May must’ve outran Thistle meaning she was healthy and back on her feet. The car must’ve bruised her and sent her in shock that morning, but caused no major injury.

Thistle, on the other hand, was a swampy, smelly mess. I immediately marched her to the bathtub and gave her a double bath and doused her with perfume. Usually, after a bath, she runs around the house like a nut trying to shake all the sweet smells off her.

This time, she plopped down on her bed with bloodshot eyes and went to sleep. She’s not a young pup, anymore, and the chase plumb tuckered her out.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Early Spring Snow Storm Whimpers Out

2007-04-07T19:48:00.000-05:00

This morning, we woke up to a light snow. The quarter inch is a far cry from the one to three inches forecasted.

It ended by ten in the morning, but the rest of the day was mostly cloudy, windy, and the temperature didn’t make it to forty. The rest of our plants we dug up from our garden in Baltimore and didn’t finish planting yesterday are sitting in the yard waiting to be planted. Tomorrow is supposed to be nicer, so maybe we’ll finish up.

For the life of me, I can’t figure this out. Back in the winter, when it is supposed to snow, it rained. My thermometer registered 25 degrees, but it rained. Spring is here, my thermometer registered 38, and it snowed the whole time. The spring trees are in flower and the first leaves are unfurling, and it’s all covered in a quarter of an inch of snow.

Go figure.

I really need to make a list of the backwardness of Toddville. It rains in the winter, snows in the spring. Damp wood won’t burn, but marsh grasses dredged out of the water glow like lava all night. Mosquitoes are almost winter-hardy, sticking around clear into January. And our favorite bar, Carolyn’s Stone House, closes at ten pm on a Saturday night.

I can handle the winter rain and spring snow. I can tolerate the winter-hardy mosquitoes. I won’t ever understand why damp wood won’t burn, but sopping wet marsh grasses become glowing lava flows.

But Carolyn’s better damned well be opened tonight. It’s just not natural to close a bar on a Saturday night before one am.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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The Critters Venture Out – Three Critters Rescued

2007-03-26T22:05:00.001-05:00

This weekend saw temperatures near seventy. The first hint of spring brought out all the animals. To Keith’s and my surprise, the frogs, snakes, and turtles emerged from their winter hiding. We thought for sure spring would have to settle in for a couple of weeks before these cold-blooded creatures would make their appearance.

The warmest place to be for them is on the road. The heated blacktop must feel as cozy as an electric blanket to them. Unfortunately, the warmest place to be is also the most dangerous. The carnage littering the road attested to that fact. On out trip to Cambridge, we must’ve seen a couple of dozen dead snakes and turtles, splattered by drivers who mustn’t pay much attention to what is in the road and most likely driving way too fast to avoid the animals even if they did see them. The snakes, we’re sure, were purposely targeted for slaughter.

Two times of the year are particularly depressing in Toddville: spring and fall. It’s heartbreaking enough throughout the year seeing an occasional warm-blooded animal killed by a car – a deer one day, a fox another, and a rabbit later. But every spring and fall when the nights get cold, the reptiles and amphibians seek out the road for warmth and the number of road kill grows logarithmically.

This weekend three turtles were given a second chance. On our road, we rescued two spotted turtles trying to get across. Our road isn’t a high-traffic road and they probably would’ve made it across safely on their own, but we guaranteed their safety. We released them in our newly made pond where they should be safe until they venture out again. Turtles, for some reason, aren’t happy where they are. They constantly are on the move looking for greener pastures, or, in a turtle’s world, a bigger pond or prime nesting area.

The third turtle we rescued genuinely received a second lease on life. The small turtle must’ve been crossing the road when a vehicle passed. Judging by the nick on the edge of its shell, we figured the vehicle straddled the turtle to avoid hitting it, but the wind rolled it over on its back. We found it in the middle of the road, helpless with the sun beating down on it.

As we drove it to a more secure place in the marsh, it came out of its shell, swimming in the air as if it thought it could really get out of Keith’s hand. By its feistiness, we knew it would be fine. As soon as we put it on the mud, it quickly scuttled into a shallow pool and buried itself for protection.

Keith and I are going to have a very busy spring.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Complaint Lodged Against H&R Block

2007-03-21T20:54:00.000-05:00

Mark and Keith of Toddville filed a formal complaint against H&R Block located in the Dorchester Square Shopping Center (next to the Walmart) today. They filed the complaint through H&R Block’s website.

The complaint alleges that they were misled on what they would be charged to have their taxes prepared, but zeroes in on the rude treatment by the H&R Block representative, Ms. Juanita. They further claim that they have never felt so embarrassed and belittled by a business simply because they can't quote you a good figure” before rendering their services.

H&R Block quickly responded to the complaint stating that they wish to have the district representative contact them to discuss the complaint. The email then provided a link to re-file the complaint since the original complaint didn’t make it clear which store treated them rudely. After clicking the link, Mark was directed to the complaint form he originally filed only fifteen minutes earlier.

“Now this don’t make sense,” said Mark. “When I first filed the complaint, I filled in the fields with the exact address of the store in question, but, judging by their response, since I didn’t include that information in the body of the complaint, they couldn’t figure out which store I was referring to. Maybe it’s a good thing I decided against letting them prepare out taxes.”

The complete complaint and H&R Block’s response is printed below.

Complaint:

About three weeks ago, I stopped in and asked how much it would
cost to file my taxes through them. They said they couldn't quote a
price, but prices started at $49.95 for a simple return and went up
depending on itemization and how complex.

Last week, I decided to take my taxes to them. Ms. Juanita greeted
me, with food in hand, and led me back to her desk. In ten minutes,
she copied all my info from my W2 (no itemization) and told me
the price would be $85. When I told her that we (me and my friend)
were told prices started at half that for returns with no itemization,
she said that price was for federal returns only. State returns cost more.

I told her that was not what we were told. She adamantly insisted that
is what we were told and that we only heard what we wanted to hear.
I told her I'd take my taxes elsewhere. At that point, she got rude about
"all the work she did" and do her a favor - if we come back next year,
don't ask for her.

Now, "all that work" was ten minutes of filling in a simple online form
that did all the work for her. Please tell Ms. Juanita that there are
computer games that require more skill and work than a simple tax return.

That said, I will never step foot in an H&R Block store again and most
certainly will dissuade anyone I know from utilizing your services. I have
never felt so embarrassed and belittled by a business simply because they
can't quote you a good figure for services they will render. Just what
reputable tax company would quote a figure for only federal returns and
not mention state returns cost more? Most people will bring all their
taxes to be done - not just one or the other.

My old tax preparer, Sedgwick in Baltimore, files my taxes for $37.
(They went up two dollars this year.) Ms. Juanita tried to bully me into
accepting her terms claiming I would waste more gas getting to
Baltimore and end up paying more. Please inform Ms. Juanita that even
if I didn't work in Baltimore and need to be up here every day anyway, I
could still bring my taxes here and, with round-trip gas prices - end up
paying two dollars more than what she wanted to charge for all of her
"hard work". That extra two dollars is worth alleviating the harassment
and embarrassment of dealing with your company representatives.

And please tell Ms. Juanita that I am not stupid and I heard the quoted
price correctly.

Thank you

Mark

H&R Block’s response:

Thank you for contacting H&R Block!

To address your concern, we would like to have a representative from
the District Office in your area follow up with you.

For future reference, your concern has been assigned a case number of
E032107-160158

Unfortunately, we were not able to determine the office where your
return was prepared from the information provided.

Please re-submit your inquiry at http://www.hrblock.com/customer_support/submit_a_question.jsp
and be sure to include the following information in the body of your e-mail:

- Address of the H&R Block office where your return was prepared
- Case number

You may also call 1-800-HRBLOCK (1-800-472-5625) to speak with a
Customer Support Specialist who will be happy to assist you. Please
reference the case number when calling.

Thank you for choosing H&R Block

The Client Relations Team
H&R Block

© 2007
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Close Encounters of the Strange Kind

2007-03-19T21:15:00.000-05:00

Editor’s Note: While the story below may read like a tall tale (a section that will be added to this blog in the near future) the account described below is 100% factual with no embellishments.

Before I relate Keith’s and my close encounter of the strange kind this morning, please bear with me as I fill in the background first.

Even though Keith grew up in the county long before it became another suburban blight of Baltimore and I grew up on the Eastern Shore, we both had grown far too accustomed to city life. We hold our fond childhood memories of the pitch-black night sky speckled with millions upon millions of stars, the eerie night sounds echoing in the dark woods, and things that go bump in the night.

City life erased all the stars; replaced the eerie night sounds with cars, sirens, people out and about, and an occasional gunshot; and the only thing that went bump in the night was someone begging for spare change.

Living far from the city lights – and people – every night we marvel at the night sky and its millions upon millions of stars. We try to rationalize what the eerie night sounds are. That’s a screech owl, not a woman crying for help or a restless spirit who hasn’t found peace. That rustling in the reeds is a deer or a fox, not a maniacal serial killer looking for victims to hack. That lonely cry is a sika stag singing to his female, not a night demon looking for souls to inhale or blood to drink. I’m pretty sure that Rice Krispies sound in the distance that slowly grew louder as it got closer was a night heron, but I didn’t stay long enough to figure it out. Thistle began acting strangely and nervously and when the dog appears to be spooked, it’s time to go in the house and hide under the covers.

About two months ago, Keith saw an alien outside the bedroom window as he slept. Clear as day, it was one of those bug-eyed aliens commonly seen in sci-fi shows, but this one had four arms instead of two. Now don’t laugh. Keith knows perfectly well he was dreaming and - as real as the dream may have seemed at the time - it was still a dream. There was no alien outside the window.

But even as adults, the dark nights and spooky sounds can bring out the scared little child in even the most logical and rational of adults.

This morning started out the same as any other work morning. We woke up, got ready for work, and while Keith packed our lunches, I went outside and started the truck. Every morning we have to start the truck up and let it run to either defrost all the ice accumulated over night or to dry out the windows from the dew if it wasn’t cold enough to freeze. I tuned in the oldies station and, of course, it’s dark when we leave so I turned on the headlights and went back inside.

Ten minutes later, we head on out to work. We get a ways down the road, about ten or fifteen minutes worth of driving. The radio goes static-y and my headlights go out. Before I could say anything, the lights come back on and the station comes in tune. A split second later, the radio goes static-y again and the headlights go out. I get as far as saying, “What” in “What’s going on?” and the lights come back on and the music plays again.

“What are you doing, Mark?”

“Nothing. It’s weird. The dashboard lights and the parking lights didn’t go out. And obviously the radio didn’t lose power because the static was there.” Jokingly, I added, “Look for a UFO.”

Keith looks out the window with child-like innocence. “Do you think there is one?”

“No. I was joking.”

“But that’s how it happens. The space ship interferes with the electrical system.”

Keith continues to scan the sky, trying his hardest to look directly above the truck. “Why didn’t you stop? It could have been right above us. I would love to visit another planet.”

“Keith, there’s no UFOs. Besides, if there were and I stopped, we’d be late for work.”

“There’s plenty of people who have claimed to be abducted. And plenty more people disappear without a trace.”

“Keith, you’re talking like UFOs are real. There aren’t any UFOs.”

“Probably not, but you never know.” His stare focused on a point in the sky. “Darn, that’s just a plane.”

“It is strange that the lights aren’t acting up now. Just at that spot back there.”

“Aww man, why didn’t you stop? I would’ve loved to see their spacecraft. Walk around and see all the planets as we fly by them”

“Keith, there’s no UFOs. Besides, if there were they lock you in a honeycomb cell. They don’t let you wander the ship like you’re on a sightseeing tour.”

“You don’t know that. If they were so evil, they’d have taken over this planet eons ago.”

“I don’t know about that. Some people say they do experiments and then implant them with microchips so they can track them. That don’t sound too friendly to me.”

“You watch too many X-Files. Only people with mental problems claim that.”

After a brief moment of silence, Keith added, “It probably wasn’t a UFO, but wouldn’t it have been cool if it was?”

“No, we’d have been late for work. Besides, they say that once you have a close encounter like that, they track you until they can get you. Maybe they’ll get us on the way home.”

“If the lights start acting weird, make sure you stop.”

“Hell no. They don’t take you until you stop the vehicle. I’m going to keep going.”

“Then I’ll jump out of the truck.”

“Fine. Just don’t roll into the ditch.”

“I need my music. Do you think they’d take us to the house so I can get my music?”

“Keith, you’re talking like they really exist and are after us.”

“I have to have my music. It’d be a long trip without my music.” He took one last look into the sky and sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. Of the millions of people around, why would they want to study me?”

Two hours later, we arrive in Baltimore without any further incidence. Now, logic tells us that most likely, the frozen dew began to melt and shorted something out in the headlights. A drop of dew hit the live wires; a quick zap dried it out; a second drop hit the wires again; a quick zap dried it out and that’s all there was to the “phenomenon”.

Ok, it doesn’t make complete sense. Why would only the headlights go out? And what was it with the interference in the radio? Shouldn’t it have gone dead, too? Maybe. Electricity is a mystery to me. They tell me the electrons travel at the speed of light in my computer, but that doesn’t explain why it’s so slow. The melting dew was a satisfactory answer for me.

A half hour later, Keith’s cell phone vibrates. “Who the Hell would be calling me this time of the morning?” he asked as he reached for his phone. “Oh, just a voice message.”

“I don’t know why anyone leaves me a message. I don’t know how to get them,” he said as he slid the phone back in its holder.

“ET, phone home. They’re trying to contact you because we didn’t stop for them.”

In the seven years I have known Keith, he has never been able to access his voice messages. When it comes to electronic gadgets, if there’s more than two buttons to push, it’s too complicated and a waste of time. Periodically, he would have someone at his job clear out his messages for him.

This time, he took the phone back out and said, “Let me see if I can figure this out.”
On his first try, for the first time in seven years (probably longer), he accessed his voice messages. He listened to them all and hung up.

“No ET. It was beeping me about all the old messages from last month I hadn’t cleared out yet.”

On the trip home, Keith hadn’t forgotten about my comment that the UFOs track people they have targeted.

“Do you think our lights will go out in the same area again?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“But you said they track people they’ve marked and I did see that one outside the window awhile back. I know I was dreaming, but maybe they’ve really been tracking me.”

“Well, if the lights go out, I’m not stopping. They don’t take people out of the vehicle until it’s stopped.”

“Who says?”

“It’s a rule. I don’t know who made it, but you never hear of people being snatched out of a moving vehicle. They always stop, first.”

“You better stop then. This world’s boring. I want to see a new world.”

“What’s so boring about this world?”

“I don’t know, but at least I won’t have to go to work tomorrow if they take me tonight.”

“Fine. I’ll stop and you jump out real quick then I’m hightailing it out of there. Someone’s gotta go home and feed Thistle.”

When we got within a mile of the area where we had the light trouble that morning, Keith began scanning the sky. Just before we got to the spot where our lights had gone out, I switched off the lights and turned them back on. At the moment I switched them off, Keith pointed to a star and began to say something. My timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Uh-oh. What’s happening?” I interrupted.

Keith smiled and responded, “You did that. But what is that light up there? Is it a star?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say Venus.”

“Did I scare you?”

“No, I knew it was you.”

“Not even for a brief second you like didn’t get butterflies or something?”

“No, I’m not that gullible.”

We continued home without further incidence. Keith played my joke calmly, and even if he won’t admit it, I’ll believe that at least for a split second, I had him going.

As I parked the truck, I said, “You know, they take a lot of people while they are sleeping. Maybe they’ll zap you out tonight.”

“Really?” he asked with his child-like enthusiasm.

“Yeah, really.”

“Somehow, I think our lights going out is a fluke. I didn’t even think of UFO until you said something. But it was fun thinking about the possibility, but I’ll be going to work tomorrow.”

Keith got out of the truck and gazed up at the night sky one last time. “But that Venus sure is a bright star.”

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Gilligan Passes Away

2007-02-26T23:20:00.000-05:00

Gilligan died peacefully at approximately 10:15 PM tonight. Burial services were performed at 10:30 PM in a quiet ceremony attended by Keith, Mark and Thistle.

Cause of death is unknown. On Thursday, Gilligan appeared to be on a strong road to recovery after losing his wing in a car accident. Overnight, his health took a turn for the worse. His appetite waned and his right leg became stiff. As the weekend progressed, he ate less and less and he lost all use of his leg.

His final days were peaceful. He rested on his old towel next to his water and feed bowls where he could easily stretch his neck to drink and occasionally nibble at his food. Every once in awhile, he would hop on his one good leg to a new position on his towel. Today, he refused to eat, but he did drink his water.

The weather had warmed on Saturday and he spent a couple of hours resting in the sun. Last night, he sat in Mark’s lap and watched an episode of Star Trek. He dozed throughout the show as Mark gently stroked his feathers.

While his cause of death is unknown, his symptoms were reminiscent of a disease that swept through a brood of baby ducks Mark raised as a kid. One day, the ducks were fine. The next morning, one leg would be paralyzed. The baby ducks wouldn’t eat and died within two days. Only one duck, Lupe, survived the disease and lived on for ten years. He always walked with a limp and was unable to quack like a duck – he sounded more like a snorting pig – but otherwise lived a healthy life, fathering many broods of ducks over the years.

Mark and Keith strongly suspects that whatever this disease is, it took advantage of Gilligan’s weakened state from the accident.

Both say they will never try to rescue an injured animal again. While their grief makes them say that now, they’ll be the first to try to help another animal in need if they happen to come across one.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Gilligan Takes Turn for the WorsePostpones Public Appearance

2007-02-23T11:12:00.000-05:00

Last night, Gilligan, the sea gull Keith and Mark rescued last Sunday, showed possible signs of failing health.

“When we got home from work,” explained Mark, “I took him out of his box and placed him on the floor so he could eat. He did eat, though not as much as he did last night, then he just laid there watching everything going on around him.”

In addition to his waning appetite, another sign something was wrong became evident when Gilligan had trouble standing. It appeared his right leg was weak and in pain. He refused to stand on it for long. When he lay on the floor, he leaned his body to the side.

One positive sign that he may be alright is that he continued to preen himself. That glimmer of hope for Gilligan’s health, however, waned this morning when Gilligan refused to eat anything.

Gilligan had shown problems with his leg when he was first rescued and continued to show slight problems after he was brought home from the hospital. There are no physical indications of injury to the leg and the doctor hadn’t mentioned anything about it. Gilligan’s limping wobbliness was blamed on his missing wing setting off his balance.

“But last night he acted like he hurt his leg all over again. The night before, he stood on it for an hour preening himself. Now he has to sit down while preening,” said Mark.

Mark and Keith are hoping that the leg has only become stiff by Gilligan not being able to walk around and use it much. While his pen is being built (scheduled for completion tomorrow), he spends several hours resting in a box. The box is big enough for him to stand up and move around a little, but not big enough to get the exercise Gilligan needs.

This morning, Keith and Mark laid old towels over the entire bathroom floor and let Gilligan have free roam of the room.

“And the bathroom has a baseboard heater that we left on low. That should keep Gilligan’s leg warm while he heals,” added Keith.

Keith and Mark have postponed Gilligan’s public appearance this weekend.

“Let me get his new home built and see how he comes along on that leg, first,” said Mark. “If his leg is just stiff from not getting enough exercise, maybe by Sunday I’ll feel comfortable taking his picture for the public. Right now, I’m worried the flash might scare him and he might end up hurting his leg worse.”

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Shop at PETsMART.com

Gilligan Scheduled for a Public Appearance

2007-02-22T09:27:00.000-05:00

Sometime this weekend, Gilligan, the injured sea gull rescued last Sunday, is scheduled to make his first public appearance since his accident, his publicist announced this morning.

Last Sunday, Gilligan was found stuffed in a Walmart shopping cart with a broken wing and blood-stained body. Exactly what happened to him is unknown, but it appears he was feeding in the Walmart parking lot when a car hit him - nearly severing his wing - sometime around Friday. Someone scooped him up and placed him in the shopping cart until Keith and Mark found him Sunday evening. Two days later, Gilligan’s doctor had to amputate his wing.

He is at his new home recovering from the trauma. His appetite is returning. For the first time, he ate a hearty meal. He enjoyed a bowl of Friskies whitefish and tuna cat food.

After his dinner, he tried to take a bath. At first, he used the water to clean his bill and even drank some of his bath water. As the water level rose, though, he wanted out of the tub. His feathers have lost their waterproof qualities as a result of the accident and the cold water soaked through to his skin.

His caretakers, Mark and Keith, placed a portable heater on the floor a safe distance from the sheet Gilligan uses to prevent messing on the floor. They placed Gilligan on his sheet to warm him up. Gilligan promptly strolled right up to the heater and spent the next hour preening his self.

Thistle, Keith and Mark’s boxer/hound dog mix, has been very patient with Gilligan. She keeps her distance from him, but never lets an eye off of him. She lies in her bed and stares at Gilligan trying to make sense of the new invader in her home.

Her biggest concern is what Gilligan eats. Thistle knows when a can is opened, it’s her dinner time. Last night when Mark opened the can of cat food, she came running to the kitchen expecting her dinner. She watched Mark with her big, sad, brown eyes as he placed the cat food down for Gilligan.

Mark immediately opened a can of food for Thistle and then spent an hour lying with Thistle as they both watched Gilligan preen his self. It is important Thistle knows she is still top dog.

And Gilligan is adjusting to his new home. He tolerates his new caretakers, Keith and Mark. He doesn’t try to bite them although he does prefer them to keep their distance. He will sit in Mark’s lap as he watches TV, but always looks for a quick escape and reluctantly, he allows Mark to pick him up to put him to bed, although he clearly makes his protest known by trying to evade capture.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Stella Loses Wing – Gets New Name

2007-02-20T11:44:00.000-05:00

The injured sea gull we found Sunday evening arrived at the Choptank Animal Hospital safely and in style. Resting in a box of fresh grass, it was well-received by the hospital staff. Its spirits were strong as demonstrated by its constant pecking of the side of the box. Last night it discovered this new game and must like the sound of its beak hitting the side of the box.

Unfortunately, the gull’s wing was completely severed from the accident and was only being held on by a piece of skin. The doctor estimated it had its accident a day or two before we found it since the bone had turned completely brown and all the nerves were dead. There was no saving the wing and it had to be removed.

Stella is a first-year gull still in its juvenile plumage. The doctor is fairly certain it is a ring-billed gull (Larus delawarensis), the common “scavenger gull” found in suburban areas around fast-food restaurants. These gulls are believed to live 3-10 years in the wild though some have lived as long as 23 years.

The doctor could not tell if the gull is a male or female. On the hospital admittance forms, under name, we listed Stella/Gilligan and told the staff we would choose the name depending on its sex. The staff had already decided Gilligan was more fitting and had entered the name in the computer.

Keith and I decided to keep calling him Gilligan.

He will have a new, permanent home in Toddville. This weekend, he will move out of his cardboard box and into a new home, a pen I plan on building and completing by Saturday night.

© 2007
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Nolvasan Skin & Wound Cleanser 4oz Bottle

Injured Sea Gull Survives the Day

2007-02-19T22:08:00.000-05:00

After a long day of worry and an impatient two-hour drive home, we came home to the injured sea gull we rescued yesterday expecting a dead or dying bird. The good news is she’s alive and doing well. I fed her some sardines, but she only ate a little bit of those. She gobbled down the whole grain bread soaked in water, though. I suspect she doesn’t care for the sardines.

If she keeps her strength up for another nine hours, she’ll be in good hands at the animal hospital. Hopefully, the vet will be able to save her wing and maybe after a few weeks of careful nurturing, she’ll take to the air again. We’ll learn the prognosis tomorrow.

I may be jumping the gun, but this severely injured bird has survived a full 24-hours plus and appears to be alert. From here out, she will no longer be referred to as “the bird” or “sea gull”. I feel comfortable to use her name – Stella.

Stay tuned for Stella’s continuing story of her recovery from her terrible collision with a car.

Injured Sea Gull Survives the Night

2007-02-19T15:50:00.001-05:00

The injured sea gull Keith and I rescued yesterday survived the night. This morning it was resting peacefully, but bright eyed and alert. I fed it a mixture of whole grain bread and water. Like last night, it first attacked the spoon. Once it figured out the spoon had food on it, it ate on its own.

The gull is still frightened, but starting to show signs of becoming accustomed to us being around it. My only concern is that although it is trying to eat, it eats very little. If it doesn’t gain its appetite back, it’ll surely weaken and die.

When we got to work, today, Keith hit me with the first bit of bad news. He asked the head nurse where he works how we could get the bone set back in and to get it to stay there so it could heal. Her response was that the bird was in a lot of pain, and, by the description of the injury, the wing may need to be amputated. If we let it heal as is, the protruding bone would always be prone to infection and the bird would always be in a lot of pain - even if it didn’t show signs of it. If we couldn’t afford a veterinarian to fix it, we would do the bird a great favor by putting it to sleep.

I had held out for the possibility that we could set the wing ourselves, but this news disheartened us both.

About a half hour after Keith delivered that news, a veterinarian in Cambridge returned my call. The good news is she will fix the bird for us and allow us to take it home and nurse it back to health. The better news is she will do it at no charge.

A glimmer of hope lies on the horizon for our injured sea gull.

Our biggest concern now is that it has survived the day and will survive the night until we can get it to the vet seven tomorrow morning. The hardest thing is sitting at work wondering if the bird is still alive. We’ll find out when we get home around nine this evening.

I figure if it is still acting as it did this morning, it should make it through the night. Hopefully, after a trip to the vet, it’ll feel less pain, gain its strength back, and eventually be set free again.

That is if its wing doesn’t need to be amputated. If that is what’s needed, it will have a quiet, but safe life on our eight acres in the Toddville Tidewaters.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Injured Sea Gull Rescued

2007-02-18T21:46:00.001-05:00

The cold, northwest winds blew strong all day today and are blowing even stronger tonight with a light dusting of snow accompanying the winds. It’s certainly not a good day for the animals much less an injured one.

Keith and I stopped at the Walmart to pick up some canned dog food for Thistle. The Ol' Roy canned food is the best and it’s the only reason we stop at Walmart. I parked the car at the door so Keith could run in and get a few cans.

Keith started towards the door and then turned around to come back to the car. He opened the door and, before he said anything, I said, “You’re slick. You forgot your wallet again.” (That is a joke between us. He always forgets his wallet and I end up paying for everything.)

“No. There’s an injured sea gull in the cart and it’s still alive.” Keith’s eyes and tone of voice conveyed a helpless, please-do-something plea.

I got out of the car to take a look at it. Its wing was inverted and sticking up over its head like a sail on a sailboat. Blood stained its breast and wing. I returned to the car figuring there wasn’t anything I could do to help the poor bird.

As I sat in the car, people walked by, glanced at the bird, and kept going. Every couple of minutes, a blustery gust of wind would blow, catching the bird’s wing and pushing it further in an inverted position.

I couldn’t leave the sea gull there to die a slow, painful death.

I parked the car and headed towards the Walmart doors. Keith was coming out of the store. “It’s up to you, Keith, but that poor bird will suffer out here. If you want to accept the responsibility, we can take it home where it will at least die in comfort. I just need to run in the store and get a wound cleaner and an eyedropper so I can feed the bird if it’s too weak to eat on its own.”

Keith’s a lot like me when it comes to injured animals. We’d rather take them home and try to nurse them back to health, but if they die, at least they die peacefully. It happened to a baby rabbit we rescued out of the middle of the road last fall. A cat was playing with it so we scooped it up and took it home. It lived until the next morning, but its internal injuries were too severe and it died.

We figure the sea gull won’t last through the night. Its wing is broken with a bone protruding out. Our guess is a car in the parking lot hit it. At least someone had the decency to place it in the shopping cart.

We got it home. I picked it up to clean its wounds. Instinctively, the gull latched onto my finger with its beak. Fortunately, it didn’t hurt so I let it hold on. I tried to give it water through the eyedropper, but it attacked the dropper instead. I managed to get it to drink some water, though.

We went outside and collected some soft grass and made a nest for it in a big box. I placed the gull in the box and left it alone to calm down. After our dinner, I soaked a slice of whole grain bread in water and took it to the bird. With the eyedropper, I tried to feed it.

Once again, it attacked the dropper. After a few tries, it realized there was food in the dropper. It took the water-bread mixture eagerly. I decided to upgrade to a spoon. At first, it attacked the spoon, but then realized it had food on it, too. It didn’t eat much, but at least it got a little bit of nourishment and water. In about another hour, I’ll try to feed it bits of sardines since it seems to have enough energy to eat whole food.

We called a couple of vets’ emergency numbers. They all referred me to one number who knew absolutely nothing about what we should do. The best they could do is suggest we take it to a bird sanctuary in Princess Anne, but they didn’t know the number to call. It’s not listed, either.

Tomorrow, Keith will ask the nurse at his work for suggestions on how to set the bird’s wing so that the bone will at least be back inside where it belongs. It may never fly again, but at least the bone won’t be exposed and risk a severe infection.

If it makes it through the night, Keith decided to name it Stella. We hope Stella makes it, and even if she never flies again, she’ll have a safe home here. And if she doesn’t make it, at least she’ll die peacefully in a warm house on a nice bedding of soft grass.

If she makes it, I need to get Stella to a vet. Maybe I’ll find one tomorrow who will set her wing for a minimal charge. We really can’t afford an expensive bill, but we can’t let Stella suffer, either. If anyone reading this knows what we should do, please leave a suggestion.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Spring Is Right Around the Corner

2007-02-13T21:30:00.000-05:00

How do I know? A little bird told me. Actually, a few little birds and one big bird told me. Birds are much more reliable than the weatherman so I believe them.

The last two and a half weeks have been brutally cold. The Choptank river is frozen over, the water levels in the marshland are lower than the lowest tides because all the water is locked up in ice, the ground is rock hard instead of spongy, and our pipes froze.

Despite the brutal cold, we’ve seen a few robin redbreasts - the familiar harbinger of spring - and a bald eagle. If one bald eagle is here, the other bald eagles should be coming soon to start nesting.

After two-weeks of below freezing temperatures, the first winter storm has hit today. In Maryland lingo, that means freezing rain. As the storm moves up the coast, temperatures are forecasted to rise above a balmy forty tonight and heavy rains will pound the marshlands. As the storm exits the area northward, gusty northwest winds of up to 50 mph will sweep through, dropping the temperatures well below freezing again. The long range forecast doesn’t give a hint of spring anywhere.

But the birds can’t be wrong. My prediction is for another two weeks of winter weather, gradually moderating to at or above the seasonal average.
If the birds are wrong, I’ll go back to listening to the guy on TV.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Truck Lands in Marsh

2007-02-07T23:17:00.000-05:00

Note: In the article, The Marsh! The Marsh is on Fire!, I mentioned the way the roads down in the Toddville area have more than one name and there’s no clear markings on the road to tell you when the name changes. I used Maple Dam-US MD some number or other-Shorter’s Wharf road as an example. Yesterday, I discovered it had a fourth name at the other end – Andrews Road. The story below takes place on this road and, while I am fairly certain it doesn’t take place on the Andrews Road section nor the Maple Dam Road section, it does take place somewhere in between those two names. Since Keith and I always refer to this road as “the back way”, for clarity in the article, that is how I will refer to this multi-named road.

The back way is a thirty-mile stretch of country road that winds through the marshlands. Many of the turns are ninety-degrees or sharper. Most people who drive the road for the first time don’t go much past thirty miles per hour. The locals who drive it every day go fifty or more since they know where to slow down for the many sharp turns.

No matter how many times one drives the road, it can be deceptive. Cutting through the marsh, one stretch of road looks the same as any other stretch. If you don’t pay attention, lose track of where you are on the road, forget which stretch you’re on, or get too comfortable driving it, the sharp turns can surprise you. The margin of error on the road is a foot or less so quick reflexes and good brakes are a necessity.

The locals, however, have no problem zooming through the road at an average of fifty mph or more. Their secret is to use the oncoming-traffic’s lane to make the turns and a lot of braking. Their driving habits have more than once almost ran me off of the road and they always leave a lot of road kill behind.

Keith and I are the kind of guys who swerve to miss the frogs hopping across the road. We’ve stopped for snakes and even quickly moved one off the road before an approaching car reached it. (This time of year it is too cold for snakes and frogs, but there are still the opossums, foxes, deer and other mammals out and about.) We’re also the kind of guys who make turns while staying in our lane. Since we drive the back way every day, we hold our own on the road, but, without fail, there’s always one or two locals who feel the need to pass us.

Last Friday, one passed us on the double line, no less. I said to Keith, “One of these days I’d like to see one of these assholes miss the turn and end up in the swamp. That’ll slow his ass down and maybe give the wildlife a break down here.”

That some of the locals pass me because I’m going to slow for them since I refuse to drive like a maniac doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is their reckless disregard for the safety of the other drivers on the road and, of course, the wildlife. The police rarely venture down into that neck of the woods so everyone pretty much drives the way they want. That road, and all of the back roads down there, is a serious accident waiting to happen.

Little did I know that my off-hand remark on Friday night would come to fruition on Monday.

As we headed to work at six in the morning, a truck rested nearly on its side in the marsh. The cab light was still on, but we couldn’t see in the cab because the truck leaned at a 45-degree angle in a steep incline to the marsh.

I stopped the truck and Keith got out to make sure no one was in the truck. It was empty.

Neither Keith nor I are accident reconstruction experts, but it was obvious the driver missed the 90-degree turn and went straight over the turn’s embankment and into the marsh. Since it was Monday morning after the Super Bowl, we figured one of the following happened:

a) The driver was drunk and missed the turn.
b) The driver was speeding and missed the turn.
c) The driver fell asleep and missed the turn.
d) All or any combination of the above.

The driver was nowhere around so we figured he walked to the nearest house for help. That was a good two-mile hike in 8-degree weather.

When we returned from work that night, the truck was gone. Judging by the frozen mud clumps left in the road, the driver had someone tow him out because there was no way anyone could drive it out. I’m sure the bottom of the truck, and maybe the tires and axles, were damaged in the accident.

With any luck, maybe the driver learned something and now there will be one less reckless driver on the road.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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The Marsh! The Marsh Is on Fire! - Part II

2007-02-04T20:02:00.000-05:00

For anyone who doubted the validity of my first story on the burning marsh, I figured I better post a picture to show it.

They've been burning the marsh since October, and, until the story a couple of weeks ago, all I ever saw were the charred results. Today, for the first time, I saw the fire in the daylight. It was quite a distance from the road, but a couple of people were out there setting the blaze.

There are no roads that far out in the marsh so I reckon the wardens use a boat to get out there. It appears they burn the marsh in sections through the fall and winter months instead of burning it all at once.

Now, what gets me is it is Superbowl Sunday. The wardens were too far away, but I wonder if maybe they had a portable TV and some beer in the boat. The fire would make excellent toasted marshmellows and weiners to go with that beer.

Peering through my binoculars, though, it looked like they were really working and there was no Superbowl Party.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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The Snow Moon

2007-02-02T21:51:00.000-05:00

Today is a special day on two counts: Ground Hog Day and the full moon, named the Snow Moon by the Native Americans.

Native Americans and our early settlers relied on the phases of the moon for all sorts of things from time-telling to seasonal changes to crop harvests. Every full moon has a name related to something significant about that time of month. Most people are familiar with the name, Harvest Moon, the full moon in October that allowed farmers to harvest their crops well past sunset. Past that one, a full moon is just a full moon to most everyone.

Last month's full moon was the Wolf Moon. This moon signified the dead of winter and earned its name because howling wolves were known to hang around the Native Americans' villages and settlers' camps. Food is scarce at this time of year and the wolves hoped for some scraps from the people.

This month's full moon is the Snow Moon signifying the month known for its heaviest snows. This year, the Snow Moon falls on White man's Groundhog Day. The burning question: did the Snow Moon live up to its name and did the groundhog predict six more weeks of winter?

Short answer to both: no.

With temperatures hanging around 34 degrees all night last night, it rained through the night and into the morning, remained cloudy all day, and rained again in the afternoon with the temperature reaching a balmy 37 degrees.

Oh, some snow and other freezing stuff tried to mix in at times, but I don't reckon that's how February's full moon earned its name.

Since it was cloudy and rainy, the groundhog didn't see his shadow so we'll have a short winter. It's been two-weeks long so far this year so, according to the groundhog, we'll only have a couple of more weeks of it.

I strongly suspect, though, that no groundhog came out of his hole today. Groundhogs may not be the smartest creatures around, but they certainly aren't so dumb as to wake up out of a deep sleep to scamper out of their warm den and into a freezing rain just to see if it can see its shadow.

Punxsutawney Phil does, but that's only because the White men force him out. I hope he's got a good agent and is getting paid well for his show, though. If not, it won't be long before PETA will be up there trying to shut the show down on grounds of animal cruelty.

The editorial comment aside, the bottom line is that the Snow Moon let us down and the groundhog says, "Get ready for spring."

Stay tuned for the coming report of the near-blizzard that will hit before the end of the month. That's my prediction.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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The Marsh! The Marsh Is on Fire!

2007-01-24T22:25:00.000-05:00

Sure, the title is a cheesy rip-off of a song, but it got your attention.

The marsh really is on fire, though, – on purpose. The Department of Natural Resources began the annual, controlled burnings a couple of months ago. The only signs of the burnings most people witness are the charred remains of the marshland.

Despite traveling Shorter’s Wharf Road (which becomes MD some number or other, which becomes Maple Dam Road) every day, we’ve never seen the fires.

Wait a minute. Let me back up here.

Three names for one road?

Don’t ask me. That’s just the way they do things down here. You drive a few miles on one road but you never know what road you are on because along the route, the name has changed a few times. What the section of the road cutting through the marshland is called, I have no idea. All I know is if you come in from the Cambridge side, it’s Maple Dam Road. If you come in from the other side, it’s Shorter’s Wharf Road. Somewhere in between, it’s MD some number or other. I’d tell you the number, but there are no signs, but I know that’s how the road is named because I saw it on a map once.

We now return to the story of the burning marsh.

So, everyday, we drive along this road we nicknamed “the back way” for sake of ease. One day we cut through the marsh and all of it is brown. The next day it is charred black with dozens upon dozens of muskrat mounds dotting the landscape. (The mounds were always there, but you couldn’t see most of them because of the tall marsh grasses.) We never did see the fires.

Tonight, coming through the back way, we finally saw a section of the marsh burning. The flames were far off in the marsh, nowhere near the road. We didn’t see any firefighters or game wardens so I reckon they set a section at a time on fire and let it burn out on its own.

The burning is supposed to rejuvenate the marsh grasses and provide more food for the waterfowl the following fall. Man is supposedly simulating what would occur naturally if we weren’t here.

Now, since Ernesto hit back in September, nothing down here has been dry. The air is saturated with moisture, daily, and the ground is a sopping wet sponge. A few weeks ago, I tried building a bonfire and couldn’t keep it going because all the wood was too wet despite not having any rain for a couple of weeks. On top of that, this time of year is not known for thunderstorms.

The reasonable, and logical assumption, then, is that these marshes rarely, if ever, burned through the autumn and winter months. I’m not like all of the locals down here who don’t trust a thing the government does and have a complete faith that whatever the government does, it’ll screw it up, but either the marsh is supposed to naturally burn in the summer when it is drier and thunderstorms abound or our DNR folks are simply pyros.

I have a confession to make, though. A few weeks ago, when I tried unsuccessfully to build a bonfire, I couldn’t understand for the life of me how the pyros could burn the marsh, and I couldn’t keep a pile of wood burning. A couple of weeks ago, I learned how easy it is to burn a marsh, but not the wood.

The marsh grasses down here, especially the phragmites, are highly flammable. They burn fast and intensely hot. I piled a mound of dry grass (dry for down here, very moist grass by anyone else’s standards) and lit it. It was a little slow at getting going, but once it took off, it burned like molten lava. The flames were minimal, but the whole pile smoldered in a mass of red heat.

I even piled masses of grass I dredged out of the drainage ditch on top of this molten mass. Nothing can get wetter than being submerged in water for months. Water dripped out of the pile as I threw it on top of the fire. Every last bit of it burned. The next morning, all that was left were chunks of wood practically un-charred.

Don’t ask me for an explanation. Waterlogged grasses burn with intense heat, but damp wood barely gets charred.

Yet another backwards phenomenon down here in the Toddville Tidewaters.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Winter Finally Arrives!

2007-01-22T01:37:00.000-05:00

To some folks, Winter Finally Arrives! May sound like a boring headline. Big deal, winter arrives a month late. To some folks out west, they might be thinking, “Good, take our winter from us. We’re sick of it.”

To Keith and me, this is big news. We aren’t used to being bitten by mosquitoes well into January. Last weekend, I got a lot of yard work done and I still broke a sweat. I’d have taken my tee shirt off, but I thought that would be kind of weird it being in the middle of winter and all. The weekend before, we saw something even stranger than the January mosquitoes. Frogs hopped across the road and we watched a blue heron catch a foot long snake. Frogs and snakes are supposed to be hibernating, not hopping and slithering around in the middle of January.

Today is a big contrast from the last two weeks, though. Temperatures never got out of the twenties and it snowed. I decided what a great day to take a Sunday drive around the marshlands and tour the old cemeteries and Churches. Keith got his bottle of wine and we headed out.

All through the backcountry roads sits old churches, many abandoned. Small cemetery plots dating back from the early 1800’s dot the roads. Some of these plots look like they have long been forgotten. Some are adorned with flowers signaling someone is still around to honor the dead.

Take this little plot along Liner’s Road. It sits in the middle of the woods far from any houses, communities, or churches. The newest grave was dug in 1930 for an 84-year-old woman. Seventy-six years later, someone placed a couple of what appeared to be Christmas wreaths at the site.

If you take a closer look, you can see how shallow the graves are dug. The concrete coffins are half exposed. In some cemeteries, they practically rest on top of the ground. The water table is so high, I reckon it’s near impossible – no, impossible – to properly bury the dead six feet under.

Our next stop was an old Church built in 1874 on Smithville Road. It’s a quaint little building and still in use. Several months ago, we stumbled upon it and the congregation had some sort of social going on. Judging by the looks of the attendees, I’d say it is the original congregation from 1874 that still attends.

The graveyard surrounding the Church is well maintained. A once well-respected member of the community must occupy one grave, judging by its size and prominence in the middle of the lot. We should’ve gone up to the headstone to read it, but we didn’t. It was cold and somehow, I felt it would be disrespectful to trudge over the other graves to get to it. Maybe sometime in the future, I’ll take a closer look.

On the other side of the Church is what appears to be a pile of graves. I reckon the occupiers of these graves weren’t so well-respected within the community. Maybe somewhere down the road, I’ll revisit these graves and try to learn who is buried there and why they were just piled in a mound so close together.

On our future travels, I’ll be sure to include the roadside graves as part of the regular tour. A few months ago, for example, we came across a small family plot overgrown with poison ivy and an encroaching woods. A small historic sign marked the site, but no one takes care of the site anymore. A whole family from the 1800’s is buried here, the last member buried just prior to the Civil War. In addition to Mom and Dad and some other relatives, a tiny grave for a year-old child was placed next to the parents.

And in the middle of the plot of about seven graves rested a tombstone carved in the shape of a dachshund-like dog. The family ensured their beloved pet would stand guard over their final resting place. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find this gravesite again, but if I do, I’ll certainly include the pictures and story as told by the tombstones.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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You Might Be a Redneck If…

2007-01-14T21:37:00.000-05:00

Jeff Foxworthy has made a lucrative career off his redneck jokes. If you’re like me, though, you’ll laugh, but deep down you know that his jokes are exaggerated for the comedy effect.

One of his jokes goes something along the lines of you know you’re a redneck when you cut your grass and find a vehicle. Surely, this has to be an exaggeration.

Maybe not.

Giant reeds, or phragmites (frag-mahy-teez), practically surround our house. They took over the side yard right up to the driveway and looped around the back of the house, leaving only a narrow foot path between them and the house. You can see in the picture how tall and thick they get. I cut them back off of the driveway almost to the property line, but in two weeks you can see how fast they regrow.

Technically, phragmites is a grass. It’s definitely not a grass you would want to make a lawn out of, but it is a grass all the same. I started cutting them down with my little brush-cutting weed whacker, but I wasn’t making good headway. I broke down and hired a local professional, Andy, owner of Xtreme Tree Service.

He came in with his bush hog and did some serious damage to the stands of giant reeds. At the back of the house, though, he hit the blue pickup truck.

Yes, we cut the grass and found a vehicle. That might not make us rednecks, but it certainly does say something about the previous owners, but that will be a story for another day.

Keith’s brother-in-law came down for a visit a few weeks later. He lives up in Pennsylvania smack in the middle of redneck country. For years, I reveled in teasing him about being a redneck. He comes down and sees the truck out back, and, let’s just say that he’ll never let me live this one down. Finding a truck after cutting the grass was the funniest thing he ever heard. Now it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

The truck sticks out like a sore thumb. You can even see it from the road. In addition to the truck, cutting the grass uncovered a couple of piles of broken bricks and cinderblocks, a couple of steel drums, old pipes, and a pile of about twenty tires among piles of other trash.

I began the task of trying to clean up as much of the mess as I could. I have no clue how to get rid of the truck, but I figured I could make the rest of the yard look decent. Keith gave up. The piles of trash were bad enough, but that truck irritates him more than anything else.

“Just let the reeds grow back over it,” he would lament.

Two months into the task of cleaning up, I was out back by the blue pickup truck and decided to take a closer look at the reeds Andy wasn’t able to cut down. Water sits in the back and I wanted to know where it came from. Peering through the reeds, I caught a glimpse of something big. My first thoughts were, “Don’t tell me it’s another one.”

Sure enough, hidden out of sight is another vehicle.

I think I’ll leave the reeds around it. I don’t want Keith’s brother-in-law to learn about this one. Of course, leaving the reeds around it would definitely qualify me as a bona fide redneck.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Where the Heck Are all the Birds?

2006-12-20T21:55:00.000-05:00

Down here in the Toddville Tidewaters, birdfeeders are funny places. With over 250 different species of birds in the area, and being right under the Atlantic Flyway, the major route for many migratory birds, you’d think a birdfeeder would be the happening place, at least in the bird world. After surfing the Internet and looking at the many colorful birds supposedly all around me, I invested over fifty bucks to feed our feathered friends.

As a kid growing up on the Eastern Shore, I always had a bird feeder. The usual visitors frequented my feeder: cardinals, blue jays, chickadees, nuthatches, downy and pileated woodpeckers and an occasional flicker. I did attract plenty of tufted titmouses (or would that be titmice?). They aren’t colorful birds, but are handsome in their own right. They sort of remind me of a drab-colored, but smaller, cockatiel.

Oh, and my feeder attracted the obligatory, and obnoxious, squirrels, too.

But I could never attract the really pretty birds I saw in the books: evening grosbeaks, purple finches, bluebirds, indigo buntings, and just about any of the warblers. Down here, I figured I’m right under their migratory route and should attract some of these birds, at least a cedar waxwing. Cedar waxwings look like cardinals, but they aren’t red. They are very striking birds with subtle hues of tan and yellow with a strategically placed red stripe.

And down here, I would even be happy with the obnoxious squirrel. The rare, and endangered Delmarva fox squirrel calls this area home. Once ranging from Pennsylvania through Virginia, it is now restricted to only a few areas in Maryland with Dorchester County boasting the largest population. Sure, to a lot of people, it may look like a smaller, fatter gray squirrel with a much bigger tail, but it is endangered so I have to see one before it disappears forever.

I bought a 3-in-1 feeder. Wild birdseed went in the middle, suet on one side, and sunflower seed cakes on the other. I wanted a gourmet feast to please any bird’s pallet. I set it up in the front yard where I could see it no matter where I sat in the house and patiently waited for the birds to come the next day.

Nothing.

The day after that: nothing.

For a full seven days, not one bird visited my feeder.

I decided that the feeder’s location wasn’t enticing enough for the birds. It stood smack in the middle of the yard with no trees or bushes anywhere near and it was probably too close to the house. I moved it away from the house near the woods’ edge where the cut lawn met the tall weeds I never got around to cutting. Now, I figured, the birds had protection from the weeds and trees and would feel safe to come feast. I eagerly anticipated my visitors the next morning.

Nothing.

The day after that: nothing.

For a full seven days, not one bird visited my feeder.

Then on the eighth day, I glanced out and saw a downy woodpecker eagerly poking away at the suet. On the ground were a couple of birds, but I couldn’t make out what they were because the weeds obscured my view – and the feeder sits too far away from the house. My eyes aren’t like they were when I was a kid.

I ran to the car to get my binoculars, the pair I had since I was a kid. I tried to bring everything in focus, but the best I could do was get a cloudy, slightly blurry image. (My binoculars have been shot for years and I’ve never replaced them. I should, but I can’t afford a new pair right now. The house takes everything, so I have to make do with what I got.)

I tried to use my plain eyes, again. As I took the binoculars away, another bird flew down on the feeder, scaring the woodpecker away. I could tell it was a handsome bird, but my naked eyes focused in on it about as well as my binoculars. (In the past couple of years, my excellent 20/15 vision has deteriorated to 20/20 and I’m sure a bit worse, now. I should get new eyes, but they can’t do that, yet. It sucks getting older.)

I raised the binoculars back up hoping to at least make out what this handsome bird was. I brought it into focus the best I could and there was no mistaking it. Finally, I saw my first cedar waxwing, something I always wanted to see since I was a kid.

I excitedly handed the binoculars to Keith. This was a treat that had to be shared. By the time he got the binoculars to his eyes and centered on the feeder, the cedar waxwing had flown off.

Christmas is coming. I’m hoping for a new pair of binoculars and a return visit from the cedar waxwing. Keith just has to see it.

And I have to figure out how I can afford a good camera….

Toddville Tidewaters' Welcome - Part IV

2006-12-04T02:16:00.001-05:00

Note: If you haven’t read Toddville Tidewaters Welcome parts I, II, & III, you may want to read those first to make sense of what this final installment means.

After cracking open my beer, I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. As I lit my cigarette, my neighbor across the street pulled up. As he got out of his truck, he yelled over, “So how do you like living here now?”

“It’s an adventure, but fun!” I walked to the middle of the road and struck up a conversation with him. It was my first meeting with our one and only neighbor.

Mr. Dawson turned out to be an elderly man, but I couldn’t tell you how old. I’ve since learned that life on the Eastern Shore must be hard on the natives like Mr. Dawson. Everyone looks a good fifteen years or so older than they really are. Must be from a lifetime of working in the sun as a fisherman or crabber.

We did talk for about a half an hour as a light rain continued to fall in the strong breezes. As we talked, we heard a tree fall behind Mr. Dawson’s house. I reckon the breezes were stronger than I thought, but compared to earlier in the day, I don’t feel right saying it was windy.

From him, I learned that the wind speed from this storm was clocked at 99 mph only a couple of miles from where we stood. And like a typical down-home, Eastern Shoreman, he complained about all the intruders – city folk moving to the countryside.

“I was born and raised down here,” he said, “and even I had trouble knowing where the roads were. All these people move down here and mow all the grass right up to the road to make their yard look nice. Without the grass poking through, how are you supposed to see the road?”

I mostly listened figuring I could learn a lot about the area from him.

The conversation turned to hurricane Isabel a couple of years ago. Where we were standing, Mr. Dawson explained, the water was a good four feet high. He pointed to my house and said the waters were up to the bottom of my windows.

“Looks like we lucked out on this one,” I said.

He agreed.

“Well, I’m getting cold and I’m soaked. I better get on inside.”

I went in and changed clothes. I told Keith all that Mr. Dawson had to say. We reassured each other that most likely, we wouldn’t have much to worry about. Isabel was a record-breaking storm. Even downtown Baltimore got flooded out on that one. The odds of getting another Isabel type storm would be slim, we reasoned, and, besides, we obviously caught the brunt of Ernesto and the floodwaters were way down the road away from our house.

We didn’t have anything to worry about.

I opened another beer and began to unpack. About a half hour after talking to Mr. Dawson, I called Thistle to go outside with me so I could smoke another cigarette. (Ok, no lectures here. Yes, I know – I need to quit smoking.)

I opened the side door and stepped off the step into water above my ankles. Instinctively, I pulled my foot back. “Shit, Keith! We’re in trouble.”

Keith ran to the door. Water completely surrounded our house and was half way up the tires of Keith’s car. I went to the front of the house. The water was up to the top of the porch, and the road where I had been talking to Mr. Dawson a half hour earlier now looked like a river.

The tidewaters found us and came knocking on our door to welcome us.

I checked all around the house to see if any water was coming in. One spot, behind our couch, was damp as if someone spilled a glass of water. Otherwise, there was no water coming in.

I stepped out on our porch and watched the water. I couldn’t tell if it was still rising or not. I needed to know because if it rose only a few more inches, we would have a serious water problem in the house.

Fortunately, Keith likes wine and we had plenty of corks available. I tacked a piece of string to a cork, floated it in the water, and tacked the string taught to the doorjamb.

“There,” I said as I showed Keith my marvel of engineering, “if the water is rising, the string will get loose. If it is falling, the cork will start to slant on end.”

“What good is that? It won’t stop the water from coming in the house. And what about my car?”

He had a point, but it was too late to sandbag the house or move the car. I just needed to know what the water was doing.

Twenty minutes later, I checked the cork. I breathed a sigh of relief. It started slanting downwards – the water level was falling.

We went to bed knowing that for now, we weathered the storm just fine. When we awoke the next morning, the water had disappeared. The tide did run high for the next couple of days, but none of it came close to flooding our house or flooding the roads as badly as the initial storm surge.

For the first time, I had serious doubts about how wise it was to buy this house at such a great deal.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Toddville Tidewaters' Welcome - Part III

2006-11-26T22:18:00.000-05:00

If you have read the first two parts of the Toddville welcome, you’re probably wondering where the third stooge has been hiding throughout this whole play. Two guys can’t move a one-bedroom apartment in a U-Haul and pick-up all in one trip; they finish their move as a tropical storm moves in despite having a whole week prior to the forecasted storm to move; they buy a house where the roads leading to it sit inches above the water and then they wonder if they are going to flood; and then coming home after a major storm, they can’t see the road is flooded and blindly plow right into it.

Summarizing the story like that, I reckon I would wonder where the third stooge in this play is at, too. But there’s something about tidal wetlands that, unless you live there, the picture in your mind of a flooded road is radically different than what actually happens.

At the point we hit the water, the backcountry road, even thought it is the main road, winds its way through the marshlands. There are no streetlights, no stop signs, and only on the real dangerous curves (the near 90°-turns) are there any road signs indicating which way the road goes. Ten of those fifteen miles of road are county-maintained. Once you leave the state-maintained roads, even those warning signs disappear. What’s left to guide you is the yellow center line, which is almost always a double yellow solid since there aren’t many stretches in the road where it’s safe to pass.

Now, the roads are wet because it is still raining outside. As the tide comes in, there is no rush of water spilling across the roads in muddy turbulence. The water simply rises, rather quickly, filling the drainage ditches alongside of the road, overflowing them, and spilling across the road to fill the marsh on the other side. The water is crystal clear because it is the Bay water, not muddy runoff from a hillside or raging stream. The yellow lines never disappear from sight.

That is why we didn’t see the water coming until we hit it.

We inched our way through the water, straddling the yellow line like a jet coming in for landing. All the warning stories ran through our head: “Don’t drive through water if you don’t know how deep it is”, “It only takes inches of running water to float your vehicle away”, and “If the water is rising, get out while you can.”

Turning around was simply out of the question. There is only one way to our house and this was it. We plugged forward. As long as I could see the yellow lines, I figured my truck would make it. And the water certainly wasn’t moving swiftly. The tide was simply coming in.

Less than a minute through the water and we were back on un-flooded pavement. I picked up my speed from a crawl to maybe around 20 mph. We figured other parts of the road must be flooded and we were intent on seeing the water before hitting it.

Whoosh! Less than a mile down the road, we hit water again, and, no, we didn’t see it. Emboldened by the first stretch of water, we inched our way through while straddling the yellow line for guidance.

We crept along, but this time, the water wasn’t disappearing. All the warnings flashed through our heads, again. We began to seriously doubt that we would make it home. We debated about turning around and waiting the flood out in Cambridge.

There was only one problem with that thought. The backcountry road is two-lanes wide with no shoulder to speak of. The pavement ends and a few inches of grassy mud separate the road from the drainage ditch with the marsh and drainage ditch boundaries being blurred. Making a turnaround in broad daylight on a dry road challenges one’s driving skills. I didn’t want to learn through experience that making a turnaround at nighttime on a flooded road is dang near impossible.

We continued forward – Keith holding his breath and every muscle in my body as tight as a funeral drum. What a relief when we hit un-flooded pavement, again. But it wasn’t a time to relax. We had about another ten or so miles to go.

We went a ways down the road when Keith said, “Slow down, looks like water up ahead.”

Sure enough, we hit the water, again, but without the whoosh! this time. We inched our way through the water like we were old pros at this. Keith even bragged that he could differentiate between the wet, un-flooded pavement and flooded pavement. Despite being able to see the yellow lines, the flooded pavement was a shade darker than the un-flooded parts.

I sure as Hell couldn’t tell the difference, not that it mattered this time.

We crawled through the water. Minutes ticked by and we were still in the water. The first mile clicked by and we were still in the water. Finally, dry pavement! It lasted three feet before we were in the water again.

That was the cycle for the next eight or so miles. Our truck became an amphibious vehicle that occasionally hit an un-flooded patch of pavement here and there. Our normal thirty-minute drive stretched to an hour, then an hour and a half. All the while, the tide continued to rise. The yellow line, while still visible, grew fainter. The water was getting deeper.

We passed Carolyn’s Stone House, our landmark meaning we were close to home. Driving through eight miles or so of floodwaters, I definitely needed a beer. My attention was so focused on following the yellow line and praying I wouldn’t lose sight of it, I missed the bar.

“Carolyn’s is closed,” Keith deadpanned.

“Too bad. I need a beer.”

“We’re almost home. You think our house is ok?”

“I guess we won’t know ‘til we get there.”

The yellow line grew fainter and fainter. As we neared the crab house, the lines disappeared. I could estimate where the road was, but one slight mistake and we’d end up in either the marshland or the marina. I stopped, not sure if I should chance continuing, but not really knowing what my alternatives were, either.

Up ahead, I saw another truck coming towards us.

“If he can make it through to there, I should be able to make it through this because we know it won’t get any deeper,” I reasoned.

“Are you sure?”

“Makes sense to me. Either that or the water is getting really deep down there and they’re leaving before they get trapped.”

“Oh God. I hope Thistle’s ok.”

“Worse comes to worse, she always has the second floor to run to. She’ll be safe there.”

We cautiously continued forward. No yellow line, but we weren’t in the marsh or the marina, either, so I figured we were still on the road. As we passed the crab house, the yellow line came back into view.

We both breathed a collective sigh of relief.

We had about two miles more to go to get to the road where we lived. We had long since stopped hitting dry patches of pavement, but at least the yellow line remained visible all the way to our road.

We turned onto our road and it was like entering a black tunnel. There are no yellow lines on our road, no signs, no reflectors, and no streetlights. As far as we could see, the road was a smooth black. Fortunately, no one cut the grass alongside of the road, so the blades poked through the blackness like tiny little buoys. As long as I stayed in the center of the black and kept the blades of grass equidistance on either side of me, I must be in the middle of the road.

Barely going faster than a turtle on a leisurely stroll, I moved through the water. The blades of grass made nice little buoys, but I knew there was one sharp turn in the road, and that cut over a drainage ditch. There would be no grass to mark the road.

As I approached the turn, the grass disappeared, but reappeared on the other side. I was able to judge where the center of the road most likely was and crept through the turn. The water got deeper, but I could still see the grass. As long as I could see the grass blades, I reckoned I would be ok.

We came to our marsh at the end of our property. The headlights revealed un-flooded pavement just past our marsh and where our woods began. For the first time in a solid six or seven miles, we hit un-flooded pavement. We passed our woods and, as our house came into sight, there were no floodwaters in sight.

We parked the truck and the first thing I did was go inside and crack open a beer. I needed one. And we both wanted to celebrate the weathering of our first storm and our house wasn’t even close to being in danger.

Coming next post…while we celebrate and unpack, the tidal waters have their own welcoming in mind.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Toddville Tidewaters' Welcome - Part II

2006-11-14T21:54:00.000-05:00

Our big move-in day was Labor Day weekend. We started moving the week prior, and what a hectic week, to say the least. We should’ve taken the U-Haul experience as an omen of what would come. That experience, though, is a post for another day.

One thing I learned through the whole experience: I’ll never quit my day job and become a professional mover. One U-Haul truckload on Sunday plus a pick-up truckload, and another pick-up truckload on Wednesday, and on Thursday, we still had more junk to move. We went back on Thursday to get the rest of our stuff, and guess what? We still couldn’t get everything in the pick-up truck.

You might think we were moving a mini-estate, but, no, we were moving a one-bedroom apartment. It’s not that we had a lot of junk to move. We just didn’t know how to pack it all.

Thursday, we had to be out of the apartment. Our landlord collected our keys while we were moving and told us to make sure we locked up behind us. “No problem,” we thought, “we only have the one more load and collecting our keys now would save us a trip to the office to turn the keys in.”

Sounded good until we realized that what was left wouldn’t fit in our truck. We had to make a second trip. Fortunately, Keith hadn’t turned in his key to the patio door. We knew we had to take the first load home and turn around to retrieve the last of our crap since we still had a key and midnight was our deadline to be out of the apartment.

None of this sounds like a big deal unless you keep one thing in mind: a one-way trip from Baltimore to our new house is about a two-hour, fifteen-minute drive.

We returned to Baltimore for the last of our stuff at around two in the morning. We loaded it up and headed home. By this time, the leading edge of tropical storm Ernesto made its way into the area. The steady, light rain wetted out junk, but most of what we had wouldn’t have gotten damaged even if we drove home in downpours.

We finished unloading our truck as the more steady rains started falling. It was seven in the morning and we were beat. Neither one of us really wanted to go to sleep because we didn’t know what Ernesto would bring. We rested a bit easier, though, knowing the weathermen had forecasted the storm to move more inland and far west of us. We figured we could deal better with any water problems if we got some rest, first.

We woke up around two in the afternoon. The wind howled and the rain fell in sheets. We had no TV since, somehow, our TV didn’t survive the move. It shorted out the moment we plugged it in. All we had was a little portable radio.

From the looks outside, we sensed Ernesto didn’t go as far inland nor west as the weathermen had predicted. From the reports on the radio, we knew Virginia was hit hard and figured the brunt of the storm hit us.

Our front yard was wet, but no flooding. Around six in the evening, the storm seemed to abate some. Since we had no refrigerator or food, we decided to take our chances and try to head out of the marshlands to get something to eat and buy some cleaning supplies.

We got out with no problems. In fact, we were happy and felt for sure we weathered the storm just fine. We stopped at a little Mom and Pop restaurant in Church Creek and enjoyed a hot, home cooked meal. We went on up to Cambridge to get our supplies and headed home. All tolled, we were gone about two hours.

The rain had subsided to a steady light, almost moderate fall. The winds still blew, but nowhere near what they were earlier in the afternoon. As far as we were concerned, the storm was over and it wasn’t a big deal.

When we got to the end of MD 335, where we turn left to head the fourteen miles back to our house, police had set up a roadblock. It being the weekend, I immediately thought of a DUI checkpoint. I wasn’t worried. Keith was drinking his small bottle of wine, but my beer was in the back of the truck, unopened. At most, I figured the cops would tell me it was illegal for Keith to be drinking, but wave me on since I obviously hadn’t a drop to drink.

I pulled up to the checkpoint. The officer came over with his flashlight shining in my face. “Where you headed?” he asked.

I told him home and he started asking me more questions, including asking to see my driver’s license. “You’re driver’s license says you live in Baltimore,” he said.

“Yes, I know. We literally moved here this morning,” I replied.

“You need to get this changed if you live here.”

“Yes, I know, but it is Labor Day weekend and I doubt I will be getting it done any time soon.”

He handed my license back and waved me on. “Be careful, though. Tides are running high tonight.”

We continued on our way. While it made sense to have a DUI checkpoint on Labor Day weekend, two things didn’t make sense. First, why put a checkpoint way out in the middle of nowhere instead of on a main road? Second, why set up so early, before most people even think of going to a bar?

No, the checkpoint didn’t make sense, but after a mile or so down the road and we hadn’t hit any water, it made more sense than the officer’s warning to be careful of the rising tides. Sure, they do things differently on the Eastern Shore, but the whole DUI checkpoint thing was downright backwards.

We came up to the first set of two, 90-degree turns in the road. On any day, the water on both sides of the road going through the turn is near level with the road surface. As we approached the turn, I told Keith, “If there’s going to be water anywhere, it’ll be here. If it’s not here, then that cop was lying and that really was a checkpoint.”

I inched my way around the turns fully expecting a flood.

Nothing.

As I rounded the last of the two turns, I picked up my speed. “I reckon that was a checkpoint. It doesn’t make sense, but there’s no water here.”

I know sooner made that comment when, “Whoosh!” I hit water. It was deep, too. My truck instantly slowed to a crawl.

Coming next post…the tides keep rising and we’re 15 miles from home

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Toddville Tidewaters' Welcome - Part I

2006-11-09T22:25:00.000-05:00

The best way to welcome you to Toddville is to recreate our welcoming. Sit back and enjoy the ride.

Oh, and you might want to buckle up.

Keith and I found the house back last June. Eight acres priced so cheap, we expected to see a rundown shack, but we had to check it out because the land looked so enticing. (We’re avid gardeners.)

We took a Sunday drive knowing we’d enjoy the day, but not holding out for a promising house. We had been disappointed more than I can count since autumn over offers we could afford, but sounded too good to be true. We expected to fall in love with the area, but turn it down because we couldn’t afford to fix the house up to a livable condition.

Once we exited the highway to find the house, we drove thirty miles through breath-taking woods and tidal marshes on a winding, country road barely two lanes wide. All the way down, the road literally ran less than a foot above the water. Most places through the marshes, the road was only inches above the water mark.

I grew up on the Eastern Shore, but never did I know Maryland had this rugged remoteness to offer. Keith forgot he was in Maryland. The man who loves the mountains of Pennsylvania stared in awe at the sea of grass and the abundant wildlife.

We got our hopes up for a livable house because we knew this is where we wanted to be – on a lot of land and away from people.

To our surprise, the house wasn’t only livable, but looked to be practically new. On Monday, we scheduled a showing and knew we were going to take this newly remodeled 1920 farmhouse.

All summer, we drove down to explore the area and hoped we would get approved for the financing so we could move in. We were, however, concerned about flooding. With the water practically at road level, we thought for sure the place must flood.

Fortunately, we had a week of heavy rains – over a foot of it. If the house flooded, this would be the storm to do it. Heck, people in the city who never worried about flooding were getting flooded. Surely, the house we wanted to buy had to be under water.

We drove down to check it out, not even expecting to get to it because the roads would be flooded out. As we wound our way through the marshes, the water was higher than we had ever seen it, but wasn’t anywhere near flooding the road out. When we got to the house, there was one little puddle in the front yard and that was it. No flooding anywhere.

We were excited, but still had to ask: “Did the house ever flood?”

The owners were forthright. “On bad storms,” they said, “the tide might spill a little bit into the front yard, but the house will stay dry. It only flooded during Isabel. And since we added several truckloads of dirt to the front yard, you probably won’t even have the tides coming up into the yard much anymore.”

Isabel flooded everybody. People who had lived fifty years in their house and never came close to flooding had Isabel filling their living rooms. So a little water might come into our yard once in awhile. Big deal.

We proceeded with the paperwork and on Labor Day weekend, we moved in.

Coming next post…move in day and tropical storm Ernesto’s welcoming.

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article