Thankful

I am thankful for many things (pretty much everything) but most of all for my family.

I am also grateful to live in such a beautiful, quirky little speck on the map.

Speaking of which, Mathews County is in the running for "Coolest Small Town in America."

Click here to link to our tourist site which has a link to the contest.

Have a warm and wonderful Thanksgiving.

Glimpses from the Road

This cute little house sits right alongside the road, close enough that I idled the car in neutral, snatched the camera out the bag, looked over both shoulders to be sure no one was watching approaching, glanced quickly in the rear view mirror, said two Hail Marys even though I'm not Catholic, and pressed the button to take the photo--all without getting arrested rear ended by another vehicle.

Since so far so good there was no good reason not to, I zoomed in and took another shot.

There's so much I could say about this lovely little house. Like how charming it is, even from the road. Like how I'd pay good money to sleep here on a rainy day just for the sounds of the water hitting the roof. Or like how it appears to be a combination of two local architectural styles: a farmhouse with a porch and a missing top half or a one-story dwelling that in later years grew columns and a front porch.

Please note: Chesapeake Bay Woman's expertise in architecture extends from here to nowhere and back, with a side trip down a path called Oh No She Didn't Just Pretend to Know One Hoot About Local Architecture, Did She?

No, thankfully, what I'm trying to say here today has nothing to do with architecture. It has to do with the fact that I drive by a million places like this each day--adorable homes, stoic old structures, vintage tractors or cars, lovely landscapes or beautiful yards--that I would love to walk up to, photograph, and write about. In the ideal world, the owner(s) would not have me arrested grant me an interview, which could be in person, over the phone, by e-mail or by courier pigeon. Either/or.

If you or anyone you know would like to have a structure or a vista photographed, please e-mail me at ChesapeakeBayWoman@gmail.com. If you or anyone you know have anything to do with the lovely little house above, please know that I found it charming and hope you don't mind me taking a few pictures from the road.

No matter what, though, I promise never to talk about architecture again.

Does anyone out there have memories that include rain hitting a metal roof?

p.s. Metal is a non-specific, non-architecturally correct term which includes tin, copper and/or any other roof-like material which would cause a rain drop to create a charming sound upon contact. This same material, used in a plate buried somewhere in Chesapeake Bay Woman's head, prevents any and all information from being retrieved from her memory bank but does not prevent her from attempting to talk about things which she knows nothing about. Unfortunately.

The Comprehensive Plan

Yesterday, at a place that shall remain nameless, I may or may not have been bored out of my mind and took advantage of unauthorized access to a high-speed internet computer to download and print off part of the Mathews County Comprehensive Plan, specifically pages 1:1 -1:15.

(I need to pause to catch my breath. While we're taking this brief respite from sentences which stretch from here to Tallahassee, I'd like to clarify to my boss anyone reading that I was on a break and had some other business to tend to on that particular computer. Ahem.)

This particular document is chock full of facts and figures, some of which are fascinating, some of which are like reading an instruction manual on how to set up a Barbie Townhouse--in Japanese.

Anywho, since time was of the essence and this particular document is about 140 pages long, I only sent the first 15 pages to the printer, because I heard footsteps approaching they seemed to be most relevant to what I am researching at home, on my own time, after hours.

What I didn't realize was that page 15 ends mid-sentence, and it's a very important part of the previous paragraph. Take a look for yourself:

Table 1.10
Comparison of Income and Sales

1997 Personal Income ($ millions)
Virginia: 175,911
Mathews Co: 227

1998 Taxable Sales ($ millions)
Virginia: 60,114
Mathews Co: 24

Sales as Percent of Income
Virginia: 34.2
Mathews: 10.5

(i.e. We only spent 10-ish% of our income on stuff in Mathews. The rest went to Wal-Mutant in Gloucester. p.s. This is not the comprehensive plan talking, it's an imcomprehensible CBW, fyi.)

The plan goes on to say, "A comparison of sales as a percentage of personal income for the state as a whole with Mathews County indicates the weakness of the County's retail sector.

Statewide, people spent about one-third of their personal income on retail sales.

Mathews County residents probably do too, but only 10.5 percent is spent within the County. The rest goes to outside market areas such as Wal-Mutant, Bangkok Noi Restaurant, Dollar Tree and Peebles Department Store. p.s. The Comprehensive Plan didn't say this particular part.

One reason for this is that Mathews County is at the end of the "highway" rather than at a "crossroads" location and not likely to_______."

(Continued on page 16, which CBW neglected to print.)

So for those of you still awake, please take a stab at filling in that blank.

Here are my guesses:

"Mathews is at the end of the 'highway' rather than at a 'crossroads' location (except for the intersection at Get N Zip)and not likely to draw additional dollars from people passing through, because you don't pass through Mathews, you come here and you drive until you hit a dead end, the water, the Food Lion parking lot or sometimes all of the above.

"Mathews is at the end of the 'highway' rather than at a 'crossroads' location and not likely to
convince me that we couldn't sustain a Golden Corral all-you-can-eat buffet, because I'm here to tell you the Chesapeake Bay Family (CB Parents in particular) would spend every discretionary cent to their name for the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, clam chowder, collard greens, yeast rolls, krab (with a k) salad, and soft serve ice cream machine.

I could keep going but will stop for now. You're very welcome.

What do you think the rest of that sentence is?

Lazy Day

In honor of a lazy Saturday, I'm posting a very lazy picture which attempted to capture that bird flying there just above the water. (Not the white dot on the left, which might be a capsized boat for all we know; but the dark arc there in the middle).

Because the picture is so awful, it's impossible to discern whether this was a heron, a pelican, an airborne mermaid, or a bufflehead.

About a week ago, I didn't know what a bufflehead was. Now, a week later, I've already forgotten but I remember that "bufflehead" is a great word.

Actually, I do recall that bufflehead are those tiny little ducks which swim underwater. So the water creature above was most likely an airborne mermaid a heron.

Also in honor of this lazy Saturday I am wondering about copyright law sharing an excerpt from a newly acquired book written by the Mathews County Historical Society called, "Mathews County Panorama":

"Mathews County lies in southeastern Virginia. Save for a stretch of land by which it is attached to Gloucester County, all its boundaries are water. On the east and south, its shores are washed by the waters of the Chesapeake Bay, on the southwest is Mobjack Bay, on the west North River and on the north is the Piankatank River. Its geographic location gives a clue to the origin of the old saying, "One only goes to Mathews when going to Mathews."

It's true. Mathews is not a thoroughfare, it's a destination. You either want to be here or you don't.

I do.

Here's to a lazy Saturday.

Courthouse Square

I'm too tired to write anything right now (paying job is getting their money's worth), so I'll let this sign talk to you briefly about Mathews. The sign will not omit details, forget, mix things up, and most importantly will not contain run-on sentences where run-on is defined as "containing sleep-inducing, hypnotic effects."

However, in response to that, I'd argue that the sign has it pretty easy. No kids, no stressful job, no drama, no ant infestations (yes, I still have ants, even when the frost is on the pumpkin and the Raid is on the counter) and no laundry.

Stay tuned for more pictures and background on Mathews Courthouse. At some point. In the future. Unless I decide to do something else. Which is highly likely.

In the meantime, I'm still waiting on Middle Sister to comment on yesterday's story. She's probably playing tennis. I've been brushing up on ping-pong myself, which is close enough to tennis in my book, or rather it's as close to tennis as I'll ever get.

Sunrise, Sunset

This boathouse is on our creek. I took this right after Tropical Storm Hanna left town, right as the sun was starting to set. I hope these folks don't mind having their property displayed all over the internet.



This is Smithers Cemetery at sunset. Even though my camera says the picture was taken at 6:30 a.m., it was actually p.m. That's because I don't know how to change the time on my camera. Or do anything with it other than push one button to take a picture. There are approximately 47 other buttons on it that are never used. While we're on the topic, where topic equals Chesapeake Bay Woman's Fear of Gadgets, Widgets, Fruit Fly Infestations and Technology, the time on my computer is off by exactly one hour. I have no idea what happened or how to fix it.

What I love about living on this creek is we see the most spectacular sunrises since we face east, but the sunsets directly behind us produce equally magnificent views, and the lighting is incredible.

Happy Saturday, everyone.

Expressions

This is a glimpse of an old house on Gwynn's Island. Below is a glimpse into some of the words and sayings I've grown accustomed to here in Mathews. Both are a dying breed.

Not until I left Mathews and went to college did I realize how unusual some of our expressions are. I had no idea, for example, that saying someone or somebody was as ugly as a mud fence could cause confusion. My roommate looked stunned the first time I said it. Then she wanted to know what a mud fence was, and just how ugly was it? I confess I have no idea, and I never stopped to think about it before she asked.

My mother's mother, if she were alive, would have been 100 years old this past Monday. She had the most wonderful accent, but she also had a very unusual way of saying certain words. For example:

"Push" was pronounced poosh.
"Bush" was pronounced boosh.
As in, "Don't you dare poosh your sister into that boosh."

I have to assume there were some Scottish or Irish folks that influenced that pronunciation, but it's quickly fading. I only rarely hear it any more.

Some other odd pronunciations coming from my mother and grandmother include:

Dunkey (donkey)
Predney (presently)
Hawse (horse)
Example: Predney that dunkey and hawse will need feedin'.

Folks from Mathews contribute to this colorful kaleidoscope of sayings and pronunciations. I have a friend who always said "mersure" instead of "measure." She'd say "warsh" instead of "wash." Other people I know would say "poncil" (almost with a French accent) instead of "pencil." Many people to this day pronounce "house" or "mouse" as with a long "o" sound. Like "hoe" with a light "s" on the end.

Some of the expressions I grew up with are:

I'm as serious as a heart attack. (Pretty darn serious.)
Your bedroom looks like Hooraw's nest. (It's a disaster. Who or what is Hooraw? A bird?)
Your hair looks like the cat's been suckin' on it all night long. (You need a rake to comb that hair.)
Those vegetables are no count. (They're no good.)
You can't swing a dead cat without hitting fruit flies in this kitchen. (You have a fruit fly infestation.)
That cookie is harder than a brick bat. (You couldn't get your teeth through it.)

This is but a small sampling. I'm sure not all of these are unique to this area, but I suspect some of them are.

I'd love to compile more of these sayings and quirky pronunciations from the local area, and if I had the time I'd go out and interview people. I'm feeling a little too lazy to do that at the moment. For anyone reading this who has not yet fallen asleep, I would love to hear about any local sayings or odd pronunciations in your neck of the woods.

Right now, though, I must go deal with that no-count fruit fly infestation before I blow a gasket. There's more of them in my kitchen than you can shake a fist at.

Responsibility

This was shot recently from Gwynn's Island. That red ball reminds me of a hoppity hop I had when I was a kid. Was it hoppity hop or hippity hop? It was a rubber ball akin to today's exercise balls, only there was a handle you grasped while you bounced yourself silly. For me, that didn't take long since I was already halfway silly to begin with.
----------------------------

As I have mentioned on numerous occasions, (and if I were capable of linking to these references, I would) I seem to have been put in a position of enormous responsibility at a very young age.

Let's take a gander at some of what I was expected to do, shall we?

- Feed, water, groom, hoof-pick, horse-fly spray and ride a pony that was the most stubborn animal this side of a mule.

- Feed, water, groom, hoof-pick, horse-fly spray, babysit, teach and entertain two younger sisters, almost as stubborn as aforementioned pony and/or mule.

- By the way, I was only about 10 years old when given all this responsibility.

- Tend to 2 younger siblings while fretting that parents were capsized on the other side of the Chesapeake Bay when said parents left me in charge of said siblings for an entire day, well into the evening, when a storm was a-brewin'.

About that last one.

My father bought into the CB radio fad back in the 1970's. His handle was Drumsticks, which was cool because he played in a band. Our call-numbers (I'm totally making this term up, I have no idea what the terminology is, but it is whatever letter/number combination we used to identify ourselves on the CB) was KG-0-23-45. He had a CB in the boat, a CB in his van, and a CB for the home. We were not lacking for communication devices.

One day, when I was probably 4, I was put in charge of my younger sisters while my parents went fishing. OK, I wasn't 4, but I was way too young for tending to small children by myself while the parents were on a boat trip otherwise known as "Why catch fish off your own dock when you can make yourself green in the gills by driving across 15 miles of the choppiest, windiest, most sea-sickness-inducing water known to man? And leave your oldest daughter in charge of everything and everyone?"

The parents were gone a long time, a little too long, and it was coming close to supper time. In addition to the grumblings going on in Chesapeake Bay Girl's stomach, there was a grumbling going on in the sky. A storm was fast approaching, and there were no parents anywhere in sight.

Chesapeake Bay Girl, being the responsible 4-year-old, OK 10-year-old, decided to take matters into her own hands. She turned on the CB radio that was in the den. She waited for a pause in whatever mumbling, rambling, nonsensical garbage was coming across the airwaves. And oh, those men could talk some trash.

At just the right opportunity, she very bravely pushed the button on the mike (Is that what it was called? I have no idea) and said, "This is KG02341, Base to Boat/Whatever (I can't remember what we called the boat), come in, do you read me?" Silence. Then I repeated, "KG02341, it's looking stormy and we want to know your 10-20." Silence. "This is KG02341, Base to Boat (or whatever). Do you copy me?"

This time I got an answer. It was some drunken idiot probably two doors down. As if I wouldn't recognize my own parents' voice he said, "Yeah, darlin', I read ya loud and clear. We're fine as can be."

Let's recap the whole situation, shall we?

1. Chesapeake Bay Girl is babysitting her two younger sisters while trying to locate her parents who could be lost at sea as the Storm of the Century brews overhead.

2. Chesapeake Bay Girl, who normally can't say two words to anyone outside of her family because she lived such a sheltered life and was painfully, excruciatingly shy, had to pick up a microphone (or whatever the darn thing was called) and broadcast over the airwaves known as Drunken Bubba's Network, that she was concerned about her parents.

3. Chesapeake Bay Girl wonders if there isn't some nice family in Guatemala that would like to adopt her.

The parents eventually pulled into the creek, safe and sound, absolutely unconcerned about the whole storm thing and that whole Leave Daughter in Charge of It All without communicating to her thing.

Thirty-plus years later, I'm still wondering about that nice family in Guatemala.

Simpler Times

What do you think this place was in its day? A gas station? Or, as we used to say back when people actually helped you out, a service station? A grocery store? I vote for a combination service station/supply store myself, but perhaps one of my local readers can tell me for sure what this place really used to be. For all I know, this was once a railroad station.

We all know I won't have the facts straight.

For the record, when I was alternating between standing in the middle of the road and trespassing, a car loaded with people pulled up. I was preparing my "I'm just taking pictures not trespassing and I am really not some lunatic, well, arguably," speech when I realized I knew the driver.

I was safe. This time.



This delightful building is located down Shadow, which is on the way to New Point. Notice how small it is. Assuming this was once a commercial building (and let's just go with that for the sake of argument because I'm trying to make a point, stay tuned, it's coming), you can bet there were no ATM's, no racks loaded with mindless magazines, and no day-old hot dogs swirling in their own grease under a heat lamp. Not that I have anything against all that. In fact I resemble that remark about the hot dog. Or rather, sometimes I feel like I am swirling in my own filth under a heat lamp. Or sometimes I feel like a day-old hot dog. Swirling. In grease.

Let's continue, shall we?

Regardless of what this was, I'm merely trying to say things were different not that long ago....much simpler, much more basic and without all the Stuff. By Stuff I mean too much stuff, too many choices, too much of everything.

Speaking of simpler times (and we were, weren't we?), I often think about the differences between my childhood and how my children live now.

When I was growing up, there were three or four TV channels at most, and none of them were geared towards children. Cartoons aired on Saturday morning, and Walt Disney movies were Sunday night. Other than that, any television we watched was pretty much this: the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite, roller derby and Match Game 76.

My kids can't go anywhere without their hand-held electronic games. They watch any number of the multiple channels that air children's shows 24-hours a day. For goodness sakes these days most vehicles come equipped with individual DVD players for each child presumably to provide entertainment. The Chesapeake Bay Family drove cross country and back squashed in a Volkswagen van. All I had was a book and endless hours of daydreaming, staring out the window, and poking Middle Sister. We were gone for a month and didn't see TV the entire time.

Below is something I wrote in my diary when I was 10:

July 14, 1975

Dear Diary,

Today I had fun. This morning we played the Game of the States. It was fun. Then I went to Neighbor Girl's house. We picked blackberries and grapes. Then we went to the pool, but it was raining. So we played in the rain a little.

-Chesapeake Bay Child

So let's dissect this a moment:

1. I played a board game, which consisted of a cardboard playing surface and pieces shaped like states.
2. The game was (gasp!) educational.
2. I thought that was fun.
3. I then walked to my neighbor's house and we picked ourselves some fresh fruit, right off the vine. (No Yo-Gos, fruit (?) roll-ups or goldfish for us.)
4. We then intended to exercise more, by swimming.
5. Except it was raining, so we just amused ourselves by lollygagging and splashing around in the mud puddles.
6. Things were so much simpler then.

I am starting to sound like my grandmother, but I do wish we could go back to simpler times.

In the meantime, I'm off to Zooms to use the ATM machine, buy a People magazine and eat a hot dog that's been swirling under the heat lamp. Swirling in its own grease.

I don't understand why I like saying that so much.

Time to stop this swirling nonsense of a post right now. You may now wake up.

The End.

Falling Down

This is a shot of the intersection of Main Street and Church Street in Mathews Court House. That tannish/yellowish building on the right is the doctor's office referenced below by Chesapeake Bay Mother, who has written yet another tale.

Chesapeake Bay Mother says:

" Don't give a person teetering on the brink of senility too much to do in one day, or they will prove themselves faulty.

A case in point: Wednesday, the week after returning from Exhausting OBX (Outer Banks) Vacation, I had two appointments and was on possible standby for baby sitting. I like plenty of nothing, and nothing is plenty for me, to paraphrase a really good Broadway tune.

The first was a doctor's 8:45 a.m. physical, and I evidently passed. Leaving and crossing the street in front of the doctor's office, I found Mathews' only pothole, which was small enough to escape notice but deep enough to hide a small goat. Before I knew what was happening, my whole body was rushing to the ground--head first in the middle of Church Street. Everything in my purse was scattering in the road--pills, glasses, keys, etc.

A bus loaded with senior citizens and driven by a gray-haired gentleman was bearing down on the scene and me, with feet still in the air, seeming to have the hang time of a Michael Jordan jump shot. I fought gravity, hurried to my feet, grabbed my possessions, waved to the bus, smiled and mouthed, "I"m OK," in answer to the bus driver's obvious question. I'll never forget the look of wonder on his face as I thanked God I had worn pants that day. "Shake it off, Chesapeake Bay Mother," I said to myself.

Back home, I frost a birthday cake I baked for teenage grandson, and head out to dentist for an estimate on teeth, which broke apart on exhausting vacation. I am delighted to find out I need a filling and a cap, all of which will have to be paid out of my savings because insurance doesn't cover it. It will be more expensive than anything I've bought for myself in many moons.

I buy grandson a card and come home to make ice cream for his dinner party. By party time, I realize my left foot has somehow paid a price for the morning's tumble. I limp to the party. Chesapeake Bay Woman says it is fear hormone * that dulls pain on impact only to reappear later. Fear it was.

On the bright side, I fell in a fortuitous area--right outside the doctor's office, just up from a local church, and around the corner from the funeral parlor.

Find me a better spot to be flattened like a flounder under the wheels of a busload of seniors on a Wal-Mart quest.** I dare ya.

(CBW Note that cannot wait to be footnoted with a *: That "I dare ya" was added by CBW. I felt it needed to go there. I'm not trying to high jack this post or anything. I don't feel compelled to add my two cents' worth all the time. And I do not have control issues. Really. Now back to my mother's last sentence.)

Chesapeake Bay Grandson is an angel. It's been a full day.


-Chesapeake Bay Mother---------------------------------

*CBW Note: I don't recollect calling it a fear hormone. I said that when you have an accident, your body sends stuff, like adrenaline and other junk, coursing through your veins so that you can handle the situation. "Other junk" is a technical term and "fear hormone" is just not quite the correct terminology. Because I'm nothing if not factual, exact and correct with my details.

**CBW Note #2: This is a "note to self" to contact the driver of that senior citizen bus and get their number so I can arrange to have them take Chesapeake Bay Mother to her next doctor's appointment. Maybe then we can avoid Death by Pothole Big Enough to Hide a Small Goat. And perhaps a little embarrassment.

Child's Play

Awry. Askew. Off center. Unbalanced. This birdhouse is all of these, and so, sometimes, is my family.

Baby Sister came to visit us recently. She said she was going to be here on Wednesday night, and she didn't show up until Thursday at 9:00 p.m., only 24 hours late. Not too bad for Baby Sis, and not at all unusual.

Chesapeake Bay Son and Daughter love their aunt. On this particular occasion, CB Son was spending the night with a friend, so Daughter had Aunt all to herself.

They spent a lot of time down in my basement, which is a junked up Disaster Zone housing relics dating back to the Ice Age, but with a particular emphasis on the 1960's through the 1980's. There are old appliances, old clothes, old false teeth, old books, old furniture, old corpses, old This, old That, old crickets, old furnaces, and plenty of old toys. Toys that Chesapeake Bay Sisters and I played with as kids.

Baby Sis, being a prankster at heart, teamed up with Chesapeake Bay Daughter to pull a little stunt on me.

Imagine my surprise when, as I was walking bleary-eyed from the kitchen to my bedroom to go to sleep, I saw this leaning up against the front door:



Does anyone remember this guy?

He was part of a collection of figures made by Marx that evidently are now worth something (as in the set I used to have is going for hundreds of dollars), according to e-Bay.

There was a Johnny West, a Jane West, and Other Wests whose names escape me, and they had plastic horses named Thunderbolt and Flame or something like that, and saddles and bridles and cowboy hats. Well, the people had hats, not the horses, although it was always fun to shove a hat on a horse just to be weird. I was good at that.

This was Sam Cobra, even though for three days now I've called him Sam Spade (thank God for the internet). While I enjoyed playing with all the Very Nice Wests, there was always something attractive about old Sam, the outlaw. It was the whole Bad Boy thing, I am sure. He was strong, sinister, mysterious, devious, powerful and confident. Or at least that's how I made him in my little play scenes.

So because I hadn't seen old Sam Cobra in decades, and because Little Sister posed him in a very non-outlaw stance, which appears to be a disco move, which Sam Cobra would NEVER have done, Little Sis wins the prize for Great Prank of the Month.

If you think Baby Sis is unbalanced and twisted (and you may not, but I may), just wait until you see what Chesapeake Bay Woman can concoct as a counter-prank. Just wait.

The Glebe

The other day I went to a place in Mathews called the Glebe. No, that is not a typo, I did not mean the Globe. The Glebe.

The picture above is a soybean field and Someone's outbuilding down the Glebe. I did not trespass on Someone's property. I was standing in the middle of the road and used the zoom lens. I promise.

The trespassing part came later. I came to a dead end and some lady pulled up behind me. I was turning around in her driveway, and she was not budging until I rolled down my window. She wanted to know if I was lost. She was polite, but suspicious, even (or perhaps especially) after I told her I was taking pictures of the soybean field. People just don't understand.

Below is the historical information pertaining to the Glebe. This is the only way you will get anything factual from this post, because all the rest is piffle, which is a word I had never seen before discovering Foolery's blog. I lead a very sheltered life.

Most of what is written here on a daily basis is just that: piffle.

The Glebe is a section of Mathews that, back in the Whatever Century (for facts, please click on the photo above), supported the minister of Kingston Parish. Over time the land was sold off but the name still stuck. The Glebe refers to the area, and Glebe Road refers to the best drag racing spot in the county. Not that I have ever done that. As far as you know.

There are two things that immediately come to mind when I think of the Glebe:

1. Driving Very Fast
2. Basketball Practice

Glebe Road, which connects Route 198 to Church Street, is one of the flattest, most perfect straightaways in the county. I have This Friend who, whenever she drives down Glebe Road, feels compelled to gun it, floor it, punch it, and put the pedal to the metal. This Friend only does this when (a) she is not traveling with any children and (b)there's nobody else on the road. This Friend is rarely without children as passengers, so she doesn't get to do this as much as she'd like.

This Friend lives in a fantasy world most of the time, though, and she dreams about buying a suped-up hot rod (convertible) that is LOUD. She dreams of an imaginary starting line where she revs the engine in anticipation of the signal to go. Then, she is off like a bullet, hair blowing straight back, madly and wildly shifting gears leaving all her competition in the dust. Although because the road is so narrow, there really wouldn't be any competition. This Friend really has an active imagination.

And a secret desire to be a combination roller derby star and race car driver.

The other memory of the Glebe relates to basketball practice, when we would go joy riding down there just after school and prior to practice. There was lots of speeding, especially over this one dirt road that had a cavernous hole - we loved to bounce over it, dust flying everywhere, bumpers and other car parts scraping the road. We'd spin wheels, do doughnuts, throw bottles at road signs, and spend a lot of time in this little place called StupidityCausedByTeenageHormones-Ville. To get there, you have to pass through West Peer Pressure and bear left at YourMummaWouldDieIfSheKnewWhatYouWereDoing.

Thank goodness I don't visit those places anymore. But I do get the urge now and then to race down Glebe Road. Don't tell anyone.

New Point Light

This is New Point Light, very close to the scene where I was caught trespassing the other day. People just don't understand what a woman could possibly be doing standing in the middle of a road with a camera, when 10 signs in plain view clearly state, "No Trespassing." I'm not sure I even understand it. The land depicted here, however, is public property. Just wanted to toss that out there.



Perhaps one of the most recognized landmarks in Mathews, the lighthouse at New Point is accessible only by boat although it is open to the public. So, if you happen to find yourself visiting Mathews, and you manage to make your way all the way down New Point, bring your hip boots (to wade through the marsh) and a bathing suit if you want to go to the light house, unless you remembered to bring your boat.

I would travel with my boat all the time, except it is full of water and sinking. And it's only 3 years old. I am personally full of water and hot air, plus everything on me is sinking, but I'm 43 and that is to be expected.

The lighthouse was authorized by Congress in 1801, and I could have sworn there was a connection to Thomas Jefferson. Maybe I just dreamed that. No! For once my memory is not failing me. I just found a brochure that says Jefferson commissioned it in 1804. Have I mentioned that I love Thomas Jefferson? He might be the one person besides Jane Austen I would like to talk to if I could pick anyone dead or alive to talk to. He was such a Renaissance Man. I love Renaissance Men. I think he would have been too short for me, though, but we're just talking about having a conversation, not a relationship, neither of which is going to happen.

Where was I? Oh. The lighthouse.

I have a book called Images of America Mathews County, written by Sarah Lewis. In it there is a picture of this lighthouse before storms eroded the land connecting it to the mainland. Just to the left was a keeper’s house (it was a two story farmhouse-type dwelling), and there was a sandy beach with a few pine trees.

Looking at it now, it seems impossible that all that existed. Hell hath no fury like Mother Nature when she’s in a bad mood, and, in 1933, somebody must have really pissed her off, because she let a hurricane loose that took care of any remnants of land connecting to the mainland. Folks still talk about The Great Storm of 1933 as if it happened yesterday.

As many years as I’ve spent in Mathews, I have never been to the lighthouse. I have never been on the Mobjack Bay. As long as we’re on the subject (where subject = things I’ve never done), I have never had the chicken pox, have never been called for jury duty, and never understood why you aren’t supposed to rip the label off a mattress.

And to keep with my predilection* for straying from any and all topics, what have you never done? Leave me a comment so when I come home from work tonight I'll have something to entertain me after 12 hours with no internet access.

*I had to look this word up to make sure I knew what on Earth it meant. Also, the first time I wrote it, I spelled it "predeliction," which proves I wasn't entirely sure I knew what I was talking about. I rarely do.

New Point

Tuesday I decided to go down to New Point, which is literally the end of the road in Mathews. It's a small peninsula where the Mobjack Bay and the Chesapeake Bay converge. I was caught trespassing only once, down Bavon Beach, but I drove off and did not make eye contact with the nice elderly couple stopped dead in the road waiting to know what I was doing there. If I had to tell them, I'm not sure I could explain myself.

To get to New Point, you do the following:

• Take Route 14 through the Court House.

• Drive past Port Haywood and remember when your friend used to leave you stranded in the middle of the road there when she popped the clutch on the tractor which caused the trailer she was pulling you in to come off the hitch. She kept on going, cackling with glee and leaving you to fend for yourself.

• Drive past Susan.(Susan is not some girl standing on the side of the road. Susan is the name of an area and a post office.)

• Drive, drive, drive.

. Pray you don't run out of gas or break down because you won't see another human being for days.

• Drive past Shadow. (This is not the name of a cat on the side of the road. It’s the name of an area and a post office.)

• Drive, drive and drive some more.

• You are now in Siberia. The End.


I went to New Point to shoot some pictures of our infamous light house (I'll put these up later this week). In true Chesapeake Bay Woman fashion, I took a wrong turn and ended up somewhere near the light house where there were some very interesting water scenes.

A few other things happened. Naturally.

1. I screeched on the brakes when a whole herd of fighting mad fiddler crabs ran across the road. Why would a fiddler crab be in the road, you may ask? In this case it's because the road is at, and sometimes below, sea level. When they showed up one time in my yard and driveway, it was because they were plotting an overthrow. They almost succeeded.

For those of you who know something about fiddler crabs, you might ask why they were on the offensive rather than their typical defensive stance of scurrying as quickly as possible to cover. All I can say is a seldom-seen car down The Wrong Lane in New Point + low-lying New Point road (as in below the mud level of their natural habitat) = the need for a fiddler crab cross walk or better yet, I vote for a fiddler crab resettlement program. I am quite sure they'd do nicely in Louisiana, for example. Or Alcatraz.

2. I got out of the car to snap a few pictures and had to hit the deck immediately when horseflies dive bombed me and tried to carry me out of there. They were the size of flying monkeys and just as scary. I see no need to resettle these things anywhere other than the backside of the world's biggest flyswatter.

3. Swatting madly at the air, and, as my son says, spittin’ and hissin’(with a side order of cussin’), I quickly snapped the pictures before the flies made off with me. I left my car running (because it was sweltering and I needed the a/c) and also left the door open because I was afraid if I closed it, somehow I'd get locked out, and I did NOT want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere with fiddler crabs and flying monkeys attacking me. However, by leaving the door open, I managed to let a few flying monkeys into the car (thankfully, no fiddler crabs made it inside).

Between dodging fiddler crabs in the road and swatting mutant killer horseflies inside the car, it is a wonder I made it out of there without driving up a tree and inflating my airbag.

Speaking of airbags, I will stop now. I feel things crawling on me and I just know it’s either a horsefly or a fiddler crab.

The Hummingbird Flower

The picture above is from Gwynn's Island just past the Sea Breeze restaurant and their delectable popcorn shrimp. I need popcorn shrimp and I need it today. I know some of you understand this craving. The shot below is from the public landing road, with the soybean field in the background.



What is this flower called? They're everywhere here in Mathews. If it were a pest (which it isn't, I think it's beautiful) I would go so far as to say we have an infestation.

The hummingbirds love them.

Just yesterday, I knew the name and now that I need to retrieve that name from my memory bank, I can't do so. It's called panic under pressure. Or, early-onset Alzheimers. You choose. The label is immaterial, the end result is all the same. I can't remember anything.

After searching on the words "trumpet" and "hummingbird", I discovered the term "trumpet vine," which was not what I was racking my brain for, but which appears to be reasonably close to what this is.

Wikipedia says this about that:

"The flowers are very attractive to hummingbirds, and many types of birds like to nest in the dense foliage. The flowers are followed by large seed pods. As these mature, they dry and split. Hundreds of thin, brown, paper-like seeds are released. These are easily grown when stratified." (CBW Note: Am I the only one who has to pause for a moment over the word, "stratified?" Stratified. Satisfied. Sanctified. I think I could do something with these words, a song or a poem or something. Maybe another day.)

Continuing with Wikipedia:

"The vigor of the trumpet vine should not be underestimated. In warm weather, it puts out huge numbers of tendrils that grab onto every available surface, and eventually expand into heavy woody stems several centimeters in diameter. It grows well on arbors, fences, telephone poles, and trees, although it may dismember them in the process. Ruthless pruning is recommended. Outside of its native range this species has the potential to be highly invasive, even as far north as New England."

One of these is killing a wild cherry tree of mine. Hmmmm.

Looks like we have an infestation after all.

Praise

This is another shot of that incredible sunrise from the other day. One thing you can rely on is the sun coming up in the mornin'. Another thing you can rely on is me falling down and having chunks of flesh disappear into a place called Excruciating Pain.

Sometimes it takes a while to realize how much you appreciate Something or Someone because you're too busy running the marathon race called Life, which in my case today includes dealing with a sinking boat. Again. With a gangrenous finger which hurts when I breathe. Or think. I am sure salt water mixed with boat grease and tears will be wonderful for it. Just wonderful.

Before I take on the boat, however, I'd like to slow down for a minute and praise this place called Mathews.

It's beautiful.

It's peaceful.

It's a great place to raise children. In my opinion, it's the only place.

The pace of life is slower and more relaxed. My blood pressure goes down just as soon as I turn from Gloucester onto Route 14 on my ride home from work. Of course, when I arrive home and my trash is all over the yard and the boat is sinking, the b.p. goes right back up, but at least it lingers in the lower numbers for a spell beforehand.

It's a place where you not only know your neighbors, you haul their trash if they are unable to take it to the dump, preferably before the raccoons have their next raucous fraternity party. When you wake up in the morning and you see where the raccoons have left behind the equivalent of this amount of trash and scattered debris: Woodstock--it's time to assess who is actually living on this property and who is considered the pest.

If you have a surplus of vegetables from your garden, you share it. (I am the one you share it with because I can't grow anything except hair in unwanted places.)

If you can't afford something, you are extended credit with a handshake and a smile. Unless it's the gas station, in which case you need to take out a second mortgage.

It's a place where a friend who is absolutely exhausted from a long commute and a hard day's work offers to help you with a sinking boat, and sincerely means it. The boat is definitely sinking and I will be spending the better part of today alternating between crying and bailing. Crying is not particularly conducive to bailing a boat out, but it is a necessary part of the process, and an essential ingredient in most of my days.

This is why it's good for me to be in Mathews. If all the stuff that happens to me happened to me in a stressful suburb, well, let's just say that Chesapeake Bay Woman would change her name to Eastern State Hospital Resident for Life.

Mathews County is a place like none other, in spite of sinking boats, ant infestations, gangrenous fingers and partying raccoons.

It's home.

Photography

This is an unadulterated Gwynn's Island sunset. That's a whole lot of orange and a whole lot of glare. Don't look at it too long or it will burn a hole in your retina.

Now is as good a time as any to talk about my "expertise" in the field of photography. Let's start, shall we?:

1. (Crickets chirping.)

2. (Dogs howling.)

3. (Crickets chirping again.)

4. I received a digital camera for Christmas and three months later found the courage to pull out the instructions, figure out how to put the strap on it and insert the batteries.

5. Several weeks and many tears later, I finally figured out how to transfer pictures from the camera to the computer to the internet. I still have post-traumatic stress syndrome associated with this. I start to tremble just thinking about it.

6. Other than pressing the one button to take a picture, I do not do anything else. I wouldn't know how to edit a picture if the future of the entire planet depended on it. That would involve half a brain cell that leans towards technical expertise. I don't have one of those, but I am considering ordering one.

And that wraps up everything I know about photography. Anything I toss up here is something I captured as follows: Aim camera. Press Button. The End.

Of course when you live in a place as beautiful as Mathews, skill is the last thing required to capture a decent picture. Thank goodness for that. Otherwise, I'd be in big trouble.

Speaking of big trouble, I have to go lie down now. There are no fewer than 10 ants crawling on my computer, which is in my bedroom. And where there are 10, there are 62.5 million. It's too early in the day for all this stress, plus I just burned a hole in my retina.

Have I mentioned I really need a vacation?

Sunset

I love the bay. I just love it. There's nothing more to say.

Except this: Can you believe I am being so brief?

Me either.

Fiddler Crabs

These are fiddler crabs which are in abundant supply all around my shoreline. Normally they're seen at low tide, and when you approach they scurry to hide in the marsh grass. When there are hundreds of them, the sound is pretty eerie. When they show up in unexpected places, eerie doesn't even begin to describe them.

Today I spent 28 hours on the John Deere cutting the grass. At about hour 12, I came upon a portion of the yard that I always approach with caution because there are hidden stumps that, when hit going wide open on the tractor, render me cross-eyed.

This was a particularly uneventful week for me, but that was about to change. To spot and avoid potential disasters and another trip to the hospital, I was glancing downward more than usual as the tractor hummed along. All of a sudden, my entire body went into rigor mortis as I pushed down the brake pedal to immediately halt the tractor due to the following completely unexpected turn of events:

Fiddler crabs in the yard.
Yes, fiddler crabs in my yard.
Fiddler crabs in the grass.
Fiddler crabs in the driveway.
Fiddler crabs out of their element.
Fiddler crabs in my element.

Fiddler crabs were in my yard. Way up in the yard. Way far away from the shoreline. So far they'd have to take a Greyhound bus to get back home. And they were not scurrying away like they're supposed to. They were having a fiddler crab convention where the topic was "7 Easy Ways to Drive Chesapeake Bay Woman to the Brink."

There wasn't just one or two random, stray fiddler crabs, there was an entire colony and as such I must hereby officially declare a state of Fiddler Crab Infestation.

Fiddler crabs are not supposed to be encountered when one is cutting grass. It just isn't natural.

Due to the extreme nature of aforementioned infestation, CBW must now close and say Best Wishes to all of her reader(s) because she must now go check into Eastern State Hospital.

If you don't know what that is, just google it.

Signed,
Scarred for life at the prospect that I crunched up fiddler crabs with the John Deere even though with most things I gun it so I can destroy and ruin whatever It is. But I really didn't want to crunch a fiddler crab. Or see one propelled at high speeds out of the mower deck. Or do anything to invite them to seek revenge.

Sunshine

Today will be good. It has to be. There will be no rain clouds, no boats sinking, no ants ordering me around and no unpredicted hurricane-force storms. This picture shows nothing but blue skies and the Chesapeake Bay, my favorite body of water outside of my bathtub (except the bay doesn't have soap scum, although it does have eels and blowtoads). Today I have to go to the paying job, but aside from that minor cirrus cloud the skies are DEFINITELY GOING TO BE CLEAR AND BLUE. Do ya hear me ants and storm clouds and boats that wish to put me in an early grave?

Today I will not talk about yesterday, except that I already did.

I am tardy on two blogging assignments, but I can only tackle one at the time given my dissatisfaction with the answers I've come up with to both questions and the stench of motor oil seeping from my pores after bailing out a boat whose inboard/outboard was completely submerged. These noxious fumes have rendered me even more incapable than usual of performing my daily functions, which include The Internet and The Internet, in that order precisely.

Mental p Mamma (www.thementalpausechronicles.blogspot.com - please visit if you never have, she has beautiful photos and inspirational words) was kind enough to tag me for a little exercise that involves asking spouse/partner/kids/dogs/cats/whomever to list 3 random things that pop into their minds when they think about you (also known as me).

I confess that I like to color outside the lines sometimes. I also confess that I asked more than one person, plus two cats to contribute to this exercise. I combined all the answers and wanted to pick and choose the ones I liked best to post here for the world to see, even though the world = two readers.

Sisters: I do not expect to hear anything from either of you about me bending rules, or not playing fairly, or anything like that. You both know how responsible and law-abiding I am. If I wish to exercise poetic license every now and then, I think I should be entitled to do so....even if that license expired in 1983.

Actually, the reason I approached it this way is because I didn't find anything earth-shattering or even mildly entertaining about my children's responses, other than one who said, "I don't know."

Nevertheless, here we go with their answers:
- I try to think of what you look like (I will tell you Daughter said this, and I have to say when your own daughter doesn’t know what you look like, there might be a problem. Therefore, I will interpret this to mean that when she thinks of me, she thinks of what I look like. I love poetic license.)

-Ants (Hmmmph.)

-You radiate good to all who come near you (Aw. I never knew. Will someone read this line at my funeral? You can claim poetic license. Thanks.)

-I wonder how you're doing (Am I really that stressed? Never mind, I know the answer.)

-Funny (I like this one, except this was my cat's answer.)

-I don’t know (This was especially profound…and troubling given the source. Clearly I need to spend more time with my children.)

-As dependable as time itself (Aw again. The only thing you cannot depend on me for is housework.)

-Wonder if you watered my plants (Son is growing watermelons, and I always forget to water them when he goes away overnight to someone’s house. Thank goodness for rain.)

-Bright/Smart (This individual is really not well.)

-Exudes a sincerity and calm that is captivating (Very sweet,but I was not exuding calm yesterday morning when I discovered the boat half-sunk. I'd call that exuding fire from my tongue as my head spun around.)

That’s it. If I had to select the single one above that I believe describes me it would hands down be, “I don’t know.”

Hang on to your hat, Grandma J (www.askgrandmaj.blogspot.com - check it out). I'm tackling your assignment tonight night after work. But I will be completely unable to copy graphics and create links--and follow instructions. I may color outside the lines a bit and exercise that expired poetic license.

In the meantime, here's hoping everyone has a sunny day.

Signed,
"I don't know."