The Ice

Sunday was bitterly cold here in Mathews, but the sun was out in all her finery.

Her rays danced off the thin coat of shimmering ice on Queens Creek, and I spent a great deal of time just sitting on the dock, absorbing the quiet and admiring the light show.

This is a zoomed-in shot of one of the boats in our cove, and strangely enough there happened to be a big vulture/turkey buzzard/hawk/super-sized crow or some other large black bird perched right there on a dock post beside the workboat.

But with all there was to take in and absorb, the ice stole the show.

Back when I came along in the 1950s 1970s the creek--and the bay for that matter--would freeze over frequently. We're not talking a slushy ice, we're talking ice that you could stand on. Skate on (with your feet stuffed into plastic bread bags inside your mother's over-sized work boots, just as an example). Tap dance on. Stomp on. And yes, drive a car on if one were so inclined.

Besides all the fun and entertainment a frozen creek provided us youngsters (click here for an ice skating story I'll never forget), there's one thing I'll always think of whenever I see ice on the creek.

When we had a big freeze, my father would go out--sometimes twice a day--to break the ice around each dock post. You see, when ice that thick freezes, it grips pretty tightly to the poles supporting the dock. That's all well and good until the tide comes in and pushes the ice--and the dock poles--up. And up some more. Until your dock is deformed. Next thing you know, you're having to hire someone to pound the poles back into the mud and rebuild your dock. This is definitely not a good thing. Definitely not.

In the 9 years since I've been back here, we've never had to worry about breaking the ice around dock poles because good, hard freezes just don't happen.

But every now and then we'll have a slight freeze like this weekend, and the memories of slipping and sliding on the ice with our feet stuffed in bread bags come flooding back.

And I wonder who came up with the brilliant idea of putting bread bags over one's socks, because everybody did it. At least around here.

What memories do you have of wearing bread bags on your feet ice and/or ice skating?

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In other news, as I write this it's way, way late at night, and I have not been able to focus on anything except survival yesterday's Name that Ghost Contest. However, before the end of the week, we'll have ourselves a properly named ghost. Because that's what we do around here to distract ourselves from the things life throws our way. We hold contests to name ghosts.

By the way, it's not too late to submit an entry, seeing as I can't focus on anything it until later this week, when--oh by the way--this lovely lady, this lovely lady, this lovely lady and I are headed north of the Mason Dixon Line to visit her, her, her and her. And the weather will be just dandy, and Amtrak schedules will not be impacted.

Pardon me while I prepare my acceptance speech for the Worst Blog Post Written While Asleep Most Consecutive "Hers" in One Sentence contest.