Spring Break

This endearing structure lives in a field near the end of the road at Freeport, just up the road from Mathews. I stopped in recently on my way home from having lunch with a friend in Saluda.

The wonderfully weathered wood and the vestiges of vines made it impossible for me to drive by without stopping to say hello and take a few shots.

Pretty soon, the weather will take its turn towards warm, and the weeds will take over my house greenery will take over everything.

There are signs that the process has already started.

I just returned from a once-in-a-lifetime cruise with Baby Sister, which is why this blog hasn't been updated in a while.  On board, we saw tons of live music from bands of the 1970s, including Firefall, Ambrosia, Little River Band, Player, Orleans, and my favorite:  Peter Frampton.  Although the best days were the ones at sea, we also visited Cozumel and Key West.

Now, it's a slow return to the town called Normal Life, where my workload will gradually increase, and much of my spare time will be devoted to work for the Mathews County Visitor and Information Center.

But I do still vow to keep up with this blog.

I hope all is well in your neck of the woods.

More Green

In addition to the nightly thunderstorms soybeans,
the corn crops are doing their part to contribute
to all the green we're enjoying around here lately.  

These particular fields live near Freeport Landing in Gloucester.

Just past the corn are some soybeans.

I took these Friday evening on my way to join friends (including her) in hoppin' downtown West Point, Virginia, about 30 minutes away.  A band was playing in their Town Square.  What an enjoyable way to spend a Friday evening. West Point also happens to be home to none other than the paper mill  the crab carnival, which I hope to attend this year for the first time.  Guess which hat I'll be wearing.

And yes, once again, a blog which is supposed to be about Mathews is talking about some other place.

Dear Mathews County, 

I do love you. Really. 

Hugs,
CBW

Three Things

Near Freeport Landing in Gloucester.

On this blog, Thursdays are usually reserved for the sharing of three or four things.

1. Last night I heard from three separate sources that an emu has been spotted in Mathews.

2. Last night I purchased tickets to a summer concert in Virginia Beach for my daughter and son.

3. Last night I purchased two tickets to Bora Bora and am excited to report these glad tidings from my over-water bungalow  which comes not only with room service but a bank account that encourages reckless napping abandon.

4.Only one of the above statements is untrue, FYI.

Now it's your turn to share three things, even if it's just a wish.

This alarmingly brief blog post is brought to you by (1), (2), a stressful week, and the utter and complete impossibility of (3) above.

A close-up of the window above.

Freeport Landing

Recently, on the way to West Point to attend the West Point Mosquito and Gnat Festival a track meet, I pulled down one of my favorite places in Gloucester County: Freeport Landing on the Piankatank River.

If you polish up your telescope squint,
you can see the house pictured below waaaaay off in the distance.
(Or click on the image for a better view.)

Love the double chimneys.
Did you know that some people in Mathews pronounce them "chimbleys"?
It's true. Just ask my neighbor.

This is the actual landing part of Freeport Landing.

Aside from my relentless mentioning of Freeport as the place where my German ancestor(s) on my mother's side jumped off the boat into Gloucester County, there's very little mention of Freeport Landing that doesn't involve the state of Maine, if one conducts a quick Google search.

Here's one recent Gazette-Journal article that mentions it. (Incidentally, the Hatch referenced in the article taught in the Mathews County school system back in the 1980s. His wife was also involved in the school system, if memory serves.)

Several blog posts on this site mention Freeport: here and here and here, for example.

Dear Gloucester Expert known as Chesapeake Bay Mother, can you fill us in on any significant memories/ knowledge of Freeport Landing?  

Muchisimas gracias.

Love, CBW

Freeport

Yesterday on my way home from a very nice trip out of town, I stopped down Freeport Landing, which is in the next county over.

This charming structure lives there...

...right next to a very healthy crop of corn.

The building beseeched me to come in and take a look around, but a youngster on what appeared to be a homemade minibike made me think twice about getting any closer.

I mean really.  The thing this kid was riding looked like a chair seat strapped onto a scooter frame, held together with paper clips, crazy glue, and rubber bands--with a lawnmower engine powering it.

Not that I know a lawnmower engine from a jet engine, but it sure sounded like a lawn mower. Perhaps it was just my subconscious reminding me how much the grass needs cutting here at Casa de CBW, which, by the way, does not get done when I'm lollygagging down Freeport Landing after being away from home all weekend. For private lessons in how to avoid any and all work, please dial 1-800-CBW-Procastinates.

Why I didn't get a picture of that is beyond me, except that I was probably in shock at what I was seeing and perhaps even a little afraid the kid was going to ask me what I was doing nosing around, even though I was the one who had all the questions, including "Have I slipped into some parallel universe where people spring spontaneously from the middle of corn fields riding some homemade death trap right when I'm about to take a peek inside a very quaint building?" Or better yet, "What in the world is that, young man, and does your mother know what you've done to her chair?"

Anyway, enough about the homemade minibike. We now return to the topic at hand which is procrastination Freeport Landing.

The two few of you who have been reading for a while know that every time I talk about Freeport Landing I am compelled to mention for the ten thousandth time record that my mother's German ancestor fell off stepped off the boat there.

And if he'd seen that crazy kid on the homemade minibike, he might have jumped right back on the boat and headed home.

The End.


To see how many times I've mentioned my German ancestors To read some of my other posts about Freeport, click here or here.  Click here for a 2009 post featuring a photo of the building above. Have a great Monday.

Connections

Here are some more shots from Sunday morning's saunter around an old homestead over near Glenns in neighboring Gloucester County.

There are I-don't-know-how-many acres associated with this place.  The original property, according to my friend Alda, included land that went all the way to Freeport Landing.

In case you haven't heard, one of my German American ancestors hopped off the boat at Freeport after what I'm sure was an enchanting final leg of the trip up the Piankatank River.  Every chance I get I mention that, and today marks about the 568th time I've done so!

In other genealogical news, we're also kin to Wayne Newton, although we don't usually admit that talk much about all that other than the forty two couple of times I've mentioned it here. That particular branch of the Family Tree involves my mother's side, some kin to a clan that settled in or near Fredericksburg.  

(The Chesapeake Bay Children need to know these things, it's important.  Or, as my father says, "It's  somethin', all right.")

Chesapeake Bay Mother, not at all lacking in the singing and showmanship department, can provide further details of the Wayne Newton Connection.  

Let's move along now to another subject, such as our blog post, which--last time I checked--has nothing to do with lounge singers or Red Roses for a Blue Lady .  

Danke Shoen.

In some strange twist of fate which always seems to wrap itself around Chesapeake Bay Woman, I happened to be sitting at a stoplight last night on my ride home from work, when I heard someone hollering at me from the adjacent car.

This happens on the Route 17 corridor from time to time.  You can be in your own little world, running down your mental checklist of who needs to be where, when, and what's going on tomorrow, and what's for supper tonight, and how one gets last year's pollen off this year's dashboard, and who is going to let the dog out, and how you're going to get the smell of musty, mildewed laundry out of your room since you left a wet load in there for a week--when all of a sudden you're interrupted by a friendly holler at a stoplight.

It was my friend Alda's husband, Lawrence.  Or Lawrence, my friend Alda's husband. In other words, it was Lawrence! His family owns the property photographed above.  

He was on his way home from work too.

I rolled down my window and in the amount of time it took for the light to change from red to green, we had a nice conversation about how he's been, how she's doing, and how life was going in general. He filled me in on their recent vacation, and I completely forgot to mention my visit to his property the day before.  (She told me a while ago I could take pictures there, so I knew it was OK.)

When you're sitting at a stoplight in the middle of Route 17, trying to work your way through mental checklists that involve mildewed laundry, sometimes it's hard to focus on anything other than driving home the most superficial, cordial conversation.  Nothing too heavy or in-depth, that's the rule of thumb for conversation at a Route 17 stoplight.

Anyway, the light turned green, windows were rolled back up, gas pedals were depressed, and all eyes returned to the monotony of the commute home.


The End.