The 7th day of the 10th month

MINDING THE ROOTS AT TAVERN CREEK - 4

It is funny, I can wander into a room of the house specifically in search of something.  Get there and have absolutely no idea why I am standing, looking around for something, that has totally vanished from my thought process.

But the texture, feel, look, and meaning of a particular morning on a hidden muddy creek on the eastern shore of Maryland's Chesapeake Bay is embedded in the front of my forehead as if it happened 30 seconds ago.  Yet it was over 55 years past.  Strange what we seasoned citizens must endure.

The fog slowly lifts revealing a marshland on either side of the creek.  A full tide allows my craft to snuggle into the grasses edge as I sneak around each bend.  Fishing is probably done for the day as the sun lifts and the tide wanes, but other natural wonders abound for a young man in his formative years.  These creeks along the eastern shore of the bay are simply mini highways into an incredibly productive farming country.  Such country can be found from the shores of the Susquehanna River in New York and Pennsylvania,  all the way south to the mouth of the bay at Cape Charles in Virginia.  Much of the area is similar.  Bear in mind that a hundred years ago, the only transportation in the area was by boat.  So a great deal of the property along the Bay is constructed with water access in mind. 

Sections of the creek open suddenly to show nature's hidden gems.  This doe has spent the night feeding on the corn and soybeans of the adjacent farm and is now bedded down for the remainder of the day.  Late in the afternoon, she will rise and start the feeding process all over again.

You can find these wonderment's if you know the area and are quiet enough not to disturb the critters.  Fields still open to the water's edge and the newest arrivals are on the morning feed.

A young osprey should have left the nest for the flight south around or on the 15th of September.  But being young, he hasn't learned the drill and still hangs out hoping that his parents are incoming with another fish for breakfast.  He'll get hungry in a day or two and start to hunt in earnest and move on south until sometime in mid march when he returns to the same area.

 As the tide starts to move out in earnest, I must leave the constricting shores of the creek and seek deeper water.  Even in my little craft, the bottom will come up too fast.  At the mouth of Tavern, I am looking south towards the bay bridge at Annapolis some 12 miles away. 

Immediately in front of my craft's bow is about three quarters of a mile of flats between the two islands.  One island on the west side of the flat and another on the east.  Our home lies to the east of the entire flat and over Swan Creek.  Baltimore lies to the West North West and across the bay.  The fog has burnt off and a welcomed warmth is building in the eastern sky.  The creek is quiet, but the flat is constantly moving with wind and tide.  The islands are destined for destruction from the ever eroding forces of moving water and sand.  But this day they offer protection from the building waves of the bay proper.