Donna and I took off for the
weekend, to one of my favorite places, Maryland’s Eastern Shore, known as The
Land of Pleasant Living.
From our home in Columbia, you
cross three bridges along the way—the Severn River Bridge, the 4.5-mile Chesapeake Bay Bridge, and finally the Kent Narrows Bridge, after which you are
officially on the Eastern Shore. Each takes you further back in time, to a
slower, less crowded, quieter place. It’s not the horse-and-buggy lifestyle of
the Amish in Pennsylvania, but it’s certainly more serene than life in the
midst of the Baltimore-Washington corridor. You are among farms that date to
the 1600s and 1700s, flat horizons broken by lone, wood-frame houses and the
occasional tree line. There are reminders of civilization: a cell tower here, a
grain elevator there, and, increasingly, encroaching housing developments.
When you go, pay attention to
the names. The towns: Sudlersville, Galena, Snow Hill. The narrow strips of
land between the scads of tributaries and creeks: Batt’s Neck, Hog Neck, Piney
Neck, Still Pond Neck. The roads: Hatchett Road, Flat Iron Square Road, Tuckahoe
Road, Leverage Road, and my favorite, Screamersville Lane (in Kingstown).
We began our
adventure in Chestertown, the home of my alma mater, Washington College (1782). We had
lunch on the water at what used to be called the Old Wharf Inn and is now
called Fish Whistle. Then we drove the mile or less to campus to watch the
Shoremen lacrosse team play McDaniel. It became a glorious day, in the mid-50s
and sunny. Sitting in the bleachers at Kirby Stadium, soaking up the warm rays
for the first time in months, was incredibly therapeutic after a long, freezing,
snowy winter. The game was close until the second half, when WAC pulled ahead
to win 9-5.
From there
we drove to Easton, where we stayed at the Tidewater Inn, a local landmark. The
guest rooms are tiny and the walls are thin, but it was nice to stroll around
Easton, hang out in the room without thinking about chores, or work, or the busy-ness
that tends to overtake and consume weekends.
The slow
pace of the Eastern Shore applies to all parts of life there. Just because
the light has turned green doesn’t mean the car in front of you is about to go.
Just because you have been seated for dinner doesn’t mean your server will stop
by soon. It’s not personal; it’s Eastern Shore Time. If you are in a rush, this
isn’t the place for you.
We had a
good dinner, eventually, and a great bottle of wine, at last. The next morning,
we took the lifestyle to heart and relaxed in our little room. I brought up
coffee and a paper from downstairs and we idled till almost 10am—unheard of for
us.
Then we
headed to Oxford, one of our favorite towns. It is on the Tred Avon River, is old,
charming, slow, quiet and the home of the Oxford-Bellevue ferry (commissioned
in 1683 and operating continuously since 1836) and the Robert Morris Inn
(1710).
We had a fine breakfast (slowly) at the inn’s Tap Room, then drove
around town—the wind kept it too cold to do much walking. We checked out some
houses and daydreamed about retiring to one of the waterfront manors.
From Oxford
we went on to Cambridge, on the Choptank River. Besides the octagonal lighthouse
there, we couldn’t find much of interest. Condos, marinas, and fast-food
restaurants. It is more Rockville Pike than Water Street.
From there
we headed home. As we neared and crossed the bridges along the way, first one,
then the next, then the last, we left behind our glimpse of 18th-century
life among the cornfields and ancient inns. The traffic thickened, the pace increased, the
din we had escaped steadily rose like someone was turning the stereo dial. Poof—the
spell cast by the magic of time-traveling to the past had been broken, and we
were home, until our next adventure.
Here are more photos...
WAC's stout defense against the Green Terror |
Kibley Field, Kirby Stadium, also known as The Cathedral |
Donna and the lighthouse in Cambridge |
Donna and statue of Lucy, unofficial mascot of Chestertown |
In Cambridge. The name of the boat: Gotcha, Bitch! |
The Hill Dorms, Washington College |
Our dream home, Oxford |
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