June 28, Saturday – Shock

Gonna’ have a guest; must do laundry; shop; clean the rig. As I hung out among the washer and dries I noticed action across the street in a shaded parking lot. A Saturday Market! Behind the tables of garden fresh vegetables and breads were Amish farmers mixed in with the other stands. Wash clothes and shop with the locals at the same time. This called for a scone.
When I got back to home base the temperature was in the upper 80’s and as I made up the bed and washed the floors, the sweat rolled off my body. The woman at the laundromat said this weather was what comes in late July and not in June. What’s happening here?
Time to take a break and do bill paying on line. I noticed that the data broadband part of my Verizon Wireless bill said that I had used 2 thousand megabytes last month. This figure doesn’t mean much to me because I have unlimited internet time. Out of curiosity I called the behemoth and after going through one hundred choice selections, I talked to human. “If I had been in Canada (as I will be in August), how much would that amount of megabytes cost me?” My jaw dropped and my eyes rolled to the back of head and sweat gushed from every pore but not from the heat. Her answer, “That amount in Canada would cost $4,100. It’s $2.05 per megabyte.” After the shock wore off, I realized that when going into Canada, I will go through the veil of silence because the cell phone also becomes an instrument of prohibitive costs. I SHALL find a way to communicate to the United States!!
It’s break time so I sit shirtless outside the metal hot box in a canvas lawn chair with a cold lemonade in my hand and a Saturday Market salad in the other.
Back at the computer in my empty back lot something was happening. Oh my god, I’m being invaded. Cars started filling the lot, hundreds holding well-dressed riders. I hurriedly put my shirt on ‘cause they can see into my home. It was a recital. Man, one minute I’m alone and the next folks crowding toward the college performance hall. Never know what’s going to happen next.

June 26, Thursday – Beat on my Chest

Today was adventure day. I was going to “central city” using the mass transit trail system. I got my senior rate $1 ticket for the 30 minutes ride into the city. When I do something new, I just follow someone and it worked to get me through the train system. My stop - Market’s East Main Station. Wow, what a complex of tracks and information boards. The escalators kept going up with malls on each floor. A buried city. When I broke out to into the heat and sunlight on the street level, I was surprised how little traffic there was. I’ve been told on the high population of blacks that residence in the city. This is true. I had been told by varies white people to be aware; don’t be there after dark. Because I taught in the inner city, worked under a black man and had black roommates and working side-by-side with blacks, I feel extremely comfortable with sharing space with them.
Slowly I walked down Market Street then Arch Street to the Independence Mall. I finally stepped into the long green lawn of the mall with Independence Hall at the south end. I signed up for a tour of this magnificent, historic building. I got on one immediately and after going through an airport system security check, joined 50 other folks to witness the birthplace of our nation. WOW!! The chairs, tables, ink wells. All those paintings of this setting and here was the real item. No duplication.
And from there to the Congress Hall with the House of Representative with its sparse setting and then upstairs to the Senate Chambers showing the plush of the twenty six chairs and chairs with the thick carpet. Some things don’t change. I was extremely proud of our founding fathers and the turmoil that they went through to truly forge a new country. It’s okay to beat (quietly) on my chest.
From the two stately buildings I wandered the walks stopping to talk to a couple of “living history” characters. The man was playing a banjo dulcimer and sang Loyalists songs.
Besides following my nation’s birth I was interested in contacting my people, the Quakers. After three stops at Quaker institutions, I felt no religious catharsis. Where were my people? I saw people at desks and signing me in and out, but not a soul to connect with. No bonding. Here I was at the heartbeat of my people after journeying all this way to find a union and I left feeling empty.
My stomach was empty, too. Moving on, where to eat? Try a street vendor? Why not try the Chinese Food wagon next to the hospital with ten people in line? (Street Vendor Credo: always go to one with a line.) Step in line and get a good meal for $3.50.
Afterwards I hit my afternoon wall and wanted to strike out for Snee-Oosh. On my way back to East Station I saw an old set of double doors and stepped through into a totally different world – it was a giant bazaar! What fun! It was the famous Reading Terminal Market – think Pike Street Public Market. I could have spent money in this place so I had to just look and keep moving.
Back in familiar territory in the East Main Station building I had time to bounce around and explore. This place was cavernous filled with folks of all colors but primarily black. At one location among the underground stores I stopped and turned around and I was the only white guy to be seen. Cool. Being in the minority is a new sensation for many Anglos. But I never noticed until I stopped to think about returning to the train platforms.
Being a neophyte in moving with the masses, I was pleased that I was able to sort out the train and track information for my return to the burbs. I got to my station, Swarthmore and the eight-minute walk back to my rig without a hitch. Home, Sweet Home.
See photo link.

June 25, Wednesday – Seeking Roots

In my circle tour around the perimeter of the United States a major objective was finding my ancestral roots in the town of Lansdowne, place of my Father’s birth. Armed with correspondence from Shelby, our family genealogist, I headed for Upper Darby and Hilldale Avenue. With the wonderful assistance of a person on a walk named Paul, I found Shrigley Park along Scottdale Road and Darby Creek. Paul knew the park because as a boy his Cub Scout Troop did corn roasts against the cliff in the park. The park had been mowed so the town was taking care of it. There standing next to the street were two empty posts that I’m sure held a sign once that declared that this was “Shrigley Park”. I had to suppress the immense urge to stop everything and dig holes and sink new posts then erect a new sign.
Paul and I had trouble with the next chore of finding the old Shrigley house. I will have to go back to Hilldale and look again after talking to Shelby on the phone. I found without trouble the 1802 Darby Quaker Meeting House. I felt a bond with the old shuttered stone building because this is were my Father, Grandfather and Great Grandfather and their families worshipped in the way of the Religious Society of Friends.
I was torn between photographing and being still with no camera at all. The camera dominated but stillness and touching the stone flowed from within me.
I also spent time in the Quaker History Library on the beautiful Swarthmore College campus doing some “research” for Shelby on tracing down information on a wedding held on February 19, 1772 of a Shrigley. The hunt turned up empty handed but it gave me legitimacy in asking the college if I could park my RV in the physical plant parking lot for a few days so that I could do some library searches.

June 24, Tuesday, - White knuckles

This morning marked my first time since San Diego that I was dealing with big city traffic. When I left the small state park, I immediately entered onto the Interstate system heading for Philadelphia then New York, big traffic volume areas. I really could have used a navigator. Missed turns and numbers coming and going but I made it to my destination: a parking lot at Swarthmore College in western Philadelphia.

June 23, Monday – A Drive in the Country

It was time again to weigh anchor and move further north to Delaware. I stopped a couple of times and was surprised with what I’ve been finding all along my trip up the east coast. German tourist and German sales people!! Radio Shack – German; Souvenir Shop – German. Interesting. As I headed north I stayed off the major roads and it was some of the most delightful driving that I’ve down in seven months on the road. Small farm towns and open crop lands with plenty of wooded areas. This was a total change of what I witnessed on my drive to Annapolis where the farmland was be assaulted by bad zoning.
I drove into Delaware about ten miles and camped at a state park next to the Delaware/Maryland Canal, a carved channel between Delaware Bay and Chesapeake Bay. This canal was the top of the Delmarva Peninsula. Right away I noticed something in Delaware that I had not seen before on my Circle Tour. The parks are dry – no alcohol and if you are from out of state, you get charged more for using “their” parks. Welcome to “The First State”

June 22, Sunday – Day of Rest

A day to mass around. I joined the park ranger and another family to get river samples with a seine net . We pulled in many minnows but no water snakes or eels. To help drive up the cost of gas I went to the Rural Life Museum in the river town of Denton. It was small but informative. The local historic society has re-assembled portions of old houses inside the museum. It has a nice collection of photos of the many turn of the century houses in the area.
While in the museum I saw mention of the Tuckahoe Neck Friends Meeting House. I asked where it was located. Within minutes I’m standing next to the meeting house built in 1802. I was amazed that a parking lot and a business building were pushed right up to the graveyard. This meeting house was my first exposure to my roots in decades. There will be more.

June 21, Saturday – Old Town

I started the day with an early walk along the banks of Watts Creek down to where it merges with the Choptank River, the largest river that drains the coastal plain of the Delmarva Peninsula. It’s 90 miles long and moves with the tidal influence. I sat on a park bench and watched osprey fish. Peace.
After a slow start, I drove the hour to Annapolis. I was quite disgusted with the zoning in this rich farmland. Housing developments on the Eastern Shore had been constructed in the middle of fields. Spot zoning was shamelessly flaunted. Wheat fields then a development then more fields in a checkerboard pattern.
On Kent Island I discovered a marvelous Visitor Center called Chesapeake Bay Exploration Center. I’ve seen numerous museums and this small one was excellent!! The Legacy Room had the history of Chesapeake Bay from pre-European to today. It addressed non-point pollution problems. It had bottles of detergent and lawn products plus 20 plastic toy cows lined up on a shelf with clear explanations. A highly recommended stop on ones journey to the city. It was a lucky stop for me because the staff also provided area information that eased my visit to Annapolis.
I parked the Jetta at the Navy Stadium and took the free shuttle to the historic part of the town. Because the roots of the town go back to the 1700’s, the streets are narrow and parking was impossible. I enjoyed how they laid out their waterfront and meshing it with the residential and business structures. It must have been a sight to see 200 years ago. I actually bought something from an old hardware store, a fouled anchor doorknocker. Because of the heat I could only take two hours of touristing. I must point out though I was not alone in the setting. It was a crazy zoo.

June 21, Saturday – The Special Day

Rejoice! Happy Summer Solstice, my dear friends. And in case we forget that we are not alone on this planet of ours, there are others here that are experiencing not the longest day of the year but the longest night of the year, too. It’s all relative, isn’t it?

I love fireflies

Coin

Our language has definite drawbacks. It is way too limited in trying to express feelings or a way, right? Or is it left? When I was young, the question we would ask each other was “Which did you love more Dad or Mother?” It was a no win question. I had so much love for my Dad and it was different than the deep love I had for my Mother. I would become so frustrated because there was only one word -love.
If a coin had “Love” engraved on one side, “Judgment” would be engraved on the other. If the word “love” were used, a “judgment” usually came with it. A “good,” “bad,” or “neutral” feeling was soon to follow. “Judgment” means that there is some type of ownership and expectation shackled to it. The mind needs to have labels to feel safe and guarded. If only we as individuals could break that judgment shackle, we would be a freer people.
Yesterday a family pulled into the wooded campground several locations down from mine. The dad walked by my place and the judgments jumped up like targets in a midway shooting gallery. He was wearing desert camouflage shorts, tattoos and a true Mohawk on his thirty something bald head. Judging, judging. When I went to bed, I glanced down the road and there in front of his campsite was an American flag on a pole with a spotlight shining on it. And here again the trap is set. What is love? Is his love of country different then mine? Is it stronger? Is it better? The judging in the realm of my standards of expectations slams me to the ground. I’m caught. I am blinded as to what I think is right. My love values are up again his. It is a no win. And the only way out is to tell the mind that judging is not the right path. Acceptance is.
When a man does not wear a miniature America flag on his suit lapel, is his love of country a source of question? Expectations are challenged. The “judgment” side of the coin is shiner than the “love” side. Right/wrong takes power when the mind wants to judge and label so it can feel secure. Whether a man puts a spotlight on the American flag at night at his campsite or a man does not wear a lapel American flag pin, is not the question of who or how much a person loves his country but that he is there and he is proud and his love is shown in different ways and we as follow citizens of this dear country of ours accept them for who they are and not judge them in our minds.

June 20, Friday – YES!!

The setting was spectacular with ocean surf and wild horses; grassland islands lying low in the water on the bayside. But the insect life dominated your every minute. During the seven days I spent at Assateague National Seashore, I had a nightly routine. Thirty minutes before I went to bed I would turn on the bathroom light and leave the door open then turn off all the other lights in the RV. Grabbing the 9 volt flashlight I start prowling the interior looking for mosquitoes clinging to the cloth ceiling. Also in my flashlight hand I would hold a new “Wet One”. I would try to pinch the mosquitoes between my fingers but if I missed the first time (which was surprisingly often. Am I getting old?) I just flat hand them on the ceiling leaving a crushed carcass in the cloth. But if she were a nasty, piss ant, blood-sucking mosquito, my blood would squish into the white cloth. All hunting stops as I work the “Wet One” back and forth overhead across the whiteness to remove the messy slaughter evidence.
I’ll take mosquitoes inside Snee-Oosh any day. They are easy to spot and kill. It’s their other winged cousin that takes superior elimination techniques for removing them from the inside. The sand gnat, or “no-see ‘ums” are about the size of a pencil tip and can easily go through the window screens – by the hundreds. As I mosquito hunt the darkness of the RV with my flashlight while swatting the gnat bites on my hot humid body, the gnats are also being drawn toward the light in the bathroom. When the sweep from bow to stern is over, I turn to the real problem critter. For fifteen or twenty minutes I focus on just killing the gnats attracted to the bathroom light. At some point the plastic light globe gets so hot that when the gnats touch it, they stick to it and die. The globe begins to look like pepper grains. I wipe them off and let their crumpled bodies fall in a pile in the sink. They continue to suicide into the light globe. The sink gradually turns from white to black. I contribute to the miniature butchering by finger squishing hundreds of them climbing up the white bathroom walls and again wiping up the blood spots when I kill one that had been nursing on me during the mosquito hunt. This massacre goes on until the kill numbers start to drop. When 10 or 15 seconds go by without me seeing one to destroy, I start to think about collapsing on the bed naked knowing that I will not be swarmed. So went my nightly routine.
This morning I traded this paradise for an inland state park called Martinak. When I stepped down from the cab in the thick oak forest, there was peace. YES! No cloud of insects. I can leave the windows open and the screen door in place. A gentle woodland breeze moves through the rig. And I have an electrical pedestal so I can close the windows and doors and fire up the A/C; an option that the I didn’t have at the seashore unless I ran the generator.
I learned a lot at the beach. I learned that I could “dry camp” - no hookups - for about five days. I didn’t practice electrical conservation and the house batteries let me know when they were running low by the inverter (changes DC to AC so that I can charge the phone and the camera batteries plus run the computer and listen to NPR) letting out loud beeps. Also I found out that when the freshwater tank gets low, there is a beeping sound every time the pump turns on. This last event occurred just at dusk last night. I was hoping that my fresh water would hold out until I could water-up at Martinak State Park. No such luck so rolling off the leveler blocks, then pulling them out of the way, I headed for the sewer dump and the freshwater hose. The dump station was situated near tall grass, prime mosquito habitat. I did the mosquito dance; pulling, connecting waste hoses; opening valves; stroking out the hoses into the dump and flushing out the waste hose, stowing things away. Then moving forward and taking out the supply garden hose and filling the freshwater tank just enough to get me through the night and morning. Dancing, dancing and smacking my bloody legs. I was raw meat and it was pay-back time for the winged biters. Then cruising out onto the main road and back into the entrance to the campground to my pad; stop; re-locate the levelers; drive up on top and stop. I was beat; and I couldn’t open the windows due to those flying minis out there.
Martinak is really the paradise.

June 19, Thursday – Exploring

My last night’s dinner guests spoke of walking the historic town of Berlin on the mainland situated just fifteen minutes from my camp. I checked it out.
Historic towns draw me because I spent six years on the La Conner Planning Commission and oversaw many issues that occur in a historic town. Topics such as design review – remodel/new; development, national franchises; growth; old timers vs. new people; split business districts; all fascinating subjects.
I spent the afternoon walking the streets and talking with the locals. And being the true tourist photographing and buying a slice of Smith Island Cake (nothing to write home about and not like a Nanaimo Bar). I found out that the long, low peninsula between Chesapeake Bay and Delaware Bay is called “Delmarva.” This name has history and was not dreamed up by a recent Chamber of Commerce gathering although it does sound like it. “Delaware, Maryland, Virginia” all the states that have a piece of the peninsula. Delmarva is the breadbasket for Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York. Corn, chicken, tomatoes, fish to name a few and where the basis of Berlin creation and survival.
The town had burned three times and after the 1895 fire, they rebuilt it in brick. I was duly impressed. Although the town was suffering from economical depression (like all towns are now) and had many vacancies, the three dozen or so buildings were in fairly good shape. The town had underground utilities and was nicely landscaped (La Conner take note!!). It had multiple streets in a compact business district with open spaces. Their design review process had some definite shortcomings with incompatible styles and materials but on the whole a delightful town to walk around in. They had their share of art galleries pushing local artists, antique stores and ice cream parlors but there still was a full functioning service station with four bays going full blast. And the usual anchor, the classic hotel (the Atlantic) with the long front porch and the rocking chairs. The downtown district was surrounded by classic turn-of-century houses in various states of upkeep. Of course out “On the Highway” there were the usual businesses and gas stations. Wanta invest in a historic town with all the small town problems??

June 18, Wednesday – Eat, Sleep, Look

In Galveston, I saw people swimming in the ocean so I tried it in the Florida Keys while snorkeling. As I meandered north on the barrier islands many times I saw people swimming so here at Assateague National Seashore I entered the water and swam. I blew it! Should have done this farther south on the continent. No wonder so many people were sunbathing and not swimming. It was COLD. The ranger said the water was 58 degrees and unless a back eddy swirl came off of the Gulf Stream it would not warm up until late July. She said that when these eddies appeared off the coast, they bring with them different fish than are normally found at this time of year. How did I know this? I love to learn. I attended “Surf Fishing.” Having to uphold the “Old Guys Rule” mantra I had to learn what these muscle trucks with their long fishing poles flagpoling out of their front grille did; I had to know the language. My mouth dropped when I saw it was a woman ranger with her fishing wagon with six surf poles sticking out of holders gathering folks in the parking lot to show them how surf fishing was done. We all paraded after her like a flock to ducks following the farmer’s wife out to the surf and sat down in the sand for school. She WAS COOL! Using beach sand as a three dimensional display she showed us how the first 100 feet of the surf line was formed with the bar off the beach. She used flip charts in a binder to show us the different fish that are caught. At one point she started to say something and stopped and started laughing. She apologized saying she was married to a “fish head” and loved talking about surf fishing with him and that sometimes she gets too carried away about talking about details. She showed the right and wrong sinkers that were used and why. The bait floats and hooks and the cutting up of the bait (“Once a bait knife; always a bait knife.”) Next she showed different pole lengths and techniques for casting. She let people use the rods without hooks or bait to practice casting into surf. I took great joy and seeing all of this equipment stamped with “NPS” – National Park Service. What a great use of my tax dollars. Walking up and down the beach she coached folks on their casts. She then let them attach hooks with bait and… let them fish. And through all of this I had absolutely no desire to surf fish. I just wanted to know how it was done……….
It’s a whole different world on the bay side of Assateague Island. And again it was a thirst for knowledge but this time I brought some real time with me. I went on a ranger led kayak trip in the bay. I got assigned a sit-upon plastic kayak; seen ‘em but never used ‘em. The most important part of the ranger’s talk on safety was if you capsized, stand up. The huge bay is mostly 5 feet or less. Our group of families and couples (me being the solo person again) headed out onto the bay with a stop on one of the low grass islands to use a beach seine net to see what could be discovered; spot drum fingerlings, comb jellies, crab. I was impressed with the park service. This was their first year in using kayaks. Both rangers were well-informed and good teachers.
To finish off the day I invited over for supper my neighbors from Connecticut. Mike had said that they were going to buy shrimp from the boatman and did I want some. Yes!! So we cooked and enjoyed supper together. I was a little nervous for they were my very first guests that I’ve had inside my RV in four months and seven thousand miles. It was a wonderful evening. Mike and Silvia - good people.

June 17, Tuesday – Horse Island

To play into the draw of Assateague National Seashore I armed myself with my camera and set out in pursuit of the famous wild horses. I found a band of horses taking a morning walk along the highway. Without leaving the comfort of my car I fired away with the digital. I noted how all the horses looked bloated. A little research explained why: “The horses spend most of their time grazing on abundant but nutrient-poor saltmarsh cordgrass, saltmeadow hay and beach grass. The horses’ short stature is a result of hundreds of years of adaptation to this low quality diet. Genetically they are considered horses, even though they are now pony size.
The Assateague horses drink over twice the amount of water that domesticated horses will due to their salty food supply. All that drinking combined with a high salt diet contributes to their bloated appearance.” (US Nat’l Park Service) The herd size is 137.
From wild horses to broad views - I checked out the long pedestrian bridge over Chincoteague Sound. Nice views up sound to Ocean City, across the barrier island to the Atlantic Ocean and then down the sound. The lower part of the barrier Island also has a large but separate herd of wild horses. The group that controls them (not NPS) rounds them up and makes them swim across a channel to a town where many of them are auctioned off as a means of population control. In 1947 a famous (as one of the locals told me) child’s book was written about the event called “Misty of Chincoteague.”

June 16, Monday – Circus on the Beach

After settling into Assateague National Seashore (with mosquitoes replacing the flies of Janes Island), I had to be able to say that I have seen the crassness of ocean side developed so I picked Ocean City of Maryland (sorry Dee) up the coast from the National Seashore. As I cross the bridge to the barrier island the skyline reveals what to expect. Condos, two story houses, high rise hotels and the three mile long, 20 foot wide boardwalk. Along with the hotel fronts were the tattoo parlors, swimwear, restaurants, fast food places, beach umbrellas/ beach chairs for rent. Adorning the southern skyline was the amusement pier with its giant Ferris wheel. On the water was the monster “OC Rocket” boat with a load of passengers balanced in the sky by the half a dozen parasails trailing behind speedboats and added to the circus were planes towing advertising banners. To fill the beaches and the boardwalks were crowds of high schoolers strutting their young bodies celebrating Senior Week. And there to watch were old men and the Firefighters’ Convention attendees.
After a hot day in the city it was nice to cool off in the campground with a quick and strong thunderstorm with wind gusts in the 40’s. Old Snee-Oosh sure shakes in the wind.

May15, Sunday – Environment

Jane Island State Park was a heaven. I had tried to get into Assateague National Seashore on the ocean side but they were full so I looked for the closest Maryland state park. It was Jane Island near the town of Crisfield on the Chesapeake Bay and Tangier Sound. The small park was a jump off place for sport fishermen and gathering place for families. Also kayakers flock to the park because of the well-known waterway trails. To make sure that you are aware that you are outdoors there were hoards of deer and horse flies that that greet you and kept me indoors with the A/C running. At one point I jumped up and burst outdoors and briskly walked to the park store/ranger station. I announced to the woman behind the desk that I needed to talk to someone because I was becoming a recluse. She spoke of the town and how it was fragmented by cliques; that the mayor couldn’t read or write; how the town was stagnated; a new election was happening next week with a black woman and a white man running on the same ticket with posters proclaiming that they were honest, had integrity.
In the sleepy town Crisfield had once had a boom time judging from the store fronts and the houses. Today it was filled with empty, for sale, condos, empty store fronts everywhere. The only place that seemed busy was The Sweet Shop, which is where the famous rich Smith Island’s cakes came to the mainland.
I had the worst and most expensive crab cake sandwich in the town. ($9.99 with wilted lettuce and a dry tomato slice on a toasted hamburger bun.)
Drove out to the small Coast Guard Station and stopped my VW and shut it down. It was right out of a Hitchcock film. Hundreds of horse and deer flies were throwing themselves against my car making dinging sounds. I sat behind closed windows screaming my head off. Alfred would have loved it.
I got to go inside the station and look at their boats and talk to the Petty Officer about their operations. Cool guy; cool service. They have about 40 to 60 search and rescue mission each year (Skagit Bay Search and Rescue have about 4 to 6 missions a year; Victory, B.C. have around 75 per year)
After a very leisure morning, I drove out the National Seashore and set up a dry camp (no water or electricity, which means no A/C without firing up the generator. I was torn between the 94 degree temperature and the $3.96 / gallon gas. Later this week it is suppose to drop into the lower 80’s. Can’t wait. At least with all the windows open I can hear the birds now and can smell the salt air.

June 13, Friday – He Told You to Stop

I really wanted to get around Hampton, Newport News and Norfolk before the morning rush hour so I was up at 5:15 and at the 6:00 ferry with Snee-Oosh with the land dinghy in tow. The deck crew put me up against the vessel’s midline superstructure and I was second to last in my lane with two other traffic lanes to my right. Out of habit in close quarters I folded back my big mirrors against my doors. When we reached the other side and off loaded, I waited until everyone had cleared out of my lane and was waiting for the deckhand to clear out the middle lane so I would have more room but he waved at me to come ahead. Slowly I moved forward watching him like a hawk because I could not see a thing because my mirrors were in. He was standing off to my left when I cleared the superstructure just as I heard a crunch. I stopped; he yelled. Snee-Oosh had bent the mirror back on the first car in the next lane over. The cab had missed the Honda but the body struck the mirror. The deckhand was too far to my left to see down between the two lanes and I was just watching his lead.
When I got out, an officer came down the steps and said to me in passing that I didn’t stop when the deckhand said to stop. I said, “Say,what!!”. Someone was covering his ass.
Being in emergency work, I’m very much aware of being inside the “event zone” and know what’s it like to operate under adrenalin. I had to keep bringing myself back on focus even though the mirror and a scratch on it size of a small finger nail. I remembered to get my camera out and photograph the mirror. This would make my insurance company happy. This is my first “accident” ever. (Also I just turned 7,000 miles today)
But I had to really turn my awareness to where I was going: to the famous engineering wonder of the world – the seventeen and a half Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel.
This highway feature has been in the back of my mind since the conception of the circle tour. “You are totally out of sight of land.” “You go down under the sea while you are over the sea” “It’s only two lanes wide.” So I got in line and paid my $28 and took my chances. I drove real slowly so that the big tanker truck in front of me could get way ahead. Two miles out you go under. The semis coming toward you in the tunnel play absolute hell with your RV steering – push to the right; suck to the left. “Steer through it” was my mantra. The light at the end of the tunnel was always a welcoming sight. Two one-mile long tunnels and one big high bridge but most of it on causeway bridging set in 35 to 45 feet of the shallow Chesapeake Bay. Party on!

June 11, Wednesday – Back in Time

By some stroke of luck I glanced at the maintenance record stuck to the Jetta windshield and saw that I was 300 miles past an oil change. After much driving around, I found a tire shop that did oil changes and settled into the waiting room with two other folks. I wasn’t looking forward to the one and a half hour wait for the job to be done so to pass the time I strike a conversation with the older man and the middle age woman. The next thing I knew someone was calling my name saying my car was done. Man, was that waiting room jumping with talk. The highlight of the waiting time was when the man picked up a copy of Newsweek with Obama on the cover. One thing led to another when the well-dressed woman who worked for William and Mary College proclaimed that she could never vote for Hillary. I declared that I was going back to Washington in time to vote for Obama. Political feelings were expressed with her feeling that Clinton would be much of the same. We discussed who the vice president candidate should be (she didn’t want Hillary to be that person.) We both agreed that someone with deep experience in politics would be the best person.
After paying my bill, I walked back into the tire shop waiting room and warmly shook both of their hands and thanked them for wonderful time.
From oil changes to 1607 on the banks of the James River to learn about the Jamestown colony. I was surprised by how much bloodshed occurred. Not only between whites and natives but whites (Nathaniel Bacon) against whites to the point of Jamestown being sacked and burned. After seventy years of existence, the colony never recovered from the trashing. Everyone moved inland to Williamsburg.
I was impressed with the three archeological digs going on. Eleven years ago they discovered the fort palisade remains and using ancient records were able to layout the old fort walls. The three crews were digging within those boundaries. The 150,000 artifacts that they have found are housed in a new building and one of the most interesting finds was that of a burial next to the fort wall. The skeleton was on display with a musket ball embedded in the man’s knee. The mystery that surrounds his death provides fodder for speculation.
One item outside the building was a large bronze statue of Pocahontas. A major turn off. This beautiful Indian maiden was dressed in buckskin with a single feather stuck in her hair. Her shapely figure and Anglo-ized face where quite becoming but everything about her was a gross violation of what was historically correct. Hollywood’s long arm had reached across the continent and created a mess in Jamestown.
I was not a happy Englishman.

June 10, Tuesday –Total Submergence

The reason I picked this state park was that there was a free ferry across the James River to the populated Virginia peninsula; home of the “Historical Triangle.” Known otherwise as …. Jamestown, Williamsburg and Yorktown.
Early in the morning I drove the 8 minutes on farm roads to the ferry landing and captained the vessel across the river. I was amazed at the passenger list. Middle class cars and trucks drive by evenly split black and white drivers. This was the going-to-work crowd and everyone knew everyone else. For thirty minutes is was a flash party: people of both colors laughing and talking – mostly bitching about the insanely hot weather, amen. I could stop smiling as I watched this mobile community traverse the river to a forested other bank. Where were the shoreline houses? Where were the condos? Where were the docks and boats? What I saw were three sailing vessels representing the vessels that brought the people to Jamestown. The lack of development blew me away.
After successfully landing the ferry, I drove up a wooded two-lane road to what is called the Colonial Parkway and drove 20 miles to the other side of the peninsula to visit the town where the British Cornwallis surrendered to the George Washington after the siege of the port town basically ending the Revolutionary War. So I had seen where the Civil War had started at Ft. Sumter and the Revolutionary War had ended in Yorktown. I’ve learned and have seen SO much!! In Yorktown I walked the historic streets and went into the house owned by Thomas Nelson, Jr, one of the signers of our Declaration of Independence. His house (he was not there during the British occupation) had the honor of still having a cannon ball stuck in its brick wall from the America artillery during the siege.
Soon after lunch I succumbed to the blister heat and headed back to my RV. And I must confess that I left the A/C on all the time that I was gone. (I found that it took 3 hours of continuous running to drop the temp from 95 to 76 so I just let it cycle on and off and let it run while I’m gone.)

June 9, Monday – To Virginia

I bid farewell to Bodie Island in the Outer Banks and drove through the wildfire smoke to clean air up north to Chesapeake Bay country. I then navigated around the early morning rush hour of Chesapeake and Norfolk skirting the cities to the west and headed up the west bank of the James River with my eye on dropping anchor at a place called Chippokes Plantation, as in State Park. What a find. These kinds of discoveries just blow my mind. No research; no planning. Just pick a place on the map and go.
The actual plantation is one of the oldest continuously farmed land in America. Clearing of the land started just decades after the settling of Jamestown in 1607 and now the 1,400 acre plantation has 20 historically important structures including slave quarters and two plantation houses.
After setting up camp, I explored late in the afternoon. The main mansion was locked when I tried the door but a small sign said it was open for another 30 minutes. As I walked away the door unlocked and a woman said to come in. What ensued was an amazing personal tour of the mansion and its history by a person who was attached heretically to the plantation. The plantation, which was named after the chief of the local tribe in the 1600’s, has seen only a handful of owners in its 400 year history. In 1967 the Stewarts donated it to the Virginia State Parks Systems with strict terms. It named the crops that had to be grown on the plantation and what families associated with the plantation needed to work there. As I listened to her talk my eyes went on a feasting journey. It was as if the family up and left in a moment’s notice in the early part of the last century. The woman spoke of finding boxes stacked in the hallways when they first looked inside the mansion. They found living history inside those boxes; pitures, documents, books; kitchen and dinning room wares. She said they found 80 oriental rugs of which 60 of them where on the floors. Furniture, oh, the furniture. The Stewarts were close friends of the Rockefellers, who would bring gifts of bedspreads and furniture.
She spoke of ghosts that she had seen and of a cannon ball that she found in the woods last fall. Of being involved in the living history/antique farming equipment gathering the day before and how she showed people and nieces of the old owners how to do hearth cook. What an absolute treasure this woman was and there I stood transfixed listening to her. My head was swimming as she unlocked the door and let me out..

Turtle Soup

Every region of the country has its local traditions or work environment. We, the people, enjoy doing our thing. However as the population increases and natural resources decrease, conflicts arise. That’s the Pacific Northwest’s two hot topics: salmon and owls.
As the salmon runs diminished both Native and Non-native fought for the right to fish. In our regional treaties it states that the Native population gets half of the commercial take. And the fight begins. Nets are cut; guns are drawn. Many of the depleted runs can be traced back to poor timber harvesting techniques, which caused silt deposits in the spawning streams. To add more problems the logging off of ancient forests were eliminating habitat for the endangered spotted owl. Timber cutting was reduced; jobs were lost and bumper stickers showed up declaring that the only owl that was good was in spotted owl soup.
Hold that thought; now change the Pacific Northwest backdrop to the Barrier Islands – the Cape Hatteras Islands and you have the same situation.
The Cape Hatteras Islands are prime ocean surf fishing areas. Folks would drive their horse and wagons on the beaches and surf fish. These were replaced with trucks in time. Both locals and sport fishermen enjoyed the pastime. However the same beaches are the nesting grounds for sea turtles and piping plovers. With increased human population and increased use of beach driving and a conflict explodes. The tire ruts in the sand keep both turtle and plover hatchlings from reaching the sea. Tires disrupt the nesting areas. Locals against the environmentalist. Lost jobs; Lost revenue. And the beat goes on. “Keep our beaches open!” “The only good turtle is in a soup!”
The National Park Service that controls the beaches in the area are trying to implement a management program of which the most stark reminder is a portable highway sign at the entrance highway declaring “No beach driving between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m.” plus specific “ramp” closures – access to the beach through the sand dunes.
Environmental awareness is always a struggle. In Florida there’re billboards on beach highways stating no beach lights from July to October so that sea turtle hatchlings can get to the surf and safety. (The hatchlings are instinctively attracted to the white breaking surf at night and get confused which way to go when there are lights shining on the beach.) Virginia is still trying to get sports fisherman to work with them on endangered species. “But we have always driven the beaches around here.” When there were only a few, no problem. Now the beaches can look like a parking lot with vehicles. Taking away traditional ways of doing things is always a challenge and still try to meet the needs of both humans and animals. The Cape Hatteras Islands are in the middle of this.