Workboats

Workboat leaving Queens Creek

The other day as I was dawdling around the house trying to come up with any reason not to do laundry or clean or focus on the book, I heard the familiar sound of a workboat start up.

Workboats are a dying breed, most definitely on the endangered species list. We hardly ever see them up Queens Creek where I live. So as soon as I heard that engine start up I dashed for the camera. One of the neighbors keeps a boat in our cove and for whatever reason he was taking her out for a spell.

We see lots of sailboats, motorboats, goose-chasing canoes, kayaks, jet skis--you name it, we see it around here. But workboats?  Not so much any more.

There's nothing quite like the sound and smell of a good workboat.

 Nothing.

Workboat leaving Queens Creek; Smithers Cemetery is across the creek; CBW's ornery locust tree, center; and her dilapidated fire pit is there on the left. 

The boats below are docked over at the Seabreeze on Gwynn's Island.

 The day I took this photo a high school acquaintance who still works on the water was in the parking lot.

We had a wonderful conversation about the good old days, and how very few people are working the water anymore. When we were coming along it was very different. After this generation is gone (with perhaps a few exceptions), there will be no more commercial watermen in Mathews.

It's very sad.

Click here for a poem I wrote a couple years ago about a waterman.

For another post related to watermen that includes some history, click here.

If you're tired of me directing you elsewhere, give your computer screen a little flick right here <.......>.

If you've ever experienced the sights, smells and sounds of a workboat, please leave a comment.

If you've never been on a workboat but have something to say, please leave a comment.

If you're happy and you know it keep it to yourself because this Vitamin-D deprived person can't take it clap your hands.

If you're ready for spring, stomp your feet.

Simon says, "Stomp your feet."

CBW says thanks for reading and tolerating her inane tangents, superfluous commentary and inconsequential blathering. She blames the long winter, lack of sunlight and adult-onset ADD extreme exhaustion for her incessant rambling.

p.s. Seriously, I do have one more link for you, and this is a good one.  Click here for Nate's blog and a gorgeous shot of an osprey nest off Gwynns Island at sunset.  Nate's family has a house over on the island and he's been visiting since he was a kid. His photos--and the accompany narrative peppered with humor--are superb. Have a great Wednesday.

The Road to Haven

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.  I don't know what the road to heaven is paved with, but the road to Haven isn't paved at all, unless you count dead fiddler crabs in the summer time.  I don't.

Haven Beach is located very near the infamous, haunted Old House Woods.  There's even an old house on the way to the beach.

But it isn't The Old House.

It's a great old house, though.

The road twists and turns.

And you see a lot of this.

And that.

See all that standing water, below? Imagine what this road is like after a good storm.

 In case you can't imagine that, just know that all you'd see is water.

 Everywhere.

Water, water everywhere.
Just pray you do not sink
And not a drop to drink.

The road bends to the right and then to the left just as you reach the end.

And there waiting very patiently and quietly is a ghost or a floating pirate ship Haven Beach and the Chesapeake Bay.

The End.