Wandering Wednesday: The Harcum Edition

This is the old service station at Harcum, in neighboring Gloucester County.  The road from which this photo was taken leads down to a public landing on the Piankatank River.

Welcoming you down to the river and the landing is this gorgeous barn, which I've photographed before at a different time of year.

It is physically impossible for me to drive past this barn without stopping to say hello, so I did.

Just past the barn at the end of the road is the Piankatank River and the public landing.  And something I wasn't expecting at all:  persimmon trees.

There were more of them lining the shoreline here than I've seen in many a day, and the persimmons were ripe for eating.

If you've never had persimmons before, they're just as sweet as candy--but only the ones which have dropped to the ground.

If you eat a persimmon that isn't quite ripe?

Your mouth turns inside outwards; your tongue curls backwards; your eyes roll back in your head; and you stomp the ground profusely--all the while gasping for breath and crying for your Mumma (pronounced muh' muh).

Note:  This is the same reaction most people have to CBW's cooking, too.

The persimmons were such a nice surprise. (Above is an example of one that's ready for eatin'.)

They remind me of my childhood when I'd roam around the yard  looking for anything to eat the fallen delicacies.  Those trees have long died or been cut down.

Hoping to share these memories with my children, I picked up a few and put them in the car.  Later that evening after picking Son and Daughter up from their after-school activities, I handed them some to sample.

Much to my surprise they snatched them up and gobbled them down like it was old hat.  When I asked them if they'd had them before, they said, "Yep. You gave us some once. Or twice.  A few times, actually." Then they proceeded to recite my own persimmon story back to me.

My forgetfulness incessant repetition is paying off.  Maybe one day they will share persimmon stories with their children.

Hopefully they'll gloss over the part about their mother's cooking  their mother telling the same stories over and over again.

Have you ever had a persimmon? Have I already asked you this before? 

Wandering Wednesday: The Court House Edition

Today's wandering takes us to the court house, also called the village by those of us who aren't from here.  Those who are from here would simply say, "I"m going up the road to the store" which implies the court house but never the village.  Just wanted to make that distinction.

Bridging the language gap can be burdensome, but someone's got to do it.

Above is Fosters Department Store, or at least it used to be back in my day. It's changed hands several times since then and so help me there is now a sign referencing one Mathews Film Society that appears to have taken up residence.

I never thought I'd live to see the day. What does a film society do? Is popcorn involved? Raisinettes? Cinema as an Art Form was one of my best classes in college, and I can analyze color and lighting and scenes as well as anyone as long as wine popcorn is involved.

Below is the strip that includes Fleets, that little brick building with green awnings on the corner. Fleets was a very straight forward, uncomplicated restaurant that had a teeny, tiny little bar tucked away in the corner between the restrooms and the kitchen.

You see, you could drink in Mathews, but nobody was supposed to know about it.  So to keep those drinkers confined and entertained in that tiny 2x4 drinking area, they decided to put up a dart board, because nothing says epicurean adventure like having to dodge darts hurled by people who have been drinking since 1972 noon.

Still, I liked Fleets just fine. And it will always be Fleets no matter what Nom du Jour beckons from the sign outside.

Above is the public library, where I spend a good hour three or four hours each week doing research. If you ever drive by on a Thursday or Friday and see a green Saturn parked out front, go up to the Chesapeake Room and look for the one and only person in there (other than the nice folks who help the unemployed find jobs which CBW wants to do when she retires which will be in approximately the year 3056). If her eyes are bloodshot and she looks stressed you can rest assured she is she's wondering how in the world she's going to locate enough old photographs for the project she's working on.

Or, she's wondering what's for dinner. Either/or.

 This building used to be the Farmers Bank of Mathews, where I had my very first bank account. Before moving here, the library was located in the building where the sheriff's office was before the new court offices opened up on the site of the old Lee Jackson Elementary School.

Please try to control your excitement at these mind-numbing fascinating facts, and thank you for pretending to be awake.

For my one local reader, do you remember when the court house (aka the village, aka our commercial district) shut down half a day on Wednesdays and all day on Sundays?  And there was no such thing as Walmutant.  Pretty much if you didn't have it  you just did without until things opened back up the next day.

For anyone else, how would you describe the downtown or village area where you grew up? And have you ever heard of a commercial area referred to as a court house?  This isn't unique to Mathews, but it may well be unique to this region.  There's Gloucester Court House, King and Queen Court House, etc., but I'm not sure how many others.  I'm just curious.

Last but not least, the MHS cross country team runs this evening at Beaverdam in Gloucester.

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.

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.

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.