The Land of Pleasant Living

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 18^th-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.

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