Yacht Club

At the end of Route 696 along the banks of Stutts Creek in Redart is a place called the Yacht Club.

(Even though that sign clearly states Mathews Yacht Club, we call it the Yacht Club. Since we're standing in Mathews and there's only one yacht club, we feel it is a bit ridiculous to call it the Mathews Yacht Club.  Well, maybe I'm the only one who has ever reflected on this topic before, but I know what I know, and that is I've never once heard anyone call it the Mathews Yacht Club even if it is clearly documented on this and other signs on the property. 

Now, for all I know, the members congregate every week and sing an anthem whose chorus repeats "Mathews Yacht Club" over and over again.

Still, it's just the Yacht Club to us Regular Folk.

Who here is ready to stampede out of this blog if CBW doesn't move along and stop obsessing over this irrelevant background information?

CB Mother, put your hand down.)

Most of the people I grew up with have been to the Yacht Club at least once whether they were members or not--and most of them weren't.

The building above, in addition to holding regular events for members, is often rented out for wedding receptions, class reunions, anniversaries, and other special occasions. My tenth high school reunion was here, and I believe that was the first time I'd ever been inside the clubhouse.

The immediate Chesapeake Bay Family was not exactly known to run in the Yacht Club-type circles, which is perhaps best exemplified by our recent Thanksgiving celebration at the Golden Corral. Not that there's anything wrong with that.  Still, that's probably not something you'd want to put on your application for membership at the Yacht Club.

But I digress.

My paternal grandparents may have had some involvement with the Yacht Club, I don't recall. CB Mother perhaps can fill in those gaps.

The bottom line is the Yacht Club doesn't just let Any Old Body join, and if memory serves there used to be lots of old bodies quite the waiting list for people interested in joining.

Full-fledged Yacht Club members are able to take advantage of the marina, the bar/dining area, and the swimming pool. They're also able to use terms like "Rear Commodore" without batting an eye or stifling a snicker.

That last sentence is Reason # 56 that Chesapeake Bay Woman would never be allowed in as a member of the Yacht Club, right after Reason # 55, which covers her defensive basketball/boxing out moves around the mashed potato tray at the Golden Corral on Thanksgiving.

The swimming pool.

Back when I was coming along, two places offered summer pool memberships:  the Islander and the Yacht Club.  Presumably the Yacht Club was for members only.

The Chesapeake Bay Family went to the Islander, a heavenly paradise that had to be experienced to be fully understood.

Occasionally, though, I'd come to the Yacht Club as someone's guest and will always associate this pool with one thing and one thing only:  salt water.

Of course the salt water was treated, but if you happened to lick your lips or whatever while swimming there was no mistaking the salt. That always struck me as odd, perhaps because nothing but salt water surrounds Mathews County and the very last thing I'd expect to taste when jumping into a swimming pool is salt.  That salt water, which tasted just like the creek, caused me to instinctively worry about things like stinging nettles and crabs. And eels.  We have eels in our creek.

I don't think I ever found any, of course, but the association detracted from my ability to fully relax, that's for sure.

Back in the early 2000s, the Chesapeake Bay Children took swimming lessons here.  I'll never forget the instructor telling me that Daughter should try out for a swim team.  She was about five at the time. Mathews doesn't have a swim team, though.

Nor a dive team, which was what I was practicing for over on the Islander's diving board during the summers of my teen years. I could do a one and a half, a half gainor, back dives, back flips--Lord I loved going off that diving board.

Once again, I digress.

Out back there is a small marina.

Note the sign that says MYC.

Thanks to my recent illness, which allowed me nothing but chicken broth and crackers for the past 48 hours, my brain evidently has turned into cracker meal automatically launches into the Mickey Mouse Club song:

M-Y-C....See ya real soon!

K-E-Y...Why?  Cuz we like you!

Em Oh You Ess Eeeee.

The above is reason # 88 that CBW will never be considered for membership to this or any other club. Although she may have a decent shot at the Mickey Mouse Club, if she were interested.

Stutts Creek

For the history of the Mathews Yacht Club, click here.