Month: June 2020

turning off Route 13 onto Chincoteague Road

passing Wallops Flight Facility with its fields of solar panels

rolling down the windows to breathe in the salty air

crossing the marshes with the wind in our sails

seagulls gliding and dipping over the bridge ahead

bicycle tires on a gravel road

sand dunes touching the blue sky

white cotton clouds breaking and reforming

catching the lip of the wave on a boogie board, riding it all the way in

outdoor shower with a session IPA and a view of Oyster Bay

shucking oysters on the back deck

spreading newspapers for a crab feast

lights beginning to twinkle across the bay as the sun disappears from the sky

gazing at stars from the widows’s walk

devouring hot, fresh, melt-in-your-mouth doughnuts at the Sandy Pony truck

laughing gulls on the bridge

ponies grazing way out in the marshes

picking out fudge at Pony Tails

playing Spades on the back porch, talking smack

crossing back over the marshes with a lot less wind in our sails

Goodbye for now, Chincoteague.

We hired trusty Captain Jed and his son, Ethan, yesterday to take us out on a fishing and clamming excursion. He told corny dad jokes and took us out to different spots around the island to drop our hooks in the water and hope for some bites. Since the tide was going out and the wind had picked up, we found ourselves in somewhat choppy waters, but not so bad that our faces turned green. Chris caught a couple fish, but the rest of us had no bites.

The kids were in good spirits and didn’t complain (they like to save exclusively for us), but they definitely became more animated for the clamming portion of the day. Cap’n Jed drove us over to a positively mucky flat, gave us some socks and a few pointers, and a-clammin’ we went. As we shuffled our feet in the black gooey mud, we became more adept at detecting the smooth, round shell of a clam. Within a half hour, we had a bucketful of large and medium clams. My pink toenail polish now had a black outline, but that’s a small price to pay for dining on freshly dug clams.

When we got home, we proudly presented our harvest to my sister and her family. We threw the smaller clams on the grill and steamed them until they opened, and chopped up the larger clams for a chowder. A deep satisfaction is to be won by sticking your hand into the earth and pulling out dinner.

I had been a little concerned that the islanders here would not be up for welcoming us with open arms this year. The number of confirmed cases in Accomack County was over 1,000, but those cases were mostly at a poultry plant, not on Chincoteague Island, where they’ve been largely spared. I wondered if they would be ringing up our sunblock, t-shirts, ice cream, and take-out with forced, uncomfortable smiles, fearful of all us suburban and semi-urban dwellers bringing the virus with us, yet unable to economically weather a summer without tourism.

I should’ve have doubted them. They were the kind, open, and upbeat folks I’ve always known. I asked the young woman at the liquor store (I needed a tiny bottle of rum for an apricot glaze), how they felt about all us tourists flowing into town, and she said, “It was pretty lonely here. It’s good to have you back.” Across the street, Edwin and I ducked into the Sunsations beachwear shop for a bathing suit for him (because what did he forget to pack, even though I reminded him three times?). I couldn’t see her smile behind her mask, but I knew it was there as she asked, “Is that all you need, honey?”

Goodbye, SY1920, may you rest in peace. This was the most anti-climactic end to a school year I can imagine. Rather than write about the obvious reasons why this was such a bummer of a June, I’m going to list what I look forward to having again in the future:

-International Game Day

-Camp Jefferson

-signing students’ yearbooks

-student-staff basketball game

-clapping the kids out as they climb on the bus on the last day

-closing my classroom door, white boards erased and books tucked in safely behind butcher paper for a two-month slumber

-hopping in the car at the end of the last day, so excited and relieved to be gazing at nine weeks of well-earned freedom

-last day happy hour

None of these things happened these last weeks of school, and it’s been very disorienting. I’ve been walking around the last few days without much work to do, thinking, “That’s it?” and “Am I forgetting anything?” Nope, I guess not. When people have said, “You must be relieved it’s summer” or “You must be happy to get a break,” my reaction has mostly been, “Yeah, I guess” because it’s really just been like a slowly deflating balloon. I will admit, though, I am looking forward to getting my mind off school for a little while before we press on into more uncharted territory.

One thing I know for sure is that the celebrations will return, and they will be loud, messy, sweaty, and just plain wonderful. I can’t wait.

We’re leaving for Chincoteague in two days, the island I’ve been visiting on and off all my life. My parents first brought my older sister and me there when I was two. The first time we went, I’m told we stayed in a little motel with a pool and a pony out front. The motel is still there, as well as the pool, but the pony has moved on to greener pastures. This is the pool where Lara, my sister, dove down to the bottom and got her hair stuck in the drain. Luckily, my dad was paying attention and swam down to free her hair in time.

We visited summer after summer, but instead of staying at the motel, we made Maddox Family Campground our tradition. It, too, is still there but under a different name. Just last year, a water park opened beside it, with a lazy river and several water slides – not very Chincoteague at all, – but the town has managed to retain its character and small-town charm (in all honesty, I’m totally fine with the brewery that opened up a couple years ago – the beer is delicious!).

I have ridden my bike around the wildlife loop countless times over the years and smashed hundreds of mosquitos up and down my legs and arms. We have fed probably close to a hundred dollars in quarters to the mechanical pony outside the candy and souvenir store “Pony Tails.” Maxine climbed on last summer as a joke, declaring it would be her last ride.

My lengthy Chincoteague hiatus occurred over my later high school years, through college, and all the way until Edwin and Maxine were born. We vacationed in Rehoboth and Bethany a few times when they were babies, and it finally occurred to me that I had left part of my heart in Chincoteague. Since 2009, we’ve been returning every summer. We rent the same house every year, and it’s gotten to feel like home.

We spend our days hanging out on the dock, riding our bikes around the island, and playing in the ocean. I can’t wait to put my paddle board in the estuary off the dock. If I’m feeling really ambitious, I’ll paddle all the way out to and across Tom’s Cove, which ends at the ocean.

Things will be a little strange this year without the farmers market, lifeguards (yikes – better be careful!), and who knows what else, but it’ll be good for the soul, as always.

Maxine is turning 13 on June 29th, and she took matters into her own hands regarding celebrating her birthday. We are typically in Chincoteague for her birthday, so we celebrate there with family. We’ll have a cake after dinner and maybe a dance party, but we’ll skip the trip to the water park or Funland, which are closed, anyway.

Gathering her friends for a belated celebration has proven challenging with summer camps and family vacations, and this year, the ultimate conflict looms: the pandemic, of course. One time I even skipped her party altogether, which I will never live down. Hence, she crafted a two-prong approach.

For celebration #1, she and her closest friend gathered snacks and blankets and spread out on her friend’s lawn at dusk. They talked, laughed, made some TikToks, and watched Clueless. Her friend gave her the best present she has ever received (her words): a jar with dried flowers glued on the outside with the words: “Here’s to more…” and on the inside, cut-out pictures of them with captions like, “sleepovers…bike rides…summer camps…tango dances…kittens…face masks.”

For celebration #2, she had the same friend plus four others gather on our deck for lunch and a three-hour hang-out. She’s old enough now that I really don’t have to do anything beyond supplying food, but she did make one request: a scavenger hunt around the outside of our house. Chris and I quickly came up with clues over coffee yesterday morning, and while I was in my CLT meeting, he hid the clues before the girls arrived. I think this may be the last time she asks us to get involved like that, so I soaked it in.

One of the reasons I love this age so much is that they’re walking the line between childhood and young adulthood, which is amusing, tender, awkward, and bemusing. They all had a good time and were at no loss for words. They chattered non-stop for three hours, and after the two left who do not live within walking distance, the three others stayed for a couple more hours. They have this distance thing down pretty good by now, and this healthy dose of socializing was much needed.

Over and over during this whole ordeal, the need for and importance of human connection proves to be paramount, and we are all finding ways to meet that need as best we can. Now I need to start wrapping my brain around how to meet that need for my students in the fall…

I remember desperately wanting to be a member of the Kids’ Club on my block when I was about eight years old. A handful of older kids, including my sister, were members. I’m not sure what membership actually got you. I’m pretty sure it was just the right to say you were a member. They may have had a few “meetings,” which meant they hung out on the island in the middle of the street a few times, but they never went on any big adventures or anything…yet, I wanted in.

A couple older girls granted me an interview, reminding me that I was really too young. “Well, let’s see her writing.” All they meant by that was my handwriting. I carefully wrote out a sentence or two and showed them my work.” They were impressed. “Okay, you’re in. You can be the secretary.”

I don’t really remember any club events after that or any secretarial tasks to be carried out, but it still felt good to be part of something, even if only in name.

We went out again early this morning with our paddle boards, this time steering clear of the boundary channel and opting for the river. After Friday’s mud-fest in the channel, we longed for the picturesque river paddle we had taken Tuesday morning.

The sun danced in and out of clouds, and the wind blew across the rippling water. We had to work against the current to paddle straight, and we looked forward to an easier trip back. After two and half miles, we finally rounded Teddy Roosevelt Island and enjoyed the calm that comes with being nestled between the island and shore.

Before long, we were back on the open water, and much to our dismay, this was proving to be quite a bit more challenging than the trip up the river. I had to dig in hard to prevent the river from washing me up against the bank, and I came pretty close to losing the battle a few times. I imagined myself in a great struggle with the mighty sea, desperately trying to steer away from the shore, where my vessel and I would be smashed to smithereens against the rocks. I could almost see the ghostly tentacles snaking up through the murk to pull me down to a watery grave.

In reality, if things got bad, I would merely wash over to the shore, hop out on the grass, and walk the bike trail back to the parking lot, but where’s the fun in that? I am of the water now, and I prefer the dramatic scene of me versus the mighty sea. Arrrr!

Chris and I were out walking Sasha this evening when I heard it: the jolly, slightly bleary tune threading down the block. An ice cream truck. I looked at Chris, laughed, and shrugged it off. We were several blocks from home, without kids and cash, and the truck was passing us and heading up the hill. Oh, well. Another time.

We turned the corner, and the tune persisted, the same two lines of “The Entertainer” playing over and over. “Maybe I should tell the kids to grab a 20 and run over here…nah…?” We decided the truck would be long gone by the time the kids made it to us. Eddie Murphy’s ice cream bit in Delirious floated into my mind, and I started acting out his lines like, “Get your mother a toasted almond bar…” Anyone?

I texted the kids and told them an ice cream truck was in the neighborhood. Edwin wanted its location. I gave him my best estimation, which was really not good news, but that maybe there was a chance it would cross 23rd and head toward our house. My hopes started to die as the tune faded.

As we neared 23rd, the tune became audible again, and a flash of purple, green, blue, and orange flashed across the street. “Edwin, grab a 20 and your sister, and run up 22nd. Follow the music. I’ll meet you on your way.”

Once we crossed 23rd, Chris headed up the hill to head him off, while I ran toward the kids. On the way, I spotted the truck. Once I met up with them, Maxine and I broke into a full sprint. Edwin was caught in a battle between embarrassment and desire, but sense won out, and he picked up his pace.

We couldn’t believe our luck when we spotted the elusive truck parked in front of the playground. As we waited our turn, our heartbeats slowed, and we settled on our choices. This was the first time the kids had seen an ice cream truck driving through the neighborhood; they’d only seen them at street fairs before. I’m glad we filled that void!

This paddle board is opening up a whole new world for me. I got up at 5:20 AM on Tuesday to meet my two paddle boarding buddies at Columbia Island Marina at 6:15. I gave myself a little extra time so I could make sure I properly strapped it on my car and, of course, have a cup of coffee. I’m getting pretty good at hoisting it up onto the rack, but the straps were still concerning me a little. I was working on tightening them when Chris shuffled out of the house to check my work. I was making it more complicated than necessary and leaving slack in places. He gave me one last tutorial, and off I went.

The river was like glass, and the only sounds we heard were a few cars driving over bridges and the occasional plane taking off from National. As I looked across the river, I could see a delivery truck making its way down a steep hill in Georgetown. To my left, a mama duck glided through the river with her four babies in tow. How is it that I’ve lived most of my life close to this river, but never made a habit of spending time on it unit now?

After a lovely paddle up the river and around Teddy Roosevelt Island and back, it was the moment of truth. I lifted the board on the top of the car and went to work on the straps. Within a few minutes, I had her tightly secured for my trip home. It’s only about a seven minute drive, but I’m mostly on the GW Parkway and 395, where a little slack in the straps could spell trouble with a capital T.

I eased into the driveway around 8:45, feeling on top of the world. I am heading out again for another early morning paddle tomorrow. The river is calling.