Just Another Day

The weather this past weekend was nothing short of perfect.  

In between various necessary chores*,  I rode over to Deltaville with my friend Thomas Buchanan,

who drove all the way from Pennsylvania just to take me to dinner on Saturday.
That's just how nice and thoughtful he is.

This sailboat was quietly soaking in the beauty of the blue skies and the slowly setting sun.

*Some of the necessary chores on Saturday included weeding the beds in the back of my house, where I perhaps naively intend to plant some tomatoes, peppers and cilantro this week on my "days off" from work.

(Although I gave myself Saturday evening and Sunday off, all I've done is work around here otherwise, and there is so much that still needs doing. It's rather depressing.)

Hoping to multitask and catch some rays while weeding, I donned a two-piece bathing suit, cranked up the iPod for musical motivation, and focused intently on the waist-high weeds in the heat of the late morning sun.

Memorial Day weekend is a very busy one on Queens Creek.  If the neighbors aren't lounging on (or diving off) their docks, the boaters are busy pulling gleeful tubers and boarders at wide-open speeds or trolling for fish.  Or just cruising along admiring the scenery.

Sometimes that scenery can be frightening one-of-a-kind.

In between mopping the sweat from my brow and fending off ants and other creepy crawlies while laboriously plucking weeds in the gradually overbearing heat, secretly seething inside that all these other people were out enjoying the very creek I only admire from my yard--on a holiday weekend no less--I noticed peripherally that a boat was slowly approaching my shoreline.

Oh please don't let this be someone I know, I thought.

I was covered in dirt, sweating profusely, and wearing a two-piece bathing suit as if I ought to be even though I shouldn't be--a combination in very clear violation of Rule #2 in the You're Almost 50 Even If You Feel 18 So Just Stop It Now-- Please! book.

It's a book I've been writing in my mind for a while now, with an entire chapter devoted to this bathing suit thing. There is lots of back and forth between surrendering to the skirted two-piece (which is really a one-piece--with a skirt!) vs. forcing an older body into a two-piece clearly designed for someone who hasn't eaten anything except air for 49 years.

Anyway.

I was in a bathing suit I would never wear in public, pulling weeds on a hot, sweaty day with very little good to focus on except the music which happened to turn to a song I love. With a great beat.

Breaking into a spontaneous dance, weeds held high like pompoms, I completely forgot about the boat that just a few short minutes earlier was hugging my shoreline.

Well, they saw it.

They saw my spontaneous, motivational, refocusing-on-weeding dance in a bathing suit that only the ants and creepy crawlies were supposed to see. Weed pompoms and all.

The reason I know they saw is because when I went indoors to get some water, I sat down for a break and happened to check Facebook.  Although there thankfully was no photographic evidence, there was a quick line written on my wall, "Come weed my flower bed next," from friend Thomas Hunley.

Who saw the whole thing from his boat which was hugging the shoreline on Memorial Day weekend.

Life in a small town in the age of modern technology.

I am eternally grateful that the ants and creepy crawlies do not have Facebook access or cameras on their cell phones.

Note to self:  Get a new bathing suit and think long and hard about any future attempts at yard work during one of the busiest boating weekends of the year.  Especially with dance music playing in the background.  Thanks in advance. From everyone. 

Just Another Day

Sunday, on my way to run some errands, I drove down to Haven Beach.

I stopped to admire these gorgeous green soybean fields.

Then I drove to the Food Lion.

Where customers were interacting with goats who
had some shopping to do
had escaped from home.

The store manager escorts the four-legged customers to the back of the building.

As I was walking into the store, I heard an employee singing, "E-I-E-I-O."


The End.

Here Comes Santa Claus

Look, this festive Christmas scene even 
includes  channel markers.  
(The red one wasn't captured in this shot.)

This nautical Santa Claus is on the right side of the road just before Cobbs Creek Market (now Stanstrings) if you're coming from the Blakes area.

The attention to detail is impressive.

At night, the boat is outlined in white lights;

blue lights on the ground depict the water.

Only in Mathews.

It's really something to behold.

I have to give this homeowner an A+ for creativity.

*****

May your weekend be full of fun and whimsy.

p.s. Click here to read about my parents' latest Christmas antics.

The Point of Zero (re)Turn

This is my father on his zero turn lawn mower.
And that's Queens Creek.

One recent evening, my father dropped in and asked me to meet him down at his dock next door.  There was something over there I needed to take pictures of, he said.  Grabbing my camera, I sprinted ahead of him across the yard to the dock to see what it was.

He puttered behind on his zero turn lawn mower.

On my way, I determined the pictures wouldn't be great, no matter the topic, due to the low level of light.

The sun had already said, "See you tomorrow."

Then, upon arriving at his dock, I realized there was nothing there to even photograph.

Hmmm.

Over the dull roar of the mower parked just near the dock, he hollered, "Do you wanna see how to test if your dock is well-built?"

Thinking I heard him incorrectly, I simultaneously shook my head and hollered, "What?"

"Do you want me to show the best way to see if your dock is well built?"

"Ummmmmm.  Ohhhkaaaayyy?"

Then this commenced to happenin'.

"Good Lawd Clawd," CBW managed to utter.

At this point CBW, barely able to hold the camera,
may have uttered something that rhymes with, "CHEESE AND RICE!!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, CBW took a second to reflect on things,
such as her father's entire life, which was flashing in front of his her eyes.

Dearest Queens Creek Neighbors Across the Creek,  the entertainment here is free of charge.
No Reality TV necessary.  In fact, Reality TV wouldn't even believe what goes on here, would they?

CheeseUs Rice.
 Almighty.

A picture of the actual zero turn mower performing its zero turn
could not be captured.  This is a survival skill I learned a long time ago.
Block out all images.

One more turn to successfully negotiate and then
CBW may have uttered the rare, "Jeemny Christmas."

"Please keep your hands and feet inside the ride until it comes to a complete stop."
I had flashbacks of all sorts including the days I worked at Busch Gardens.
Evidently my life was flashing in front of my eyes as well.

We love him even if he does scare us to death sometimes.

The End.

p.s. Click here to read my mother's account of last week's vacation.  The episode about her foray into the water is accurate and one which I will never forget.  


I am most pleased to report that both my father and my mother are still alive and uninjured kickin'. In spite of themselves everything.

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.

More From the Weekend

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, this weekend was fabulous.

In addition to the fun at the beach, 

there was lots of relaxing

in my yard by the creek.

Queens Creek was filled with boaters

taking advantage of the gorgeous weather.

Even our neighbors were out in kayaks.

In addition to the typical Memorial Day scenes like boats and beaches,

there were several highly unusual sightings.

While I was lounging creekside with my

Sudoku book and wine

I noticed something up in the air flying in my direction.

I can't say this is something you see every day.

There is a person dangling from this contraption.
It's like a parasail with an engine.
He was way up in the air.  I mean way up.
(Apologies for the poor quality of the photo.)

Yes, the weekend was full of the usual....

and the very unusual.

This rare aquatic creature was spotted

 frolicking in the Chesapeake Bay.

There's a person dangling from this contraption also.

Deltaville Jamie migrated south for the weekend

and was able to join me for an afternoon

at the beach.

She went out so far into the bay,

she joked that she was almost at Tangier Island.

To read more about powered paragliding/paramotoring, which evidently is now being enjoyed here in Mathews, click here.


To see another picture of  Deltaville Jamie and her duck float, click here.


If you want to learn more about Tangier Island, click here.

Controlled Burn

Once upon a time, on the very first Monday of the new time change, Chesapeake Bay Woman struggled to get up at 5:30, drove bleary-eyed the hour to work, survived a rather hectic day, drove the hour home, and did what everyone else in America would do at the conclusion of such a long, arduous day.

No pine trees were killed in this incident, although the flames licked their lower limbs.

She watched her father drive over on his Cub Cadet and intentionally set fire to a brush pile and then to the entire shoreline in her back yard.

Because that's what we do around here for entertainment .

The fire spread quickly through the dry, crispy marsh grass and brush along the shore.

Fire Marshal Twinkie the cat was entirely unimpressed.  Here he glances away from the fire as he considers taking up residence where the humans act more civilized, such as the Saluda jail.

Here is my 71-year-old father, the King of Shoreline Pyrotechnics.There's lots of mud down there and no shortage of tripping hazards. Oh, and fast-moving fire. Let's not forget that.

My father is easily winded these days due to lung issues that have official names.

Also, everyone in my family has a well-documented history of falling for no good reason.

Needless to say, between the fire itself and my (potentially) winded father so close to it all, the tension (much like the temperature) was rising--in direct correlation to my already frazzled blood pressure.

Several times he ventured out of my line of sight and I thought for sure he'd fallen; in that fast-moving fire there was no room for error.

(Have I mentioned our well-documented family history of falling even when we're not walking in creek mud, marsh grass, brambles, and uneven terrain? With a fire lapping at our heels?)

Dearest Hallieford Neighbors,  I'm sorry.  First you get a daily dousing of smoke from his wood-burning furnace.  Now this.  

Warning: The tractor above moves much slower than it appears--in the exact opposite direction of the raging inferno when said inferno was spreading higher into the pine tree zone. He was as cool as a cucumber, not a worry in the world.

I, on the other hand, was as cool as a habanero pepper slathered liberally with wasabi sauce. This was where I officially started to panic. If the pine trees caught on fire that would definitely not be part of the controlled burn plan, if such a plan existed.  Ordinarily there would be pictures of the flames reaching farther up the pine trees, but by that time I had tossed the camera aside in search of the fire department a rake to attempt to control the uncontrolled, controlled fire.
It was futile.
So I had a glass of wine instead.

The burning away of some of the marsh grass revealed a site where glass was once dumped. That's what they did back in the day before they lit their shorelines on fire for entertainment.  They slammed their excess glassware into the ground.  Not really. But they did dump the glass in certain designated spots such as this.

I can't wait to investigate this area. But at the time this was taken the ground was chock full of embers. And my eyebrows were already singed as it was. No need to pile on.

When the fire started to wane around the pine trees, I could finally relax.  




But wait.  Not yet.




Then my father returned to set fire to the section of shoreline closest to the dock, which also appeared to be perfectly combustible.

He's down in the mud again. See how high that fire is reaching?

Hello?It's over his head. And he's ankle deep in creek mud!
More wine please.

All in all, it was a successful controlled burn even if it appeared absolutely uncontrolled for a good portion of the event.  


We do this every so often around here, and lest you think we're unusual, I can assure you we're not the only ones.  


Fire does encourage growth of good things.  The marsh grass and cattails come back in full force.  Wild asparagus too, much to my mother's glee.  


Even if the above is not true, we tell ourselves this each and every year to enjoy the privilege of a good pyrotechnics display fire.

Fire Marshal Twinkie, on his way to find another home. As he left he was overheard mumbling, "The humans here are animals. Absolute savages."

If any of you out there can contribute to the reasons why one should burn a shoreline, please leave a comment.  And a glass of wine.

Click here for last year's rendition of the same activity.


Last but not least, I'm so very grateful to have a father next door who takes care of the things I would could never do myself.  He does everything very well in spite of all my worrying and fretting, and I love him very much. (Love you too, CB Mother! Can't wait to eat the asparagus.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

p.s. Pardon the shift from third to first person about halfway through this post.  It's a coping mechanism brought on by stress due to a father, a house, and a dock  standing way too close to fast-moving flames.

Wild Turkey

Saturday morning my dog Buddy suddenly went berserk--barking, ranting, raving, and carryin' on at something going on in the back yard. By the tone of his bark, I knew this was something unusual, out of the ordinary.

Indeed it was.

Glancing out back I saw something I've never seen in my yard before.

Sure, they're all over the place in Mathews--just never in my back yard, although CB Mother says she saw one many years ago.

Racing to get my camera, I spilled out the back door and started snapping away. Mr. Turkey worked his way along the shoreline until he came to the locust tree.  There's really nowhere else for him to go at this point, at least not with me standing in his way.

So he did what any normal bird would do under the circumstances: Realizing he was trapped he flew across the creek, very low to the water, and made it across just fine. I was surprised since they don't always have the greatest reputation when it comes to flying.

By the way, I'm calling this a he but for all I know he's a she. Turkeys don't make a habit of congregating in my back yard and flashing their IDs, so I have no frame of reference. I know the difference between a male and female cardinal; male and female mallard duck; but I'm not exactly up to speed on your run of the mill back yard turkey.  If it's a she, well OK then.  Also, I don't know where I came up with them not being the greatest fliers.  It's just something I thought for whatever reason and was pleasantly surprised to see him go so far although he was very motivated since the only other choice was a swim in Queens Creek.  

As long as we're on the topic of Buddy the dog (and I think I briefly mentioned him up there somewhere), the Canada geese go out of their way to congregate in my back yard.  Yet Buddy the Dog never, ever barks at them.  Even if I try to get him all worked up and excited enough to chase them, as soon as his feet hit the ground outdoors, he's distracted by another scent. Or a cat. Or grass. Or air. Or something shiny. Can't get him to herd geese escort geese out of my yard to save my life.

After the turkey flew off, there was nothing more to see. The dog and I resumed our normal activities, and the day went along without any other major incidents, which is more than I can say for what was going on in my back yard last night after returning from work.

But that's a story for tomorrow.