Three Things

Welcome to Three Thing Thursday, where I share three things, and you share three things - whatever you want.

I'll begin.

1.  Today is Chesapeake Bay Daughter's birthday.  When I asked her what she'd like as a very special breakfast (blueberry pancakes?  an omelet?), she requested Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. I never buy the stuff because I normally burn it make it from scratch, so she considers the boxed version a delicacy and a rare treat.

2. I asked her to contribute to this edition of Three Thing Thursday and encouraged her to say anything that popped into her head, no matter how random.  She noted that she was "swelled up" (Translation:  she's mad; it's one of my father's favorite phrases) because she didn't see a recent episode of Saturday Night Live hosted by her favorite singer, who was Taylor Swift up until this evening.  When I asked her to confirm the favorite singer, she said Katy Perry.  What do I know, I'm just the mother who serves boxed macaroni and cheese for breakfast as a "special birthday treat."  

3.  She also said,  "CBW made popcorn and the next day when serving dinner she spotted the pot with popcorn still in it."

You see, CBW makes popcorn--at least four times a dayweek--the old fashioned way, by pouring oil and kernels into a pot, covering tightly with a lid, and heating on medium-high.  The other night I made an extra large batch to ensure plenty of leftovers for snacks, fixed a bowl for CB Son, and put the lid back on the pot intending to come back later to bag it all up.

Last night upon returning from a very long day, I searched for a clean pot to set aside for today's Birthday Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. I lifted the lid off the pot on top the stove, and there sat all the uneaten popcorn.

I wonder how she feels about day-old popcorn for breakfast.

Now it's your turn.  Please share three things.  Whatever you want.  Anything at all.

Happy Birthday to my precious angel. I love you.

Wandering Wednesday

Today we wander down to my dock, which was built by my father and some of his friends many moons ago. The dock is a museum filled with things that haven't moved or changed since Walter Cronkite delivered the evening news I was a kid.

For example, a bucket full of gill nets is still there in spite of multiple hurricanes and countless nor'easters.

I used to go out with my father on cold, rough days to help him haul those very same nets in.  Although at the time I hated it wasn't particularly fond of those trips, I did learn a lot and in hindsight am very grateful for those times.

No matter how much the wind was blowin', or how cold you were, or how much something on that boat stunk, eventually it was time to turn green  head home and the whole thing was behind you. Plus, how many girls can say their fathers took them to fish gill nets?  (Ann Marie, put your hand down.)

Since I'm not even showing pictures of the gill nets, let's move on to something else, like the view from the old fish cleaning area below.



This was a covered area rigged with disco lights so they could clean at night.  Windows provided protection from the northeasterly winds and horizontal rain.

  My father and his buddies often came home with what seemed like hundreds of fish to clean.We always ran out to the dock to see how many they caught.  But you wouldn't find me hanging around too long once they started cutting. Blech.





Inside the boat house, there are some oyster tongs. Of course, Chesapeake Bay Woman has been known to incorrectly identify things once or twice a week on this blog, but I have no doubt that someone will correct me if I'm wrong.

But to the best of my knowledge, these are oyster tongs.




This is the dock inside the boat house.  I sort of liked all the lines and angles in this particular shot, especially the triangle of sun. The squiggly lines of the rope and that dangling wire add to the fiesta of shapes.  But I tend to say weird things like fiesta of shapes focus in on weird things, so don't pay me any mind.




Speaking of weird, below is a strange angle of the aforementioned fish cleaning table.  Notice the missing dock planks there on the right.

This old dock, while in need of some TLC and attention, is full of many wonderful memories and never fails to make me feel good whenever I go down there for a visit. (Unless that visit is during a nor'easter and I am wading through knee-high tide to retrieve lawn furniture.  For example.)

If you have any fond memories of a dock, please feel free to share them.  If you've ever fished gill nets, I'd like to hear about that too. If you've never heard of gill nets, Ann Marie will explain what they are since I won't be back on here until very late tonight or tomorrow.


Happy Wednesday.

Tuesday Trio

Last week the Mathews cross country team had a meet over in Lancaster, which is across the Rappahannock River just past Kilmarnock.  

("Just past" is a relative term which around here means "just keep on driving, you're not even close.")

This beautiful home stands in a soybean field just before you get to Lancaster High School. I had pulled over on the side of the road, as I always sometimes do, to take these shots from the car.  

Lancaster evidently isn't accustomed to Chesapeake Bay Woman sorts of photographers, the sorts who are extremely paranoid prone to spontaneous roadside stops to take pictures of the lovely scenery.  

They are a very, very suspicious bunch, these Lancasteronians.  An older gentleman gave me a very solid stare from his pickup truck as he drove by.  In the meantime two ladies in their nearby yard paced nervously, one hand over the mouth, the other on the hip, staring.  I felt certain that they were all plotting a siege it was about time for me to put away the camera and head on up the road.  

Anyway, the cross country meet was very successful, and the team has had an outstanding season thus far.  The next two meets (on Wednesdays) will be held at Beaverdam in Gloucester.

In other high school related events, last night I attended a PTA meeting to discuss various fundraising efforts.  As the meeting was coming to an end, the ladies seated at my table started chatting about this and that. All of a sudden, faster than a Sunday shopper trying to get in and out of Food Lion before church lets out,  the topic went from the prom to fruit fly infestations  and the various concoctions and methods that have led to their successful annihilation.  I confessed to waving a white flag a long time ago since the fruit flies have actually set up shop in my icebox (aka refrigerator). Seriously.  Just ask the PTA ladies.  

While most were discussing the effectiveness of vinegar or bleach on the insidious insects, one very clever parent-- a newcomer to Mathews--described her own surely-soon-to-be-patented fruit fly trap.  She places a piece of banana in the bottom of a glass and covers the top with a coffee filter.  Then, when enough are collected, she takes the whole thing outside and shoots it with a machine gun.  

OK, I made up that part about the machine gun, but that's what I would do if I had a machine gun.  And knew how to use it. Even so, the flies would still be back in my house, pointing and laughing.  

No, she takes them outside andshoos them towards her neighbor's house  turns them loose.  I, for one, was very impressed.

Even though it's no longer Ant Season, I was all set to launch into my ant infestation woes and the miracles of Terro, but it was time to go home.  Maybe next time.  

Only in Mathews.

Vanished

Yesterday I spent a good two or three hours writing and editing and rewriting and re-editing a post about the book I'm working on. As opposed to my usual blathering, this post was actually focused and even slightly informative.

Then I accidentally hit a wrong button and the whole thing disappeared except for the one photo above.  All that hard work vanished into thin air.

Sort of like this barn, which was one of my favorites.  I say "was" because it's gone.  Vanished.  Poof.  The other day  I drove by to check on it and perhaps say hello, but there was nothing to admire, nothing to talk to.  Evidently someone tore it down. I'm sure there must have been a good reason even if I can't think of one at the moment.

Rather than continue whining about my precious barn that's gone the two or three hours spent on a blog post that vanished, I will keep this brief and say that at some point in the next week I hope to recreate the post that I lost.  

But in case I get sidetracked by a 100-mile commute to the paying job; cross country meets; soccer games; doctor's appointments; cardiac stress tests because I have heart palpitations PTA meetings; orthodontist appointments; daughter's birthday (Note to self:  Self? It's your daughter's birthday this week.); and more the bottom line on that other post had to do with the reason I'm doing the book.

I am working on this book not because Mathews County needs yet another history book; there are plenty out there.  

I am doing it because there is no book which documents the present-day scenery in contrast to the past, and if someone doesn't hurry up and capture what's here today, there may not be another opportunity because, much like my blog post that evaporated the barn above, buildings might be here today and gone tomorrow.

The other important part of that lost post was a request for photographs from approximately 1975 or earlier from the following broad categories:

1.  Wharves

2.  Churches

3.  Schools

4.  Country Stores/Post Offices

5.  The Court House and Vicinity (including Ward's Corner)

6.  Estates/Plantations/Homes

7.  Other landmarks, including the lighthouse; Donk's, etc.

Now excuse me while I go cry over the loss of this barn the two or three hours of my Sunday I wasted just by pressing the wrong button.

Have a great week.

Sunset

Gwynns Island

September 2010

When was the last time you watched the sun set?

Gustav Says...

Summer ain't over until I say so.

Now back off before I bite you in the knee cap. Or worse.

It's time for my daily dip in the pool.

- G.

For more attitude from Gustav, my mother's killer goose, visit him on Facebook by doing a search for Gustav (no "e") and selecting the beast that resembles the nightmare above.  He's listed as a "public figure," but really he's a public nuisance.

Mathews

" 'Nobody goes through Mathews to get anywhere" is a common saying.  It refers, of course, to the unique geography.  With few exceptions, roads that start in or enter this peninsular county end at the water.

Over the years, the distinction of Mathews as the 'end of the line' has added to its singular quality. Because it is not along the beaten path, people have sought the county out for its special charms.  Mathews has become a haven for retirees, looking for a slower pace in a quiet waterfront setting.

Mathews is a land rich in history that predates the formation of the county in 1791.  In 1776Lord Dunmore, the last royal governor of Virginia, put out to sea after losing the Battle of Gwynns Island. The rivers and inlets of Mathews County served as a base for the Confederate Coast Guard during the Civil War.

But what attracts most people to Mathews--those who move in and the natives who stay--are its picturesque waterways in a hometown atmosphere and its friendly residents.  Some things still haven't changed after 200 years." - From the April 25, 1991, Bicentennial Collector's Edition of the Gloucester-Mathews Gazette Journal.

"Indeed some things haven't changed much after 200 years, and that's a very good thing.  But if there's any way we can get a good Thai or Vietnamese restaurant in town, that would be one change I'd ardently support. Thank you." - CBW

Three Things

Welcome to another edition of Three Thing Thursday, where we share three things related to whatever topics happen to spring to mind. Whatever happens to spring to mind is my normal writing style, true, but at least on Thursdays I make an effort, however futile feeble, to limit the sheer number of random thoughts.

Let's begin.

1. Yesterday I drove through seven different counties (Mathews, Gloucester, King and Queen, York, James City, Middlesex and Lancaster at least once and in a few cases three times) all in one day to accommodate my paying job plus my children's activities.

My blog friend Meg recently dedicated a post to her very lengthy list of activities and responsibilities, and it definitely struck a chord. Yesterday was one of those days, although to keep everything in perspective it was all good--very good--just very frenetic. Frantically frenetic, to be redundant for effect.

2. This weekend is the Guinea Jubilee.

Folks, if you don't know about Guinea, in neighboring Gloucester County, click here for some background. The Jubilee is not to be missed. Except that I have missed it, every single year of its existence. And for this I am truly sorry, honestly.

I'd give my eye tooth to attend the Guinea Jubilee, but I'm sure as heck not going by myself, and nobody has ever invited me to go, plus I think we have a soccer game or some such, but in the future if anyone wants to go just let me know and I'm there.

(Insert sounds of multiple sirens going off-- it's the Grammar Police! They are writing me a ticket for the World's Worst/Longest Run-On Sentence. This is all due to the day I had which was conducive to utter exhaustion rather than logical, coherent thoughts and cogent, succinct statements.)

3. According to the Schedule of Events at the Guinea Jubilee, we can expect the following to happen tomorrow night:

Friday 3-10 pm
	3:00 pm	Arts & Crafts and food booths open	Festival Grounds
		Children's Rides
	7:00 pm	Entertainment: Crazy X Band	Main Stage
	10:00 pm	Bubba Takes Darlin Home

In other words, after the crazy band plays and darkness falls, you'd better get yourself on home, darlin'. Pronto.

No offense intended to Guineamen, Bubbas or Darlin's. Honestly.

Now it's your turn. Please share three or more things on any topic you want, regardless of its connection to a bubba, a darlin' or to Guinea.

Wandering Wednesday

Today's little trip is down Beaverlett, and yes indeedy, that is a real name.

From Heres have heard of Beaverlett but most Come Heres (depending on how long ago they arrived) will struggle to find it on the local map. Just like Blakes, Redart or Peary, Beaverlett is an area that once had its own post office. At some point over the years the post office shut down, but the name still lives.

Beaverlett--very broadly defined because as you know I have ADD am not fond of details and specifics--is somewhere between Diggs, Onemo, Port Haywood and Close Enough.

(For those who know the exact road names and route numbers or who can recite the latitude and longitude, just substitute those details where Close Enough appears in the previous sentence. Thanks for your understanding and cooperation. )

The house above appeared on this blog many moons ago, but I just had to stop and take its portrait again. She posed very patiently while I snapped away. This is another place that just begs to have its story told. What is that story? What went on here?

Another lovely structure.

This was not my neck of the woods growing up. As a kid I might have come down this way never once or twice, so I have no insight or remarks whatsoever on any of this other than to say I admire the buildings and really want to go inside them.

Finally, I leave you today with a photo that best describes the content of my brain this blog post, which leaves the reader more than slightly confused and wondering not only which way (s)he's going, but where (s)he's just been.

When you figure it out, let me know.

p.s. Actually, I can sorta tie this together somehow. Later this same day, after taking the shots above, I drove to check on an old barn that I fell in love with a long time ago. Much to my horror, there were all sorts of workers and maintenance folks milling around outside, and the barn was gone. Gone. Completely gone, not one scrap left. So perhaps today's rambling post is a tribute to old buildings that may be here today but gone tomorrow without any warning.

Later when I have more time I'll post the picture of the barn that's now gone.

I hate seeing these buildings go.

Tuesday Trio

Most everyone around here knows this was the scene of an unfortunate incident not terribly long ago. A long story short, a young person's life ended on or near this property.

In spite of that tragedy, I've always been drawn to this cute little house and can never seem to drive by without stopping to take a picture.



Or two.

Or twelve three.

Such a tiny little house surely has some stories to tell, and I want to know what they are.

Perhaps my two one local reader can share some background. Previously I posted a photo of this house and recall someone leaving an informative comment, but finding that post would take some digging.

For anyone else reading, what's the smallest house or apartment you ever lived in?

My answer: When I was a baby my parents and I lived in a trailer next to the barn on our property now. In college I spent one year trapped in a closet in an apartment that consisted of a bed and a hot plate and not much more.

Surprises

I just love surprises, of any description. To me some of the best times in life are those which are not planned or anticipated. Unless we're talking about finding a caterpillar on one's pillow, which is exactly what happened to me last night. No lie.

Over a week ago, I went to Mobjack to photograph some churches, an old school and a wharf. Along the way were many unexpected scenes starving for attention, including this building which sits right next to the Bohannon post office.

Since traffic is nonexistent light in this neck of the woods, I pulled over across the road and started taking pictures. This window was particularly charming; the curtains, unexpected.

Someone who's been here a while can tell me what this place was, but I'm going to guess a filling station or a store. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Regardless, it was an unexpected gift on my photographic journey.

Just like Friday last, when I was supposed to go to the library to do some research. The sunshine was brilliant, as it was in the shots above, so I never made it to the library just had to sneak in a few pictures. Except I wasn't sure where to go. I never am.

So I just drove on through the Court House and arbitrarily made a left at the Convalescent Center where I'll be living in a few short years. The road took me past the Tabernacle and then twisted this way and that.

All of a sudden, while debating which way to turn at an intersection, I noticed a man working on a tractor in the field and recognized him as Mr. C., someone I've loved from afar known for decades.

He jumped over the ditch as I came to a stop in the middle of the road. Leaning in to my open passenger-side window he began a conversation which lasted a good ten minutes. No, it was a great ten minutes. We talked. We laughed. We reminisced. And then we laughed some more. I could have stayed there in the middle of the road all day long. Talking and laughing.

Although I could write a book on our conversation, and maybe I will some day, my favorite part went like so:

Mr. C: Where are you headed this fine mornin'?

CBW: I don't know exactly. Wherever the wind blows me.

Mr. C: That's the very best place to go.

Indeed it is.

I'm almost always very pleasantly surprised.

Silent Sunday

"Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead. "

Louisa May Alcott

"Never look down to test the ground before your next step; only he who keeps his eyes fixed on the horizon will find the right road."

Dag Hammarskjold

"It's another gorgeous weekend here. Go out and enjoy the fresh air and try not to think about the piles of dirty laundry the start of the work week tomorrow. Also, if you're going to fix your eyes on and take steps towards the horizon above without looking down, you may want to consider wearing a flotation device."

Chesapeake Bay Woman, mumbling to herself

Bohannon

This delightful old place sits on the side of the road in Bohannon, which is part of the greater Mobjack metropolitan area.

Just typing "the greater metropolitan Mobjack area" makes me chuckle.

May your weekend be chock full of sunshine and chuckles.

Grace-Providence Church

The road leading into the Mobjack vicinity rolls past majestic old farmhouses, quaint little homesteads and beautiful fields full of this and that until finally it comes to a stop where the East and North Rivers converge and spill out into the Mobjack Bay. There, in the cutest little neighborhood, lives Grace-Providence United Methodist Church, shown above. See how close it is to the water?

Instantly drawn to this church's beauty which was punctuated by the brilliant sunshine, I immediately pulled over on the side of the road and started snapping away.

Then, realizing this was not going to be a quick pit stop, I convinced myself to get back into the car and pull up into the church's parking lot.

(This was mainly to avoid all the awkwardness that comes with being parked on the side of the road. People tend to gawk, not that I saw a single soul down there. But trust me. They gawk, then they glare. They think I'm up to no good, so I hold my camera way up high and smile while repeating over and over to myself, "The road is public property. The road is public property," until paranoia officially sets in, and I wonder who they're calling on their cell phone because no doubt it's the sheriff. But that's not what I'm talking about here today.)

(Anyway.)

But guess what? There is no parking lot at Grace-Providence Church. Not a single one.

At first this surprised me, but only for a second.

You see, there really is absolutely no reason to drive to this church if you live in this delightful little neighborhood. There are only about 3 streets lined with homes, and not a single house is more than a cartwheel or two away.

(If you're not into doing cartwheels, then just know it's within walking distance. If you can maneuver around WalMutant (with or without a scooter), you can walk to Grace-Providence from any of these homes. Of course any day now I expect to see a train inside WalMutant to carry passengers from the front door to the milk and egg section, for example. But hopefully that won't be in my life time, and if it is--even if I have two broken legs-- I will crawl on my elbows through that store before I ride a scooter or a train through there. I just want to make that clear. Thank you. But of course this isn't what I wanted to talk about either.)

(Anyway.)



Below is a shot of the church from the opposite end of the road, close to the water.


This church was just loaded with surprises, one of which is the stained glass window below. The nautical theme is so appropriate for a waterfront church overlooking the site of an old wharf.

In closing, I'd just like to say that I predict a transit system inside WalMutant within the next decade I loved studying the exterior of Grace-Providence Church and hope to explore the interior some day soon.

Very soon.

Three Things

It's time once again for Three Thing Thursday, where you're encouraged to share three (or more) things, and I share three things, on any topic at all.

Here we go.

1. Although it's been comin' on for about two weeks now, the leaves are starting to turn and I can no longer deny it. Although I'm not vehemently opposed to fall, summer has always been my favorite. Perhaps if fall and winter didn't equate to utter and complete despair darkness (i.e. leave for work in the dark, drive to work in the dark, work in the dark return home in the dark and want to fall face first into bed and sleep until spring), I'd have a better attitude. Because I can and do appreciate the cooler temperatures, but the lack of daylight? No can do.

2. I also dread the disappearance of all the green. In the field above, which is in Cardinal, you can see the fall-like color creeping into that grass. Far below, that red leaf nestled in the most perfect patch of sunlight ever is further indication that the trees are slowly letting go of their summer finest. Fall colors are pretty, yes, but I much prefer the vibrant life green of summer.

3. This evening Chesapeake Bay Daughter has her first soccer game (away, at Chesapeake Academy over in Irvington.) This will be her first game without her older brother, who is now at a different school. However, she'll be on offense with two boys she's played soccer with since preschool. They call themselves the Triangle of Awesomeness. (Clearly there's no need for concern in the confidence department.)

Actually, they really are an incredible trio on offense. Not only are they great athletes but they've also played together for so long they communicate like bats, with sonar or something. They have this secret, unspoken language and it's incredible to watch them play. I cannot wait.

(Dear Chesapeake Academy Faculty and Parents, I apologize in advance for all the hollering and screaming I will be doing from the sidelines. If I could help it I would, but I can't, so I won't. Thanks for understanding.)

Now it's your turn. Please tell us something about fall, about soccer, about hollering on the sidelines or better yet about something completely unrelated. Just tell us something.

Wandering Wednesday

As opposed to describing my writing style, the wandering this Wednesday refers to the joys of exploring the many back roads in Mathews; taking some time to meander aimlessly through life down quaint little byways and nameless lanes, leisurely stopping to check for No Trespassing signs take in the sights which can't be seen from the main road.

Last week's trip to Mobjack was rife with side trips down lanes that just begged to be explored. When I'm driving somewhere unfamiliar and cute little roads are waving and jumping up and down, hollering for me to come in and take a look around, who am I to say no?

I've already forgotten the name of this wharf, probably because I could barely focus on anything over and above the No Trespassing signs posted everywhere I can't remember my own name most days, but the road had "mill" in the name. Or "factory." Or "Fig Newton," I don't know, it's a detail I just didn't focus on and cannot remember. Plus I'm too lazy to pull out the map.

So, in conclusion, it turns out that the wandering does indeed apply to my writing, my thinking and, now, my driving.

Pass the Fig Newtons.

The End.

A Tuesday Trio

The other day on the way home from Mobjack I got lost turned down a road I might have been on never once before in my life.

The sunlight was perfect, so I was stopping every few feet yards to take pictures. Thankfully, there's not a lot of human beings traffic down that way, so pulling over on the side of the road isn't such a big deal.

Here are three different shots of the same barn.

Which one do you prefer and why?

If you can't stand any of them have no preference or would just rather talk about something else, when was the last time you were inside a barn?

I like the first one because the telephone pole and the trumpet creepers provide a soft frame, and the main elements are in better proportion with one another. But I also like that picture of dogs sitting around playing poker, so pay no mind to me.

The last time I was in a barn was when I borrowed my parents' Cub Cadet, which they park in their barn. You have to dodge and deflect jug hornets to get in and out of there (all while trying to start the tractor), but if you're quick on your feet and used to dodging geese, for example, you have nothing to worry about except some residual psychological trauma and the occasional flashback.

Paper Can

The other day, hoping to take advantage of the incredible weather, I drove to Mobjack to photograph some churches, post offices and country stores.

Going down Mobjack is like going to New Point or anywhere in Mathews or Hallieford, for example. At some point the road dead ends, usually at a body of water. The road leading in to Mobjack dead ends at the cleverly named Mobjack Bay. On one side of the peninsula leading in is the East River, and on the other side is the North River. The geography lesson portion of this post is now over.

In addition to the obvious beauty of the water, the old houses and the soybean fields, there were many unexpected surprises, such as the old paper cans above. Right near where the wharf used to be, overlooking the water, these paper cans stand stoically.

Nobody uses paper cans anymore; they've been replaced by plastic newspaper boxes. But I have a friend who still says he's going to get the paper from the paper can even though it's long been replaced by a plastic box.

And I like that.

After very thoroughly photographing every square inch of this area, including this shot of a _________ * above, I got back in the car and headed out.

*My first reaction was a safe. Then I thought maybe it was an old ice box. Then I changed my mind. It's a safe. Definitely. Probably. Maybe.

No matter what it is, the photo is here because of the similarities it shares with the paper cans, including the one below which was about half mile away from the others.

They're rusted reminders of days gone by, and they live in a place where nobody's in a hurry to toss them out or throw them in the trash. They're free to stay where they are for as long as they want even if they've long outlived their original purpose.

And I like that.

Grace

This is the steeple of a church called Grace down Mobjack, Virginia.


Below is a picture of a triangle within a triangle within a triangle within a triangle the steeple of a church called Grace.

A close-up of all those triangles.

More photos from this quaint church and my trip to Mobjack will be forthcoming later in the week.

In the mean time, Market Days was a blast, especially last night's street dance. It was great seeing old friends, and I don't know when I've laughed so much. The crowd I was with could very easily have a stand-up comedy routine and become millionaires, they are just that funny.

Enjoy the day and be sure to get some laughter in. It's good for the soul.

Market Days, Part Deux

People? Above is the Number One reason to go to Market Days today.

This lady, who has clearly upstaged Chesapeake Bay Woman with the entire crab ensemble, was at the Gwynn's Island Festival back in June. She and I got into a little wrangle when our crab hats started fighting with each other. It was all in good fun.

But now I see she not only has the hat, she has The Outfit. The whole shebang, the crab ensemble. And she's wearing it to Market Days.

And now I must have the whole shebang. Must.

In spite of my jealousy issues over this outfit, I implore you to head to the Court House not only to ask this lady where she acquired The Crab Ensemble to compliment this lady on her impeccable attire and superb sense of style, but to visit the street pictured below, which is informally known as Funnel Cake, Crab Cake and French Fry Heaven.

And it's also the scene of tonight's Barn Dance street dance featuring Richard Smith.

Be there or be square.

Aloha.