The fifth day of the tenth month

MINDING THE ROOTS AT TAVERN CREEK-2

When you're fifteen or sixteen, you are invincible.  A no brainer.  Course, that's what my parents (rest their souls) said constantly.  Some of the things you do are without the use of that thing between your shoulders. 

My first boat, all mine, was about 14 feet long.  A plywood, run-a-bout with two cockpits and a sixteen horse power Mercury outboard engine.  I thought the thing flew, until I raced my buddy who had a 14 foot with a bigger engine.  Immaterial-----I took that little thing all around the Chesapeake Bay over the course of about five years.  When we bought the boat,  it needed to be rebuilt.  I did that, and think I really did my father proud.  At least the thing floated and gave our posse in Gratitude water transportation.  We almost flipped once in heavy water, had blue water coming over the bow, and never ran aground because all you did was get out and push.  We did have a great respect for the Bay and what could happen to us, but we were teenagers..........what'ya want.

I guess we figured that if we got into trouble we'd just pull up on a beach or a pound net like this one and wait till somebody came looking for us.  Great place to be a kid.

This is a view of the Eastern Shore of the bay from the mouth of the Chester River looking North.  I always try to point the camera north because the colors are more saturated in that direction as opposed to the other three points of the compass.  Tavern Creek is just inside the point of land off the bow of the sail boat.  The water at this spot is probably around ten to fifteen feet deep, so we would have had a long swim if something went wrong.  But we knew nothing ever went wrong!

The 4th day of the 10th month of Emergence

MINDING THE ROOTS AT TAVERN CREEK-1

In 1954, life was good!  I cannot remember which grade of school I was enduring, but I lived in a central Jersey commuter town and summered in a tiny village on the Chesapeake Bay.  Literally on the bay, not one hundred feet away from a grass filled beach.  The water was inhabited by blue crabs, white perch and the occasional striped bass.  My father had decided that investment property in "Gratitude" was his own trip back to his formative years.  Gratitude was and is the end of a road and part of a larger community called Rock Hall.  A right hand turn at the end of MD. Rt. 20 is Lawton Avenue which runs for about a third of a mile along the bay and the mouth of Swan Creek.  If one doesn't make the turn and some have not, there is a very wet end to the trip.  Lawton Avenue is Gratitude, MD.

One creek west Swan creek and into the bay proper lies Tavern Creek, at that time protected by two islands.  The islands were un-named and were most likely remnants of Swan Point itself.  The small pieces of ground being created by erosion of that locally famous finger of land which protected the entrance to Tavern from persistent westerly winds. 

This was my first published photograph, and a cover at that!  Double click to read the article.

"Gratitude" was in the fifties nothing by a sleepy street inhabited by widow ladies, watermen and occasional summer resident.  There were three marinas that catered to watermen (commercial fishermen) and the occasional sailor or pleasure boater.  But primarily the water activity was limited to the fishermen of the day.  And of course we kids.  One of the radio stations in Baltimore nicknamed bay life as the "Land of pleasant living" and for the kids it certainly lived up to that reputation.

Back then dogs napped in the middle of Rt. 20, and you had to drive around them.  Kids took their shoes off as soon as school was out, and didn't put them back on until new ones were purchased in the fall at the restart of school.  Crabs could be caught with dip nets on about every third piling on all the docks.  Thousands of ducks, geese and swan argued with each other in fall evenings.  Local baseball games ended in fist fights if the home team lost.  Sometimes even if the locals won, fights would break out because they were as much fun as the game itself.  Pinball machines in local restaurants paid five cents a game won.  We would travel around town all week with pockets bulging with nickels.  Bags of carnival glass could be won at the annual carnival by pitching those same nickels.  The Friday night movies were held in a hall with folding chairs as seats.  And as kids we were all kicked out of the corner drug store and soda fountain, repeatedly.  There were no red lights in town, only a blinker.  The local cops would hide in the dump along Rt. 20 on Friday nights to catch out of towners speeding to their summer homes.  Back then the area was a watermen's town (Roots).........today, a sailing mecca.

The third day of the tenth month

Thinking of fall this morning as the temps have dropped to within 11 degrees of freezing.  Huh!!!!  Ok, it was only mid 90's last week.

Great Smokey Mountains.

Absolutely crystal clear day with low humdidity which I will spend in the garage pricing stuff for a garbage sale to be held here on the 15th.  Oh, that's garage sale.  I have pretty much retired from the outdoor show circuit and therefore will have a great deal of art, a circular matcutter, old photos, frames, framed photos, matted photos, tent, booth, you name it.  So if you're within a thousand miles of us, it might be worth it to stop by.  The operative word here is "CHEAP".  A couple of antique things, some wooden boxes, a kitchen table, and if the price is right the kitchen sink.  I am looking to sell stuff, so if you're near Cayce, SC..........come on down!

And this is just the start!

The First of Oct. of the year of Emergence

Post Ambien!

I am not sure where nine months have gone since I first made the Emergence image on the first of January, but the year sure does fly by. 

The big lake in New Hampshire, like all large bodies of water, can take on a personality all of it's own.  Despite what residents, vacation goers, water skiers and fisherman would wish; weather is at the root of most of our outdoor experiences.  If you think about it, skiers want snow, hikers want crystal skies and low humidity, boaters want smooth sailing, and fishermen?  Well we are a crusty lot.  And what we wish is often thought of as a little strange.  Yes, eighty degree sunshine would be nice to sit on an open expanse of water and soak up the relaxation, musing about what could have been had the fish been biting.  But on the other hand, a slight wind, cloudy skies, and a little rain is what we want for landlocked salmon fishing on the big lake.  Yeah, I know bring on the brain surgeon.  What we don't want the night before is a growing wind through the majestic pines of the big woods.  It helps sleep, but!

When the wind blows all night long, it portends much of the same the next day.  Wind actually whistles through the pines.  It really does, the needles are the reed of that magnificent instrument called a pine grove or woods.  The percussion section bangs away as the branches and trunks careen into each other.  Wonderful to listen to and a mechanism which brings sleep on  quickly, as long as the other five guys in the cabin are not snoring like chain saws.  Different story there. 

Sometime during the night a late April snow has fallen in the White Mountains, guaranteeing ample spring runoff.

The morning opens with waves breaking over the Summer House and we know that the day will be taken up with chores, reading, cooking, poker, and a personal hygiene day.  Anything to kill the time when one can't fish.  Cocktails out there tonight will be a wet affair.

Even by later afternoon the waves are still thundering over the small breakwater by the dock, and there is no relieve in sight.  If it is blowing out the the Northeast, then we will have three days of this.

Did anybody bring their golf clubs?

The 30th of September of the year of Emergence

When Ambien fails!

You know when it happens.  Those nights, when all the TV and/or reading just doesn't work.  The drugs of choice for we insomniacs won't touch it.  What is it with our internal clocks.  Or maybe, like myself, our small brains just try to work overtime and sleep comes only when there is an hour or two of night left.  Figures!  Murphy was truly an optimist.

I have found that often my memory (long term because short term is shot) can carry me back to things I find soothing.  Well if not soothing, then something that can help me gain the unconsciousness I look for.  For me that memory flash often revolves around photography, places I have been, or things I enjoy doing.  Generally all of the above!  Or in my case, it most likely was a past fishing trip.  Such a catharsis often starts on the big lake in New Hampshire.

A number of times, when we put the lake to bed, there is no breeze blowing and a colorful sunset.  Such conditions portend a upcoming morning ideal for small craft and the pursuit of such finny creatures that swim.

On nights like these the pines will hardly whisper and the hoots of the owls in the deep woods with reverberate with unerring pleads for a mate or at least a friend.  The loons will bounce their haunting calls over flats expanses of water as if in an echo chamber.  The Lord promises that the next morning will be like that of the first day he created.  

However, a night wind whispering or roaring through  the pines, will portend more of the same the next morning.  Which in the spring means an extra cup of Pikes Place Roast (bless you Starbucks), extra layers of long underwear, sweaters, and gloves plus hats to cover the more delicate tools of the angler's trade.

We always leave the dock and head around the "Summer house" or the gazebo on the small point of land upon which the cabin complex is found.  This is the eastern shore of the lake and as such will not show the light until the sun is at least an hour over the horizon.

  The water is black along the shore, even though at noon we can see bottom ten feet down. At this time of day all is dark with a shoreline that offers mystery, hope, anticipation, and the feeling of being isolated with nature.  The water brightens as we slip quietly offshore.  Colors move from the black of night to a silver blue cast of a rising sun without the contaminants of pollution that create a bight and colorful sunrise.   A hard blue, crystal clear sky promises a slight breeze and chop on the water in an hour or two.  Until them we contend with a gentle start to the dahy and a flat lake that gives up her secrets with every ripple.

Oh my gosh!  I think I am falling asleep!

The 29th day of the nineth month of Emergence

Lonesome

The 28th of the ninth

Just a teaser