Delights: July 14 to July 20

July 14: With Assateague Island behind us, my Iowa family and I headed west today toward the Chesapeake Bay. After an hour’s drive through woods, cornfields and tiny old towns, we arrived in Crisfield, Maryland, which calls itself the Oyster Capital of the World. We boarded a ferry and, for a sunny hour, motored past osprey, cormorants and crabbing shanties to Smith Island.

Smith Island, settled in the mid-1600’s, is known for its crabs and its 8- to 10-layered cakes (a bit too sweet for our taste). [Editor’s note: five days later, we’ve all discovered that the Smith Island coconut cake is delicious.]  Smith Island is also known for its peculiar speech patterns (said to contain remnants of 17th century Elizabethan English) and its three villages, totaling just 200 residents.

We dined next to a small harbor flecked with working boats and then walked through the town of Ewell. The village’s four one-lane gravel roads offered a museum, two churches and a baseball field. (Although the island has very few trees, I felt right at home.)

On the ferry back, I chatted with a young “waterman,” as they’re called here, who operates the ferry during summer months. As we bounced along the water, he pointed to a small island with a 19th century chimney — all that’s left of an old factory that produced fish oil and fish-based fertilizer. “The island has graves, too, from when it was a plague island,” he explained.

My companion also gestured to areas with “federal horsters” where, during the seafood harvest season, watermen weren’t allowed to go. (I wondered why the federal government was safeguarding horseshoe crabs and what in the world they were doing way out here, but I let it go.) He assured me, though, that recent harvests were abundant elsewhere: “We sell ‘em in Crisfield. Our horsters go all around the world!”

Of course: Oysters. With a Smith Island twist.

July 15: By now (after three summers at Assateague), my sister-in-law Karolina and I expertly pack lunch in our beach cooler. Our sandwiches, which Karolina and I stuff with cucumber slices, bean sprouts and avocado (why don’t I do that at home?), join lots of fruit, water, cookies and salty snacks.

Even better, my nieces and nephew are experts at carrying our beach stuff to the sand. Rule Number One: if you want to sit in a beach chair, you’ll carry it. (My eight-year old nephew decided after our first day that he wanted a chair too and now totes his own.) Rule Number Two: if you want a boogie board, you’ll carry that too. (The girls each took one.) Rule Number Three: Everyone carries something for the common good: beach toys, cooler, water jug, beach umbrella, etc. 

On Day One (unsurprisingly), there was considerable grousing as, hot and tired, we disassembled our beach spread and lumbered to the parking lot. Today, to my delight (and surprise), our hot, tired multitude quickly grabbed their assigned gear and not only carried it without complaint but reached out to help others.

Maybe routine (and rules) help. Or maybe it was Karolina’s and my promise to cap our day with a twilight visit to our local waterpark. . . .

Lazy River, here we come!

July 16: Tonight, after another beautiful day at the beach, we at last achieved bedtime. But my nieces, excited by the arrival of Kevin, Nate and Kevin’s brother Loyd, persistently peeked over the second-floor railing toward the dining table below. 

Although usually we were willing to indulge a bit of bedtime rascality, tonight we committed ourselves to the very adult job of sampling 25-year old single malt Scotch. The guest of honor was Glenfarclas, a whisky from the Speyside region of Scotland that’s aged in sherry casks. Nate and I offered for comparison two bottles of our own top-shelf Scotch, and the tasting (and education) began. 

Loyd guided us through an examination of color, nose, palate and finish. We sampled the Glenfarclas “neat,” searching for the “luscious fruit pastry filling” described in the review Loyd read to us. “This one definitely makes its presence known,” one of us gasped after a fiery first sip.

We finally decided that our assertive Scotch needed two ice cubes as gentling companions. And I decided I needed to invest in four proper drinking glasses for next time.

Bonus: My contribution to our evening’s fun consisted of passing around photos of Kevin’s and my visit to a Scotch shop on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. I’d made the mistake that day of choosing to buy the first Scotch I’d tasted, thus foreclosing other tastes. But with foresight I had taken photos of the shop’s displays, chalkboard inventory and distillery map, which we consulted tonight. (And that day in Edinburgh I cleverly beckoned Kevin into the stop to taste — and share — a few more offerings.)

July 17: You’ve heard me extol the joys of a sunny outdoor shower. Well, a hot outdoor shower in the pouring rain is dandy too, especially if, like my two young nieces, you first practice dance moves in the street (“to rinse the sand off,” they explained) and later dash naked through the downpour into the garage (“no sense getting our towels wet!”). 

Oh to have the unselfconsciousness of the young!

July 18: For our relatives, Nate launched a Maryland Eastern Shore shrimp boil, complete with sweet white corn on the cob, tiny red potatoes and three kinds of sausages all cooked (with local spices) in the same pot. Nate assigned me table duty, which entailed taping sheets of newspaper to our picnic table. Plates? Forks? Totally optional, Nate said. 

Dubious, I returned to the kitchen and pulled out serving bowls for the corn, potatoes, shrimp and sausages. Need these? Nope, Nate said.

We gathered at the table and Nate emptied the contents of his “boil pot” onto the newspaper. “Dig in, everyone!” We reached into the pile — the kids loved this — and ate with enthusiasm and with our fingers.

Napkins, Nate? Definitely.

July 18: I was chatting with the young man at the toy store when my niece approached the register with gifts for her family. The young man and I had covered baseball, rock concerts (his mom had surprised him with tickets to Elton John’s farewell tour), and our admiration for aging singers. 

The young man tallied my niece’s  purchases: “Twenty two dollars and twenty-two cents. How about that?!”

Then he looked at the crisp twenty dollar bill in my niece’s hands. “Hmmm. Let me check that again.” He punched a few buttons on the register and produced a new tally: $19.99.

He accepted my niece’s money, handed her a penny change, and waved off both my thanks and my offer to make up the difference. “We had such a nice conversation,” he said. “It’s on me.”

July 19: The weather bestowed another gift today: a morning of rain. We were all ready for a bit quiet alone time. And card games. 

It turns out that our oversized patio umbrella is perfect for sheltering a rousing game of Uno Flip (until the wind decided to join us). And for anyone setting a camping chair under the eaves, our open garage door offers all the sounds, smells and views of seashore rain.

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If you’d like to browse my past delights, please consult the “word cloud” featured at the very bottom of this post. Find a theme or two that interests you and sift through the sands. Or learn a bit more about my Blog by visiting my Welcome page. You’ll also see links to four essays that were published in print magazines. I’m glad you’re here!