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Tidewater Times

October 2026

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Vol. 75, No. 5

Published Monthly

October 2026

Features: About the Cover Artist: Laura Era . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Clearer View of the World from Talbot County: Tracey F. Johns . . . . . . . . . . 9 Fall Into Forest Bathing: Bonna L. Nelson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 When the Dead Come Home: William S. Dial . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Learning to Let Go: Michael Valliant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Chesapeake Film Festival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 Tidewater Gardening: K. Marc Teffeau . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 Let's Get Hitched: A.M. Foley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Tidewater Kitchen: Pamela Meredith - the Kitchen Coach . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Festival of Trees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 Chesapeake Odyssey: James Dawson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 With Sadness Comes Light (part 2): Dan Hoyt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147 Buskers: B. P. Gallagher . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155

Departments: October Tide Table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Caroline County - A Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Easton Map and History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Dorchester Map and History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 St. Michaels Map and History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 Oxford Map and History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Anne B. Farwell & John D. Farwell, Co-Publishers Editor: Jodie Littleton Deliveries: Nancy Smith, Brandon Coleman and Vito Vita P. O. Box 1141, Easton, Maryland 21601 410-714-9389 www.tidewatertimes.com info@tidewatertimes.com

Tidewater Times is published monthly by Bailey-Farwell, LLC. Advertising rates upon request. Subscription price is $45 per year. Individual copies are $4. Contents of this publication may not be reproduced in part or whole without prior approval of the publisher. Printed by Delmarva Printing, Inc. The publisher does not assume any liability for errors and/or omissions.

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About the Cover Artist Laura Era The cover depicts the of f icial portrait of Colonel Tench Tilghman, Talbot County’s native son who was both a local and national hero. Tilghman was General George Washington’s longest-serving aidede-camp (i.e., personal secretary) who helped Washington manage the war effort. When Tilghman died an early death at age 41 due to a disease he contracted from the harsh living conditions experienced during the war, Washington said, “The pillars of the Revolution fall,” acknowledging the role Tilghman played in helping to secure the blessings of liberty and independence we all continue to enjoy. Laura Era, the award-winning portrait artist and owner of Troika Galler y in Easton, was commissioned to paint Tilghman’s portrait. Her por traits hang in ga ller ies throughout the United States and Europe. In 2025, she partnered with the Colonel Tench Tilghman Chapter of the Sons of the American Revolution (SAR) to submit a competitive proposal to the Mar yland State Arts Council (MSAC). The SAR was awarded a $10,000 grant that was funded in part by the MSAC and the National Endowment for the Arts, a federal agency, for Era to paint this portrait. In June, the SAR conducted

a ceremony to donate the original portrait to Talbot County. It can now be viewed in the Talbot County Courthouse. Prints of Tilghman’s portrait are available for purchase at the Troika Gallery. To learn more, contact Era at (443) 521-7419 or troikagallery.com Era will also be at the Avalon Theatre during the 3rd Annual Celebration of Colonel Tench Tilghman Week on October 24, starting at 9 a.m., with prints for sale. To learn more about the SAR, visit facebook.com/ColTenchTilghman. 7

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Clearer View of the World from Talbot County by Tracey F. Johns

Eyeglasses have existed for about 700 years, yet only 35% of the world’s population has access to them. For billions of people around the world, clear vision remains beyond reach. From an office in Easton and a warehouse in Trappe, Global Vision 2020 is working to change that. The nonprofit grew from an idea founder J. Kevin White began pursuing after witnessing the shortcomings of traditional eyeglass distribution during his military career.

Without my glasses, my world ends about five inches from my face. Beyond that, faces dissolve. Words disappear. A room becomes blurred shapes and colors. I could not type this story, drive a car, ride a bicycle, take photographs, see the details of a person’s face or do many of the things I love without corrective lenses. I am extremely nearsighted. I had never spent much time thinking about how different my life would be if the glasses I reach for every morning didn’t exist.

Clearer View A U.S. Naval Academy graduate and career Marine, White was serving as a humanitarian assistance officer with U.S. European Command when a 2005 mission took him to rural Morocco. His team helped build a school and field hospital

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while providing medical, dental and vision services. The eyeglasses bothered the logistician in him. People were being matched with donated prescription glasses, an imperfect process made more complicated by something fundamentally human: People wanted glasses they could see through. Still, they also wanted glasses they would wear. White left Morocco convinced a better solution must exist. Years of research followed. He worked with Oxford physicist Joshua Silver on self-adjustable glasses, studied the science of refraction and eventually sketched an idea for a portable diagnostic device. A

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Clearer View

No laboratory. No shipment home followed by weeks of waiting. In minutes, someone who arrived unable to see clearly can leave wearing prescription glasses. Global Vision 2020 says its part-

prototype arrived at White’s Easton home shortly after his 10-year-old son, Oliver, received a new eyeglass prescription. White tested the device on his son. The result matched Oliver’s prescription. The idea conceived half a world away suddenly worked in a house in Easton. White eventually developed the patented USee vision diagnostic tool, a portable device that lets a person dial lenses until an eye chart comes into focus. The corresponding measurements identify the corrective lenses needed. Those lenses snap into new frames on site.

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Clearer View

A Sustainable Model The technology provides only part of Global Vision 2020’s answer. The organization works through missionaries, nonprofits, health organizations and other community partners who can take the system into places Global Vision’s small Easton staff could never reach alone. Those partners also teach people within the communities they serve to conduct screenings and assemble glasses. Nurses, pharmacists, teachers and other trusted residents can continue the work after visiting mission teams leave. “The point isn’t just to go out and do this one time,” Morrell said. “The whole goal is to make a sustainable process.”

ners have now delivered more than 1 million pairs of prescription eyeglasses in 68 countries. Its goal follows what the organization calls the “777” model: Everyone age 7 and older should have access to vision care within seven kilometers of their home for less than $7. James Morrell works on the business development side of Global Vision 2020 from the third floor of Easton’s historic Bullitt House. He describes lack of access to vision care as a global epidemic with consequences extending far beyond eyesight. “Because they can’t see, especially younger people, they can’t read, they can’t learn they can’t hold jobs,” Morrell said.

From Easton to Guatemala A recent mission by Saints Peter

Clearer View

tem. The sisters can now continue providing vision screenings and glasses after the Easton volunteers have returned home. Saints Peter & Paul can replenish lenses as needed. For Fr. Nash, the numbers became people.

& Paul Catholic Church in Easton offers a glimpse of how that model works. The parish has maintained a relationship with the Diocese of San Marcos in Guatemala for years. Under the leadership of parishioner Karen McLaughlin, an 11-person group recently returned to Guatemala carrying Global Vision 2020 equipment and another basic necessity: portable water filters. The trip marked a return to a relationship interrupted by the pandemic. The Reverend James Nash, pastor of Saints Peter & Paul parish and schools, came to the parish in 2014 after already gaining experience with international mission work. Donors to Saints Peter & Paul later raised about $30,000 to help build a school in Guatemala for children who had been learning in a rudimentary structure with a dirt floor. The cinder-block school now provides weather protection, bathrooms and a shaded outdoor area. This time, the parish added vision care. Fr. Nash says more than 400 pairs of glasses were distributed during the mission, with people arriving hours before the team began its work. McLaughlin helped train Franciscan sisters who operate a local clinic to use the Global Vision sys-

One elderly couple, both in their 80s, arrived barely able to see. After receiving glasses, Fr. Nash watched them leave together. “Probably for the first time in 30 years, they were finally able to see clearly,” Fr. Nash recalled. “Then came a boy, perhaps 7 or 8 years old, who had been struggling to see the board at school.” Fr. Nash says the child chose black frames with neon green temples. “He was so excited about getting 16

Clearer View

“She just graduated from university, and she is now a nurse,” Morrell said. Closer to Home Global Vision 2020 also works closer to home.

those glasses,” Fr. Nash said. “I just watched him, and I was thinking, you know, that’s what makes it all worthwhile, especially for kids.” A pair of glasses can look like a small intervention beside a school, a water system or a medical clinic. Clear vision, however, changes how someone can use every one of those resources. A child can see the lesson on the board. A sewist or sailmaker can thread a needle. A farmer can work more safely. An older adult can move independently. A parent can earn a living. A person can read. Morrell tells of a girl in Africa who had been placed in a school for children considered unable to learn. A vision screening revealed a different problem: She could not see. She received glasses.

In Talbot County, the organization partners with the Talbot County Health Department, public schools and local eye-care professionals to help children identified through school vision screenings who lack insurance or the resources to obtain glasses. Local ophthalmologist Dr. Zuleika Massoumeh Ghodsi donates her time and office for screenings, where children can also be evaluated for eye conditions requiring additional care. The local work underscores a central truth behind an organization with “Global” in its name. Access to sight can be unequal anywhere. Global Vision 2020’s reach now stretches from Easton to commu18

Clearer View

I know exactly where my world stops without mine. Five inches. Global Vision 2020 asks us to imagine the lives of people whose worlds have been limited by the same blur, not because their vision cannot be corrected, but because the means to correct it never reached them. From Talbot County, those means are traveling around the world. And sometimes, all the distance between a blurred life and a clearer one comes down to a vision test, two snap-in lenses and a pair of glasses.

nities across Africa, Latin America and elsewhere, carried largely through partnerships with people already embedded in the places they serve. The organization supplies a tool. Missionaries and nongovernmental organizations carry the kits. Local people learn the system and carry the work forward. White’s invention took nearly a decade to move from a pencil sketch to a patented device. The U.S. Patent and Trademark Office granted the patent in 2016. The concept behind the invention feels far simpler. Seeing should not depend on where someone happens to be born.

Tracey Johns has worked in communications, marketing and business management for more than 30 years, including non-profit leadership. Tracey’s work is focused on public and constituent relations, along with communication strategies, positioning and brand development and project management.

A Clearer World For those of us who have always had access to an eye doctor and corrective lenses, glasses can become almost invisible in their familiarity. We put them on in the morning without considering everything they make possible.

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Fall Into Forest Bathing by Bonna L. Nelson When I am among the trees They give off such hints of gladness I would almost say that they save me, and daily. Fall is my favorite time of year to go forest bathing. When the leaves change to gold and russet and crunch underfoot, it’s time to walk. When there is a chill in the air and the heat and humidity have faded, it’s time to walk. When the squirrels start to collect nuts for winter, it’s time to walk. W hen over whel me d by new s cycles, it’s time to walk. When the mind is spinning, it’s time to walk.

~Mary Oliver

When the heart is racing, it’s time to walk. When you need a break from your devices and deadlines, it’s time to walk. All walking is fantastic for the body and mind, but walking in a forest under a canopy of trees, or “forest bathing,” has special mental, emotional and physical benefits. Observing nature, deep breathing, enjoying the sounds, sights and smells

Forest Bathing of nature brings us to mindfulness practices and slows our overworked brains. The Japanese call forest bathing, not a literal bath, but spending time in nature, “shinr in-yoku.” They found that mindful walking through a forest is an immersive experience that can help people relax and refuel. Forest bathing or forest therapy or green space therapy is considered a therapeutic practice that promotes natural healing in the surrounds of nature, with positive relaxing benefits for mind and body. Though walking through forests isn’t new, the Japanese concept of shinrin-yoku has only been around

since 1982. It is based on three different long-held traditional Japanese concepts that are components of forest bathing, according to the Cleveland Clinic. One concept involves being so

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Forest Bathing keenly aware of the beauty of the world around you that the deep emotions that you feel can’t be expressed with words. I think of the awe I feel when looking at a forest of colorful fall leaves in shades of amber, burgundy, copper and mahogany. Vibrant! Breathtaking! Brilliant!

seasons, the loss of fading summer flowers and the beauty of emerging, yet temporary, fall flowers. We celebrate the end of heat and humidity and the prospect of cool, chill times ahead. In a few months, we will be celebrating with no flowers, no leaves, all gone and replaced by the beauty of snow, ice and cold. According to clinical psychologist Susan Albers Psy.D., “The intent of forest bathing is to put people in touch with present moment experience in a very deep way…The sights, sounds, and smells of the forest take us right to that moment, so our brains stop anticipating, recalling, ruminating, and worrying…” It’s akin to mindfulness. Dr. Albers continues, “Mindfulness is the practice of being in the present moment w ith intention, w ithout judging…Forest therapy involves noticing and sensing things rather than judging or evaluating them.”

The second concept mentions being aware of the sunlight leaking through the trees and the relationship between the sun and leaves. Seeing the dappled patterns of sun and leaf on the forest f loor is enchanting, and gathering those leaves to decorate the family table brings me joy. Remembering how the sun affects the colors of the leaves and transforming the green pigment to the fall color spectrum is fascinating to contemplate. The third concept celebrates the beauty of imperfection and impermanence. We celebrate the changing 28

Forest Bathing

state. But, she adds, that’s not all! Because on a forest walk you are surrounded by trees and vegetation that engage in photosynthesis, there is a positive impact on your oxygen levels. Plants are constantly absorbing carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen into the air. “As you breathe in the fresh air w ithin a forest, you’re inhaling oxygen-rich air, which can support proper oxygenation of your blood and subsequently benefit your brain function,” Dr. Alders reveals. The forest has higher oxygen levels than urban or indoor environments. She also adds that forest aromas may benef it the immune system and have a positive effect on mood and emotional well-being, a form of aromatherapy.

Research on the benefits of forest bathing showed that it reduces cortisol, a stress hormone. Other research found that people who walked in the forest twice a day for two hours (for a total of four hours) had greater levels of cancer-killing proteins and immune cells. But even a few minutes a day can be beneficial. Another study found that forest therapy had a positive impact on blood pressure and a protein that helps regulate blood sugar levels.

Whether you are trekking under a forest of trees listening to the birds and immersing yourself in nature on your own, or with a forest therapy guide, the mental and physical benefits seem to be the perfect cocktail for wellness. There are numerous oppor tunities to forest bathe in

Forest walks can improve stress levels, anxiety and depression. Dr. Albers noted that those walks engage in multiple senses directing the attention away from negative thoughts and promoting a positive mental 30

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Forest Bathing town, county, state and national parks, or maybe you are lucky and can wander through a forest in your own backyard. What if you want these tree therapy benefits but can’t tramp through the wilderness? What if you live in an urban area? Although studies show that walking in an actual forest has a greater eff ect on cardiovascular health than a walk in the city park, Dr. Albers says something is always better than nothing, and a stroll through a city park or a green space can improve your mood, heart rate and even memory! I wondered how to bring forest bathing indoors if you don’t have

access to green space or if your allergies and aversion to ticks and mosquitoes, like me, prevent forest jaunts. Well, you can, pardon the pun, “spruce” up your space with potted plants, rocks, shells, leaves,

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Forest Bathing pinecones and crystals (like I do) to bring nature indoors. Additionally, listen to recorded nature sounds, and use candles or oil diffusers with scents of a forest. Pull back the curtains to admire the trees, shrubs and flowers in your area. Hang bird feeders nearby to attract nature to your window. Breathe deeply and calm yourself. A few minutes a day can be effective. Though window forest or nature bathing may be indirect nature immersion, it stills triggers the relaxation response in brain and body. A view of trees or green spaces through a hospital window can speed up recovery. Watching shifting clouds,

swaying branches or birds prompts the body to rest and lowers heart rate and anxiety.

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Forest Bathing

ming, archery, golf and the list goes on. The brain chatter subsides when the brain is bathed in new, positive input, when the senses are engaged, when sight, scent and/or sound input overcomes the brain busyness. You are in the zone. Engaging in nature and other creative and physical pursuits tends to revitalize us, provide moments of clarity, replenish focus (which is a fi nite brain resource) and restore attention. And it’s not just adults that benefit. Kids need time away from screens and out in nature or involved in creative or physical activities to improve mental and physical health as well as sleep.

In my research, I learned that it is not just trees that calm our harried selves. Of course it makes sense. Think about how you feel gazing at the blue sky, fluff y clouds or stars at night. Think about how you feel sitting on the beach by the ocean or sitting on a bench by a river and watching the surf, the waves or the ripples. Think about how you feel when interacting with your pets. Yes, there are numerous other calming, wellness therapies like sky and star gazing, water gazing and water sounds, pet therapy and bird watching. Engagement in these therapies can also produce deep calm breathing, peace of mind and wellness. You may have noticed similar benefits from engaging in pleasurable, repetitive activities such as sewing, arranging flowers, sketching, painting, sculpting, listening to music, reading, attending church, spending time with friends, biking, swim-

On a forest walk, a neighborhood walk or a “window walk,” you, your companions and k ids would do well to follow these Johns Hopkins University suggestions by Bridget Shirwell for dipping your toes into forest bathing: 36

Forest Bathing

or neighborhood with trees or your home window. Walk slowly, pay attention, observe the world and yourself and observe what the child observes. Enjoy the world around you, the sights, scents, sounds and tactical sensations. This fall make a promise to yourself to find your peace and sanctuary in forest or nature bathing. Sources: Cleveland Clinic, Johns Hopk i n s Un iver sit y, Ne w York Times, Google Gemini Bonna L. Nelson is a Bay-area writer, columnist, photographer and world traveler. She resides in Easton with her husband, John.

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TIDE TABLE

OXFORD, MD 1. Thurs. 2. Fri. 3. Sat. 4. Sun. 5. Mon. 6. Tues. 7. Wed. 8. Thurs. 9. Fri. 10. Sat. 11. Sun. 12. Mon. 13. Tues. 14. Wed. 15. Thurs. 16. Fri. 17. Sat. 18. Sun. 19. Mon. 20. Tues. 21. Wed. 22. Thurs. 23. Fri. 24. Sat. 25. Sun. 26. Mon. 27. Tues. 28. Wed. 29. Thurs. 30. Fri. 31. Sat.

HIGH PM

7:20 8:18 9:23 10:32 11:42 12:38 1:36 2:26 3:09 3:48 4:26 5:03 5:41 6:21 7:04 7:52 8:45 9:43 10:44 11:45 12:14 1:00 1:42 2:23 3:05 3:48 4:34 5:22 6:14 7:11 8:12

OCTOBER 2026

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LOW PM

3:03 1:23 4:09 2:19 5:13 3:29 6:13 4:49 7:07 6:11 7:56 7:25 8:39 8:32 9:18 9:32 9:53 10:29 10:24 11:24 10:52 12:17 11:19am 1:09 11:48am 2:00 12:20 2:51 12:59 3:42 1:44 4:32 2:38 5:21 3:39 6:07 4:47 6:49 5:56 7:27 7:02 8:01 8:04 8:32 9:04 9:03 10:02 9:34 11:01 10:07 11:58 10:44 12:56 11:26am 1:54 12:14 2:52 1:11 3:49 2:18

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When the Dead Come Home by William S. Dial

Halloween, All Saints, All Souls, and the International Traditions of Remembrance Where we live, Halloween poses the usual civic dilemma: how many candy bars to buy and whether there will be enough for the children bused in from the bigger towns. We long ago surrendered the neighborhood arms race of oversized plastic skeletons, black cats, and gauze cobwebs, which birders quite reasonably tell us may trap the little fellows.

We still enjoy the children dressed as robots, Minions, superheroes, and creatures whose identities apparently require a working knowledge of a bunch of computer-generated movies. And I have no objection to the candy. Peanut butter cups confiscated from the grandkids’ stash remain one of the few dependable privileges of age.

Dead Come Home

are marked by traditions in which memory and presence seem unusually close. Families clean graves, light candles, prepare food, display photographs, pray, tell stories, and gather in cemeteries. Some customs are Christian, some preserve Indigenous traditions, and many ref lect elements of both. There is no single international “Day of the Dead.” Each tradition has its own history. What connects them is simpler: remembering the dead remains an obligation of the living. It is a serious obligation, though humanity has rarely resisted the urge to improve a solemn occasion with food.

Still, something older sits behind all that orange and black. Halloween comes from All Hallows’ Eve, the evening before All Saints’ Day, which is followed by All Souls’ Day. The old sequence placed death, memory, saints, souls, and those who came before us close together on the calendar. Modern American Halloween has retained the dead but largely reassigned them to entertainment. They rise from graves, haunt houses, rattle chains, and sell an amazing quantity of lawn and porch decorations. Elsewhere, the dead are often treated differently. They are not strangers who come to frighten the living. They are family members. They come home. In many communities across Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras, the opening days of November

Mexico: A Place at the Table Mexico’s Día de Muertos, “Day of the Dead,” is probably the bestknown of these observances and perhaps the most misunderstood outside its own culture. It is not simply Mexican Halloween, despite the efforts of advertisers and anyone who has recently discovered a decorative skull or a plastic rat skeleton. The observance developed through the interaction of Catholic All Saints’ and All Souls’ traditions with Indigenous Mexican beliefs concerning death and ancestors. Customs vary widely, but remembrance rather than horror stands at the center. The ofrenda, or offering, expresses that idea beautifully. Fam46

Dead Come Home

sometimes stay for hours. The cemetery brief ly becomes a place where the family is gathered again, a considerable improvement over its usual role in American horror films.

ilies may arrange photographs of deceased relatives with candles, f lowers, food, religious images, and objects associated with the person who died. These are more than decorations. They restore individuality. This was someone’s grandmother. That was someone’s father. One liked a particular food, another a certain drink. Someone played music. Someone had a favorite possession that still calls him to mind. Death has a way of f lattening people into categories. Ritual gives them their names back. The brilliant orange cempasúchil, the Mexican marigold, has become closely associated with the season. Candles provide light, papel picado, colorful patterns painted or punched into decorations, adds movement and color, and pan de muerto, “the bread of the dead,” brings remembrance directly to the table. Decorated sugar skulls can look macabre to Americans trained by a lifetime of horror movies to assume that any visible skull means someone should leave the basement immediately. In Día de Muertos, “Day of the Dead,” imagery, however, approaches death with color, humor, love, and familiarity. Cemetery visits carry the same idea. Families tend graves, bring f lowers, pray, remember, and

Guatemala: Messages in the Sky In Guatemala, All Saints’ Day produces one of the most visually extraordinary traditions of remembrance. At the towns of Sumpango and Santiago Sacatepéquez, enormous handmade kites, barriletes gigantes, rise above the celebrations. Calling some of them “kites” is rather like calling a Gothic cathedral a building. They can be immense, brilliantly colored public artworks covered with intricate designs expressing religious devotion, Indigenous identity, history, community concerns, and social commentary. The tradition is closely associ48

Dead Come Home ated with the relationship between the living and the dead. Precise origin stories vary, and claims that the kites literally carry messages to the dead deserve historical caution. Historians become uneasy whenever an ancient custom arrives with a perfectly tidy explanation and no troublesome evidence. The symbolism needs less explanation. The living stand on the earth. The kite rises toward the heavens. The kite string connects them. Memory works much the same way. The person is gone, yet something remains connecting generations. Families also visit cemeteries, cleaning and decorating graves. The contrast with American Halloween could hardly be sharper. In our movies, entering a cemetery after dark generally produces a gasp. In Guatemala, people go deliberately because their grandparents are there.

November 2 centers on the cemetery. Families clean graves, repaint or repair them, bring f lowers and wreaths, light candles, and pray. That may sound modest beside giant kites and elaborate altars, but cleaning a grave is memory performed with a broom, a bucket, and occasionally a patch of grass that has developed theological objections to removal. The grave is not abandoned ground. It remains part of the family’s geography. Some families place f loral crowns or arrangements on graves. Vendors sell f lowers near cemetery entrances, and the landscape of mourning becomes crowded and colorful. Music may also appear. Musicians sometimes play songs associated with the departed. A favorite melody can be a more precise memorial than an inscrip-

Honduras: Flowers, Crowns, and Quiet Work Honduras offers a quieter example and a useful reminder that not every Latin American observance resembles the Mexican celebration familiar from movies and the Halloween aisle at Walmart. In many communities, Día de los Difuntos, “All Souls Day,” on 52

Dead Come Home

Someone who attended last year’s gathering is absent this year. A grandparent becomes a photograph. A parent’s handwriting endures in an old recipe book. Clothes vanish from a closet, but stories remain. Eventually, children hear about relatives they never knew. Private memory is fragile. Photographs fade. Names disappear. Stories shorten with each retelling, except those involving particularly colorful relatives, which tend to improve considerably. Ritual interrupts that disappearance. Once a year the grave is cleaned. The candle is lit. The photograph comes out. The bread is made. The story is told again. Repetition turns remembrance into inheritance. And that brings us back to Halloween. American Halloween made darkness playful, and there is nothing inherently shallow about that. Humor has always helped people navigate uncomfortable truths. It is also one of the few coping mechanisms available in family-size bags at Waldo’s or Target. Ghosts became decorations. Skeletons moved onto porches. Pumpkin carving becomes a contest. By late October, some American neighborhoods had reached a visible bone density typically associated with archaeological digs. But beyond the plastic skeletons

tion. Stone records a name, but music can recover a room. Practices vary by region, family, and religious background. Catholic observance, Indigenous heritage, and local custom do not fit neatly into categories for writers’ convenience, which is inconsiderate yet historically useful. The lesson may be that remembrance need not be spectacular to be profound. Flowers, paint, candles, prayers, music, and a little work can say enough. The Empty Chair Despite their differences, these traditions gather around the same invisible piece of furniture: the empty chair. Every family eventually acquires one. Mortality has remained stubbornly resistant to technological advances.

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Dead Come Home

Perhaps American Halloween does not need to be scolded. It merely needs to be widened. Let the children have their costumes. Let the pumpkins grin. Let the peanut butter cups disappear under circumstances no grandparent is prepared to discuss under oath. But make room for remembrance. Put out a photograph. Tell a story. Say one name aloud. Call someone who remembers the same person. Visit a grave if you can. If you cannot, set a place in memory. The traditions of Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras differ in color, sound, scale, and theology, but each makes the same claim: absence does not have to become erasure. The dead had names. They had families. They had favorite foods, songs, jokes, habits, faults, recipes, and chairs. And for a few days each year, in much of the world, they still have an invitation to come home.

lies an older idea. Most remembrance traditions are less interested in frightening the living than in preventing them from forgetting.

William Stephen Dial achieved Masters Degrees in International Affairs and National Security Studies. Bill’s 31 years in the navy started as a Seaman Recruit and finished in June 1994 as a Captain. Bill has been a certified SCUBA Instructor, a Accredited Marine Surveyor, a Certified Emergency Manager and an Emergency Medical Technician. Bill is married to Susie and has 11 grandchildren.

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Learning to Let Go - Like Fall by Michael Valliant October is a month where change hits full stride. School has been back, but that still-sort-ofsummer feeling that September has hits the rearview mirror and we are smacked in the face with pumpkins, pumpkin flavors and smells, and decorative gourd season is in full effect. Fall is my favorite season and one that we can learn from. I always feel a new energy as the tem-

peratures dip, the bugs and humidity fade, and firepit season invites us to reclaim the back yard. In the same way students are pulled back into school in the fall, those of us unaffected by the school year can still take on the mantle of the season of both learning and letting go. We’re in the final quarter of the calendar year. Maybe things have gone your way this year, maybe

Learning to Let Go not. It’s a solid time to assess, decide how you want to finish the year, and course correct if need be. The kind of learning and change the fall brings are the hope of what is to come. Summer does not become winter or spring, it turns to fall. And the changes we seek to make should be in line with the hope of who we can become, in many cases by letting go of what or who we are not.

are better off because he was here and wrote and farmed and lived. Berry is one of the writers who I hold most dear. He was a writer who understood the seasons, change, and hope. In an interview with Bill Moyers, Berry said: “In my work, especially in the essays, I’ve always been trying to construct, lay out, map out the grounds of a legitimate, authentic hope. If you can change yourself, if you can make certain requirements of yourself that you’re then able to fulfill, you have a reason for hope.” We’re looking for hopeful change, not just change for the sake of change. Change that moves us where we want to go. I have found that it is easy to get knocked off my path, even with

Last month, writer and farmer Wendell Berry died. He was 92 and lived a full and incredible life and leaves a legacy like no one else. It’s not tragic. But for me, it’s another case of acknowledging a voice that is no longer with us, and who we 62

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Learning to Let Go

How is the light within you? Is it getting darker or lighter? Are you adding light to the world or darkening it? Am I getting so caught up with all that is going on around me that I feel fragmented, confused… off? In his book, “Barbarian Days,” writer William Finnegan is traveling around the world surfing, following a dream, but still coming up short and he writes:

my best intentions, and even when the terrain is still similar and the cause is still worthy, good, and noble. Even a slight misalignment can start me off in a different direction, which if I travel for a time, takes me away from the journey that most resonates with my soul. Berry knew that our hope is found where we are and is connected to the particular earth under our feet: Find your hope, then, on the ground under your feet. Your hope of Heaven, let it rest on the ground underfoot. The world is no better than its places. Its places at last are no better than their people while their people continue in them. When the people make dark the light within them, the world darkens.

I was getting interested in selftransformation… I had come here to learn, I figured, and not just a few things about some far-flung places and people. I wanted to learn new ways to be. I wanted to change, to feel less existentially 64

Learning to Let Go

The woods is shining this morning. Red, gold and green, the leaves lie on the ground, or fall, or hang full of light in the air still. Perfect in its rise and in its fall, it takes the place it has been coming to forever. It has not hastened here, or lagged. See how surely it has sought itself, its roots passing lordly through the earth. See how without confusion it is all that it is, and how flawless

alienated, to feel more at home in my skin, as they say, and in the world. How easy is it to get stuck in the same ways of doing things, feeling ourselves spinning on a hamster wheel that we didn’t realize we had walked into and then wondering how we got there? Where can I look for a different way to be? One not so caught up in the mechanics of the material world? For me, the river and the woods are places where I frequently find solace and sanctuary. In his poem, “Grace,” Berry looks to the woods in autumn as a guide:

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Learning to Let Go

the accumulation of life slough off my shoulders and let go, I find it easier to hear what life is trying to say to me. When I let go of the things that the world keeps putting in front of me, including my own desires, the things I think I want, I open my arms, my mind, and my heart to something bigger. I come back to a quote I stumbled across 11 autumns ago by author and pastor Henri Nouwen, who wrote:

its grace is. Running or walking, the way is the same. Be still. Be still. He moves your bones, and the way is clear. Fall is a time of less. A time when stillness begins to speak. A time of transition, change. If I let

I have found it very important in my own life to let go of my wishes and instead live in hope. I am finding that when I choose to let go of my sometimes petty and superficial wishes and trust that my life is precious and meaningful in the eyes of God, something really new, something beyond my own expectations begins to happen. Fall is a season of letting go. Can I listen to the season and trust in the same way that leaves do, that in my letting go, I will land where I am meant to be?

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THE ART OF LIVING WELL

Chesapeake Film Festival The Chesapeake Film Festival returns for its 19th season October 8–10, 2026, bringing 47 recently released independent films from around the world to three Easton venues: the Ebenezer Theater, Academy Art Museum and Talbot County Free Library. The three-day festival features compelling documentaries, narrative features, environmental films, student productions, shorts, family programming, Maryland and World premieres, filmmaker Q&As and special events. There’s a ticket option for everyone! Choose from VIP All-Access Passes, Single Day Passes, Student Passes or tickets to individual films and film blocks. Tickets are on sale now! Plan your festival experience and secure your tickets today at chesapeakefilmfestival.com. OPENING NIGHT THURSDAY, OCTOBER 8 The festival opens at the Ebenezer Theater with Dream, Touch, Believe, a Maryland premiere directed by Jenna Naranjo Winters. The 85-minute documentary tells the inspiring story of Native American sculptor Michael Naranjo, who lost his eyesight as a young Vietnam War soldier. Despite this challenging setback, Naranjo went on to become an internationally acclaimed artist whose sculptures are held in muse-

ums, the White House, the Vatican and private collections worldwide. A Q&A with Winters and Naranjo follows the screening. The evening concludes with the VIP Reception — Premiere Night at Chesapeake, from 7:15 to 8:45 p.m. VIP All-Access Passes include reception attendance. FRIDAY, OCTOBER 9 ENVIRONMENT, MARYLAND STORIES AND MORE Friday programming at the Ebenezer Theater begins with “Land, Sea, and Sky,” an environmental program featuring A Black Rail’s 71

Chesapeake Film Festival

ecutive at The Nature Conservancy. At the Talbot County Free Library, Friday programming includes a wonderful shorts program “Stories with Big Heart,” including the Made in Maryland film The Perfect Stranger followed by “Spotlight on Maryland,” featuring the documentary feature Heartbeat Behind the Badge. The film follows law enforcement officers and surviving family members participating in a 300-mile bicycle journey during National Police Week. A Q&A follows with director Vickie Warehime and producer Rick Kain of Heartbeat Behind the Badge and Steven Ford of The Perfect Stranger. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10 STUDENTS, FAMILIES, ART AND CLOSING PROGRAMS Saturday begins at the Ebenezer Theater with “Empowering an Emerging Generation,” a student

Tale, Choptank Swallows, Bison Hero, The River’s Gift and The Right Whale. The program explores wildlife, waterways, Indigenous communities, conservation and the healing connections people have with the natural world. A Q&A follows with Shea Springer, sound designer for Black Rail’s Tale, and Dave Harp, director of Choptank Swallows, moderated by Irene Magafan, president, Chesapeake Film Festival. Friday evening brings “Voices for the Wild,” featuring Frozen Frames: Murphy’s Yellowstone and Lifeblood: Chesapeake River Stories. Lifeblood, directed by Sarah Sampson, explores the waterways that shape and sustain the Chesapeake Bay watershed. Sampson will participate in a Q&A moderated by Severn Smith, CFF board member and ex-

Chesapeake Film Festival

of TRI, directed by Jai Jamison. Natalie, an ultrasound technician with a history of leaving things unfinished, is inspired by a cancer patient to take on an unexpected challenge: training for a triathlon. Along the way, she discovers the demanding and colorful world of triathletes—and, with the support of new teammates, learns just how far she can push herself, both physically and mentally. The film is followed by a Q&A with Ted Adams III, executive producer, and Kimberly Skyrme, producer. The festival concludes at the Ebenezer Theater with the Maryland Premiere of Wider Than the Sky, an international documentary from Italy and Switzerland exploring the

film program featuring four works addressing environmental connection, relationships, climate change and homelessness. The Family Films — Big Dreams and Adventures program includes the Maryland premiere of Couture to the Max, about nine-year-old fashion prodigy Max Alexander, followed by Ring of Kibo, a Marylandfocused narrative adventure feature. A Q&A with directors Vincent De Paul and Kimberly Skyrme will be moderated by Cid Collins Walker, executive director, Chesapeake Film Festival. The afternoon continues with the 10th anniversary presentation

opportunities, risks and complexities of artificial intelligence. At the Academy Art Museum, Saturday’s “Light and Shadow” documentary program features Emergence, Cindy Sherman: Picture This, The Muse and An Auschwitz Album Story. The program explores artistic expression, identity, memory, photography and the legacy of the Holocaust, followed by a Q&A moderated by CFF programming coordinator Zane Jacquot. The final film at the Academy Art Museum is Lasting Impressions. Directed by Carl Welden, it is an exploration of the life and work of Dan Welden, a driving force in the fine art of printmaking throughout the world, including interviews with

Eric Fischl and Kiki Smith. A Q&A follows with Dan and Carl Welden, moderated by Candice Spielman. EXPERIENCE THE 19th ANNUAL CHESAPEAKE FILM FESTIVAL Festival Dates: October 8–10, 2026 Location: Easton, Maryland Venues: Ebenezer Theater Academy Art Museum Talbot County Free Library Tickets: VIP All-Access Passes and individual film and film-block tickets are available now. For the complete schedule, film descriptions, ticket information and festival updates: chesapeakefilmfestival.com. A low step-through frame is one of the most

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Caroline County – A Perspective Caroline County is the very definition of a rural community. For more than 300 years, the county’s economy has been based on “market” agriculture. Caroline County was created in 1773 from Dorchester and Queen Anne’s counties. The county was named for Lady Caroline Eden, the wife of Maryland’s last colonial governor, Robert Eden (1741-1784). Denton, the county seat, was situated on a point between two ferry boat landings. Much of the business district in Denton was wiped out by the fire of 1863. Following the Civil War, Denton’s location about fifty miles up the Choptank River from the Chesapeake Bay enabled it to become an important shipping point for agricultural products. Denton became a regular port-ofcall for Baltimore-based steamer lines in the latter half of the 19th century. Preston was the site of three Underground Railroad stations during the 1840s and 1850s. One of those stations was operated by Harriet Tubman’s parents, Benjamin and Harriet Ross. When Tubman’s parents were exposed by a traitor, she smuggled them to safety in Wilmington, Delaware. Linchester Mill, just east of Preston, can be traced back to 1681, and possibly as early as 1670. The mill is the last of 26 water-powered mills to operate in Caroline County and is currently being restored. The long-term goals include rebuilding the millpond, rehabilitating the mill equipment, restoring the miller’s dwelling, and opening the historic mill on a scheduled basis. Federalsburg is located on Marshyhope Creek in the southern-most part of Caroline County. Agriculture is still a major portion of the industry in the area; however, Federalsburg is rapidly being discovered and there is a noticeable influx of people, expansion and development. Ridgely has found a niche as the “Strawberry Capital of the World.” The present streetscape, lined with stately Victorian homes, reflects the transient prosperity during the countywide canning boom (1895-1919). Hanover Foods, formerly an enterprise of Saulsbury Bros. Inc., for more than 100 years, is the last of more than 250 food processors that once operated in the Caroline County region. Points of interest in Caroline County include the Museum of Rural Life in Denton, Adkins Arboretum near Ridgely, and the Mason-Dixon Crown Stone in Marydel. To contact the Caroline County Office of Tourism, call 410-479-0655 or visit their website at www.tourcaroline.com. 77

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Easton Map and History The County Seat of Talbot Count y. Established around early religious settlements and a court of law, Histor ic Dow ntow n Easton is today a centerpiece of fine specialt y shops, business and cultural activ ities, unique restaurants, and architectural fascination. Treel i ne d s t r e e t s a r e graced with various per iod str uctures and remarkable home s , c a r e f u l l y preser ved or re stored. Because of its histor ic a l significance, historic Easton has earned distinction as the “C olon ia l C apitol of the Eastern Shore” and was honored as number eight in the book “The 100 Best Small Towns in America.” With a population of over 16,500, Easton offers the best of many worlds including access to large metropolitan areas like Baltimore, Annapolis, Washington, and Wilmington. For a walking tour and more history visit https:// tidewatertimes.com/travel-tourism/easton-maryland/. © John Norton

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Dorchester County is known as the Heart of the Chesapeake. It is rich in Chesapeake Bay history, folklore and tradition. With 1,700 miles of shoreline (more than any other Maryland county), marshlands, working boats, quaint waterfront towns and villages among fertile farm fields – much still exists of what is the authentic Eastern Shore landscape and traditional way of life along the Chesapeake. For more information about Dorchester County visit https://tidewatertimes.com/travel-tourism/dorchester/. 81

TIDEWATER GARDENING

by K. Marc Teffeau, Ph.D.

October Gardening Observations Crisp mornings, cooler temperatures and lengthening afternoon shadows signal October’s arrival and the approach of winter. To me, October is one of the year’s most pleasant months. Over the Eastern Shore, geese f ly south, their honking sound carrying through the air. The landscape explodes in a full, dazzling display of reds, yellows,

purples, oranges and tans from the deciduous trees, shrubs and perennial f lowers giving their last hurrah! In his poem “The Winds and the Leaves,” George Cooper writes, “Come, little leaves,” said the wind one day. “Come o’er the meadows with me, and play. Put on your dress of red and gold. Summer is gone, and the days grow cold.”

Tidewater Gardening

trees need even larger distances. Transplant deciduous trees and shrubs after dormancy begins, usually following the first or second hard frost, to improve their chances of survival and healthy growth in spring. Pine seedlings are an exception, as they transplant poorly in fall due to weak root development before winter.

October is an ideal time to plant field- and container-grown trees and shrubs. Although many homeowners consider spring the best planting season, October and November are generally better for planting new plants and relocating existing landscape plants. By then, it is clear which trees and shrubs did not survive the summer, making fall a good time to replace them. Garden centers and nurseries also typically carry a wide selection of woody plants during this season. If planting trees in the landscape, place them at least six feet from sidewalks and driveways. Larger-growing

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good. Mulch is used to maintain even soil temperatures and prevent frost heaving, not to keep the soil warm. In October, the trees and shrubs start to harden for the upcoming cold weather. To encourage

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ally turns out that the browning is occurring on the plant’s inner foliage. The new foliage on the outside of the branches looks fine. This is a natural phenomenon, since each year these trees grow a new set of needles in spring and drop their oldest set in fall. In some trees, such as white pine and arborvitae, the foliage dies rather suddenly, and the trees present an alarming appearance that usually lasts only a short time. As soon as the dead leaves have been blown away by strong winds or washed away by heavy rain, the trees regain their normal appearance. No harm is done to the trees by the loss of these needles.

In October, homeowners may get concerned about narrow-leafed evergreens like pine and spruce Sandy turning brown and “dying.” It usu-

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Tidewater Gardening

seeds in fall, the soil bed preparation is the same as seeding in spring.

We can still add additional fall color to our yards. October is an excellent month to plant annual fall beds. It is cooler for the transplants and gives their roots time to become established before winter cold hits. Dwarf snapdragons, violas, pansies and panolas will provide nice color to beds where you have removed annuals. If you are looking for some background foliage and color, leafy vegetables like kale, parsley and Swiss chard will add a nice touch. When you are removing the spent annual f lowers, you might want to save the seeds of cosmos, zinnias, celosia and cleome so you can plant them next spring. Certain annual f lower seeds can be sown in fall for spring f lowering. These plants include love-in-amist, poppy, bachelor buttons and larkspurs. When seeding f lower

Early October is still a good time to transplant perennials. Fall-blooming options may include Michaelmas daisy (Aster novi-belgii), mums, turtlehead (Chelone), sneezeweed (Helenium), perennial sunf lower (Helianthus), false sunf lower (Heliopsis) and stonecrop

where daylily rust has affected the foliage. The trimming encourages the plant to focus energy on root development. You might want to mark the daylily clumps that need dividing next spring with small stakes before the foliage completely disappears. Now is the time to dig up tender summer bulbs, including dahlias, gladiolus, tuberous begonias and cannas, and store them for winter so they can be replanted in future years. After frost blackens dahlia tops, cut them back, lift the tubers and let them dry in the sun for a day. Once dry, gently remove excess soil and store the tubers in baskets or f lats filled with peat moss or crumpled newspaper.

(Sedum). Conef lowers (Echinacea) are also well suited to fall planting. Although gardeners often associate echinacea with purple f lowers, many attractive cultivars come in other colors. Consider adding the orange-f lowered ‘Orange Passion’ or the coral-colored ‘Hot Coral’ to your perennial beds. If you have Hostas in the perennial beds, late October is a good time to cut back dying foliage to 1–2 inches above the ground to help control slugs. Daylily beds may also look untidy at this time. Once the leaves begin to yellow, cut them back to about 6 inches above the ground. This cleanup helps prevent diseases and pests from overwintering, especially

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For beds planted mainly with annuals, use a steel rake to gather debris and pull out dead or dying plants. In perennial beds mixed with annuals, hand-pull the annuals, cut back the perennials with sharp lawn clippers and clear the remaining debris with a lawn rake.

For potted tuberous begonias, stop watering and allow the plants to dry, or wait until the leaves turn yellow. Then remove the tubers or bring the entire pot indoors and store it in a cool, dry place protected from frost and freezing temperatures. For begonias planted in beds, dig up the tubers and let them dry naturally. Once dry, cut back the tops and store the tubers in baskets or boxes filled with peat moss or crumpled newspaper. Dig and store caladium tubers the same way. Store these bulbs over winter at 40–50°F, except for caladiums, which require temperatures above 60°F. Maintaining the correct temperature is essential for proper storage. Check the bulbs periodically for rot or mouse damage, discard any that have decayed and use mouse bait in the storage area if needed.

In the vegetable garden, October is clean-up time. Remove any dead or dying plants. Compost the debris if they do not contain disease problems. Use a shredder, if available, to cut up the plant debris before placing it in the compost pile. This will encourage faster decomposition of the plant material. If you do not have a shredder and have only a small amount of material, run it over with the lawn mower. This works very well with a bagging mower. Then rake up the cut material or empty the bag into the compost pile. If the ground is dry and workable and the garden site is not prone to soil erosion, consider fall 90

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ripen. If daytime temperatures consistently are below this, pick fruits that have begun to change color and bring them inside to ripen. Use recipes that call for green tomatoes or place a ripe apple in a closed container with green tomatoes. Ripe apples give off ethylene gas, which causes tomatoes to ripen.

plowing and leaving the ground exposed over the winter. Late-fall tilling can help control insects such as corn borer, corn earworm, cucumber beetle, squash bug and vine borer by exposing overwintering insects to winter conditions. It also makes spring soil preparation easier. Another alternative is to mulch the entire garden in the fall with straw to a depth of 4 to 6 inches. Then, in spring, only pull back the mulch in the areas that you plan to plant. You will need to do this a couple weeks before planting, however, to give the soil time to warm up. If frost is forecast overnight, harvest cucumbers, eggplants, melons, okra, peppers and summer squash to prevent damage. Hot peppers store well when dried. Pull up and hang the entire plants, or pick the peppers and string them together, then keep them in a cool, dry place. Tomatoes need an average daily temperature of 65°F or higher to

Cure pumpkins, butternut and Hubbard squash at temperatures between 70-80° F for two to three weeks immediately after harvest. After curing, store them in a dry place at 55-60° F. If held at 50°F or below, pumpkins and squash are subject to chilling damage. At temperatures above 60°F, they gradually lose moisture and become stringy. Happy Gardening! Marc Teffeau retired as Director of Research and Regulatory Affairs at the American Nursery and Landscape Association in Washington, D.C. He now lives in Georgia with his wife, Linda. 92

St. Michaels Map and History

On the broad Miles River, with its picturesque tree-lined streets and beautiful harbor, St. Michaels has been a haven for boats plying the Chesapeake and its inlets since the earliest days. Here, some of the handsomest models of the Bay craft, such as canoes, bugeyes, pungys and some famous Baltimore Clippers, were designed and built. The Church, named “St. Michael’s,” was the first building erected (about 1677) and around it clustered the town that took its name. For a walking tour and more history of the St. Michaels area visit https://tidewatertimes.com/travel-tourism/st-michaels-maryland/. 95

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Let’s Get Hitched by A.M. Foley

began requiring public notice of marriage license applications, plus a waiting period for possible objection or change of heart. At the time, Maryland mandated no waiting or notification, no blood testing or residency. Maryland stipulated only that a clergyman perform a licensed ceremony. Word spread throughout the Northeast that the nearest no-wait licenses were issued by Cecil County. Eloping couples began arriving at Elkton’s courthouse by Model T, motor bus and the “honeymoon

At the top of Chesapeake Bay, in 1913, Elkton, Maryland, woke from 136 years of slumber. There hadn’t been much excitement since 1777, when 17,000 Redcoats marched through en route to drive the Continental Congress from Philadelphia. The latest to-do wasn’t so spectacular as watching an invasion, when sails filled the Elk River, disembarking troops at “Head of Elk.” Renamed Elkton, its 1913 excitement built gradually, initiated across the state line by a Delaware law. As in states farther north, Delaware

Let's Get Hitched

In their heyday in 1937, the town of 3,600 saw 16,054 marriage licenses issued. The most successful clergyman was Edward C. Minor. Before his church fathers defrocked him in 1935, he’d performed 17,500 weddings in nine years. Afterwards, the “reverend” had to hire a stand-in for his chapel. Minor posted advertising around town. One sign on a tourist camp fence misled couples to drive in, expecting “License, Minister and Cabin” all in one stop. From a rustic cabin, management redirected gullible couples to Minor and later collected a $5 kickback. Matrimony was so top-of-mind that a downtown traffic stop escalated into an international incident. That day, Police Chief Biddle whistled down a Packard coming “at a terrible speed.” Approaching the chauffeur, Biddle somehow overlooked diplomatic tags and lettering identifying “Ghaffar Khan Djalal, Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary of His Imperial Majesty the Shah of Iran.” Besides the driver, the shiny limo contained the Persian prince, his British-born

express” train. Whatever drove them to tie the knot, they came from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York and beyond. Elkton was dubbed “Gretna Green of the East,” a reference to English couples drawn to the nearest Scottish parish, where 18th-century boys and girls ages 14 and 12 could marry— with or without parental consent. Below the English border, without consent, couples had to both be 21.

Elkton is often credited with the 1914 marriage of the immortal Babe Ruth. That would have been a year after the marriage mill first got cranking, following his season with Baltimore Orioles of the International League. However, a license displayed in Howard County shows he actually wed there. Elkton had became so synonymous with marriage, the Babe may have misspoke, telling a reporter he’d wed in Elkton when it was actually in Ellicott City. Chapels multiplied like mushrooms along Main Street, and “marrying parsons” proliferated. 98

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Oxford Map and History

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Oxford is one of the oldest towns in Maryland. Although already settled for perhaps 20 years, Oxford Oxford Bellevue Ferry marks the year 1683 177 166 as its official founding, 155 nd Stra St. 144 for in that year Oxford The 133 was first named by n a 18 8 19 9 hm Tilg the Maryland General k e e Assembly as a seaport Cr 122 St. n and was laid out as a son il W 11 East town. In 1694, OxSt. lair St. t nc 10 e Si rk St. Ma ford and a new town Oxford 9 t. Park hS called Anne Arundel son Hig 8 Richard . St (now Annapolis) were n Divisio St. selected the only ports of entry for the entire i Town Rd. non . eek Cr e B Ave Maryland province. n 3 isio t. Until the American S Div W. 2 Revolution, Oxford 1 t. S ne enjoyed prominence roli 7 ad Ro Ca d 333 Oxfor To Easton as an international Pleasant Oxford St. Community shipping center surCenter Hbr. Robes t. 4 C rounded by wealthy E. Pier St. Pier St. tobacco plantations. Oxford Today, Oxford is a © John Norton 6 5 charming tree-lined and waterbound village with a population of just over 700 and is still important in boat building and yachting. It has a protected harbor for watermen who harvest oysters, crabs, clams and fish, and for sailors from all over the Bay. For a walking tour and more history visit https://tidewatertimes. com/travel-tourism/oxford-maryland/.

Let's Get Hitched wife and his pet dog—late for dinner in New York. A local newspaper reported, “When Biddle approached the car, the minister, who it is said had been drinking, pushed him away…” The ensuing scuﬄe drew a crowd, who saw the ambassador cuffed and jailed. It was generally assumed a “foreign minister” was an intruder about to poach the local marriage market. The town magistrate wasn’t available, so the ambassador was transferred to North East, where their justice of the peace recognized diplomatic immunity. Djalal was allowed to proceed to New York, where he expressed outrage that he’d been detained as he “rushed for an urgent official engagement.” In Tehran, the Shah received apologies from the U.S. President, the State Department and Maryland’s governor. Chief Biddle and a deputy lost their jobs and were charged with assault, but the Shah remained furious at treatment of his emissary. He recalled the minister and closed his Washington embassy, ousted the U.S. Ambassador from Tehran and severed diplomatic relations for three years. Along with international news, tabloids and fan magazines reported stage and screen stars’ weddings in Elkton. One odd couple, Katharine Hepburn and Howard Hughes, never made it to a chapel, but im-

mortalized Elkton in many minds. Hughes wooed Kate by buying her screen rights to a Broadway hit, “The Philadelphia Story.” The script of her award-winning fi lm incorporated Elkton into the storyline. On screen, Cary Grant and Hepburn rewed, after once having eloped to Elkton, as had Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly in the musical version, “High Society.” Tales of loves at fi rst sight and elopements multiplied. Available parsons could be found around the clock, but the courthouse license window closed at 7 p.m. Despite that accommodating office hour, occasionally celebrities came late. It’s said the all-time great bandleader Glenn Miller and his college sweetheart arrived at 7:05 and had to return single on the New York train. In the 1950s, the career of ex-vaudevillian Martha Raye fi nally peaked on television. Martha arrived for one of her seven marriages by private plane but landed a few minutes late. After un-

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successfully importuning local authorities for an exception, she was forced to take off to more amenable Alexandria, Virginia. With twenty chapels in Elkton, competition was stiff. Taxi drivers staked out arrival points to corral prospective brides and grooms. At train depot and bus stations, fistfights between cabbies were not unusual. Besides a ride to the county clerk for a license and chapel for a parson, drivers suggested a jeweler for a ring, florist for a bridal bouquet, restaurant for a romantic supper, and accommodation for the night. Such vertical integration bred syndicates to keep cash flowing, while they contended with legislative reformers in Annapolis.

Over the years, Maryland’s wellintentioned regulation of rites had evolved into a parody of religiosity. Business ebbed and flowed as legislators sought to rein in the spectacle. In 1938 a statewide requirement of a 48-hour wait took effect. Newspapers reported the mill’s demise and a mood of “melancholy” among parsons. Edward Minor took his four taxicabs and

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Let's Get Hitched moved to Alexandria. Reverend Cope coped by retiring, while more conventional Pastor Baker said, “I’m going on and preach and bury the dead and visit the sick just the same as always.” Business slowed, but syndicate lobbyists fought back. The onset of wartime opened new possibilities and the mill resumed grinding, producing 14,000 marriages in 1942. The waiting period could be waived for “good and sufficient cause,” such as military men or women who might be shipped out. Another sufficient cause was pregnancy, which landed a number of doctors in legal trouble for false certifications. The little Maryland town, where

designer Oleg Cassini had chosen to marry, was again fashionable, but competition was developing out in Western desert. It became trendy to wed in Vegas, divorce in Reno. Many stars who had wed in Elkton were losing their luster. Billie Holiday may have become immortalized since her 1938 wedding, but one-time leading man Cornel Wilde hadn’t set hearts aflutter since the 1950s. Joan Fontaine had been Hollywood’s hottest leading lady in 1940s, before her fourth and final wedding. On the other hand, Debbie Reynolds’s star shone for decades. Bert Lahr is still remembered as the Cowardly Lion in “The Wizard of Oz.” John O’Hara’s novels remain required reading. Tradition and a romantic aura

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clung to Elkton. While Michael Jordan opted to marry in Las Vegas, Philadelphia 76er Charles Barkley chose Elkton. In 1956, New York Giant slugger Willie Mays raced down the New Jersey Turnpike to wed on Valentine’s Day, incurring a $15 speeding ticket along the way. That was three years before John Mitchell wed Martha Beall. Mitchell later became President Nixon’s attorney general. Martha became famous for late night calls to reporters, implicating him and his boss in Watergate crimes. (Her high school yearbook picture had been captioned: “I love its gentle warble, I love its gentle flow. I love to wind my tongue up, And I love to let it go.”) John was released from a brief stay at a fedTidewater Residential Designs since 1989

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Let's Get Hitched eral prison camp in 1977, the year after Martha’s passing. Even today an uptick in activity occurs every Valentine’s Day, including vow renewals at the courthouse. Syndicate lobbyists lost a major battle when civil marriages became legal on January 1, 1964. Thereafter a couple could save hundreds of dollars, exchanging vows before a county clerk in an ersatz chapel in the courthouse basement. As a student in the mid-1980s, Pat Robertson and Dede Elmer opted for a civil ceremony. Later, as a prominent clergyman, he attributed the secular origin of their successful marriage to parental

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disapproval of a religiously mixed marriage. (When the reverend ran for president, biographical transparency incidentally revealed that no false doctor certificate would have been necessary.) In the early 2000s, a reporter interviewed Barbara Smith, owner of The Little Wedding Chapel. In her seventies, she was still wooing prospective clients, describing her service as “intimate like a French restaurant.” Her $400 package included flowers, 24 photographs and a keepsake videotape. Nevertheless, business was slow. “They used to line up down the street,” she reminisced. “We used to do as many as 1,000 a year until a couple years ago.” In the courthouse across the street, a couple could wed for $60, including license and a brief exchange of vows. The doors closed on the historic Little Wedding Chapel in 2017, the last of its ilk. Now no train stops, and Interstate 95 whisks traffic past. Townsfolk generally prefer to remember how many times George Washington slept in Elkton, rather than its more recent claim to fame. Forty-some years ago, A.M. Foley swapped the Washington, D.C. business scene for a writing life on Elliott Island, Maryland. Tidewater Times kindly publishes Foley’s musings on regional history and life in general.

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Known as the “Diplomat of Dance.” Dana Tai Soon Burgess and members of his acclaimed dance company share a captivating evening of modern dance, literature and history.

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Soups: Simple, Comforting and Made to Share My mom always believed you should have a pot of soup in the refrigerator or freezer. You never know who might stop in. I grew up with that idea, and I have carried it with me throughout my life. I have always loved having something homemade ready to share, especially when someone unexpectedly walks through the door. There is something comforting

about a pot of soup. It can be simple, nourishing and generous all at the same time. It doesn’t have to be fancy. It just needs to be made with a little love. I have carried that same feeling into my own kitchen and into my cooking classes. I remember teaching children who were amazed to discover that chicken noodle soup didn’t have to come from a can. They were fascinated that something so familiar

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Tidewater Kitchen could be made right in their own kitchen with simple ingredients. Chicken noodle soup was always a favorite in my classes, and it was also one of Keillan’s favorites growing up. Another favorite was clam chowder.

When we lived in Scituate, Massachusetts, we would get fresh clams from Mallaney’s to make our chowder. There is something special about cooking with ingredients that are fresh and local. Once you experience it, you realize how much it adds—not only to the f lavor of the food, but to the whole experience of cooking. Knowing where your food comes from, meeting the people who provide it and supporting the local community makes you feel connected to your food in a different way. Fresh ingredients truly spoil you—in the very best way. Those experiences have stayed with me. They remind me that cooking is about so much more than following a recipe. It’s about

using what is available, appreciating where it came from and sharing it with the people you love. And sometimes, it’s as simple as a pot of soup waiting in the refrigerator for whoever might walk through your door. That’s the kind of cooking I love. Soup Season There is something comforting about a pot of soup simmering on the stove. As the days become cooler and the leaves begin to change, we naturally start craving meals that warm us from the inside out. Soup is one of those wonderful foods that can be as simple or as creative as you want it to be. And the best part? Soup doesn’t have to start with a recipe. It can start with

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what’s in your refrigerator. A few vegetables, some leftover chicken, a little rice, a can of beans, a handful of herbs and some good broth can become a delicious meal. That’s one of the things I love most about cooking. You don’t always need more ingredients. Sometimes you simply need to look at what you already have and imagine what it could become. Soup is forgiving. There is room to taste, adjust, experiment and make it your own. Add a little more broth. Toss in another vegetable. Change the seasoning. Use leftovers. You don’t have to follow every recipe perfectly. Sometimes you just have to begin. October Kitchen Challenge This month, make a pot of soup from scratch. It doesn’t have to be complicated. Start with what you have: • A few vegetables • Onion and garlic • Chicken, beans or another protein • Broth or stock • Rice, pasta or potatoes • Fresh or dried herbs Taste as you go and make it your own. And when it’s ready, put a little aside for the refrigerator or freezer. You never know who might stop in. Building a Great Soup There isn’t one perfect way to 111

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where you get to make it your own. A good soup isn’t about following rules. It’s about building f lavor.

make soup, but these simple steps will help you get started. Start with f lavor. Sauté onion, carrots, celery or garlic in a little olive oil. Add your main ingredients. Vegetables, chicken, beans, potatoes, grains or whatever you have available. Add broth. Chicken, vegetable or beef broth can all create a delicious foundation. Season as you go. Salt, pepper, herbs, garlic and spices can transform a simple soup. Let it simmer. Give the ingredients time to come together. Taste before serving. This is

Seasonal Spotlight October brings some of my favorite ingredients into the kitchen. Look for: • Butternut squash • Sweet potatoes • Pumpkin • Carrots • Apples • Pears • Kale • Spinach • Caulif lower • Brussels sprouts • Onions • Garlic Many of these ingredients are wonderful in soups, stews and roasted dishes—and can be used in several different ways throughout the week. Classic Chicken & Rice Soup A comforting soup that teaches the basics of building f lavor. 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 medium onion, diced 2 carrots, sliced 2 celery stalks, sliced 2 cloves garlic, minced 8 cups chicken broth 2 cups cooked chicken, shredded ¾ cup long-grain white rice or your favorite 1 teaspoon dried thyme

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ple green salad. Make it your own: Use leftover roasted chicken, rotisserie chicken or whatever cooked chicken you have available. Roasted Tomato Soup September was all about roasting, and this recipe carries that simple technique right into October. Roasting the tomatoes first brings out their natural sweetness and gives the soup a beautiful depth of f lavor. 2 pounds ripe tomatoes, halved 1 small onion, quartered 4 cloves garlic 2 tablespoons olive oil Salt and pepper 4 cups vegetable or chicken broth

Salt and pepper to taste 2 tablespoons fresh parsley Juice of ½ lemon Heat olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add onion, carrots and celery. Cook for 5–7 minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook for another minute. Add chicken broth, rice, thyme, salt and pepper. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat and simmer until the rice is tender, about 15–20 minutes. Stir in the shredded chicken and warm through. Finish with fresh parsley and a squeeze of lemon. Serve with crusty bread or a sim-

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A Taste of Italy

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Tidewater Kitchen

tional) Fresh basil for garnish

½ teaspoon dried basil ½ cup half-and-half or cream (op-

Preheat oven to 425°F. Place tomatoes, onion and garlic on a sheet pan. Drizzle with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Roast for 30–35 minutes until the tomatoes are soft and caramelized. Transfer the roasted vegetables to a blender. Add broth and basil and blend until smooth. Pour into a pot and warm gently. Stir in cream if desired. Taste and adjust seasoning.

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Tidewater Kitchen grilled cheese sandwich. Remember: Those roasted edges add f lavor. Don’t be afraid of a little color. Harvest Soup A simple, nourishing soup filled with the f lavors of fall.

mersion blender or regular blender. Stir in coconut milk or half-andhalf if desired. Taste and adjust the seasoning before serving. Don’t be afraid to make it your own. Add more herbs, a little lemon or whatever sounds good to you. Around the Table This Month’s Conversation

2 tablespoons olive oil 1 onion, chopped 2 carrots, chopped 1 sweet potato, peeled and cubed 2 cups butternut squash, cubed 1 apple, peeled and chopped 4 cups vegetable or chicken broth 1 teaspoon thyme ½ teaspoon cinnamon Salt and pepper ½ cup coconut milk or half-andhalf (optional)

Heat olive oil in a large pot. Add onion and carrots and sauté until beginning to soften. Add sweet potato, squash, and apple. Add broth, thyme, cinnamon, salt, and pepper. Bring to a simmer and cook for 25–30 minutes, until the vegetables are tender. Blend until smooth using an im-

What is a meal that reminds you of home? Maybe it’s your grandmother’s soup, your mother’s Sunday dinner, something your children loved growing up or simply a meal you remember sharing with people you love. Food has a wonderful way of bringing memories back to life. Something to Remember You don’t need a perfectly stocked kitchen to make a good

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Tidewater Kitchen meal. You don’t need expensive ingredients. And you certainly don’t need to be a perfect cook. Look around your kitchen. See what you have. Start with one ingredient, one idea and a little curiosity. You might be surprised at what you can create. And if you have a pot of soup in the refrigerator or freezer, you might just be ready when someone you love happens to stop by. Until Next Month… The kitchen isn’t just where we make food. It’s where we gather. It’s where we learn.

It’s where we take care of one another. And sometimes, a simple bowl of soup is all it takes to make someone feel loved. Until next month, may your kitchen be filled with simple meals, growing confidence, and the people you love. Happy Cooking ~ There’s always room at my table. Pamela Meredith, formerly Denver’s NBC Channel 9 Children’s Chef, has taught both adult and children’s cooking classes. For more of Pam’s recipes, visit the Story Archive tab at tidewatertimes.com.

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The Festival of Trees committee continues its work to make this year’s fundraising event a huge success. Held the first weekend after Thanksgiving, the 41st Festival of Trees rings in the holiday season for hundreds who are eager to get the holidays underway. This year’s series of events runs Fri., Nov. 27 through Tues., Dec. 1. Festival of Trees is spearheaded by a group of volunteers under the auspices of Friends of Hospice. All proceeds, nearly $3.9 million to date, directly benefit Talbot Hospice. This year’s theme, “A Holiday to Remember,” is inspiration to tree and wreath decorators. Leading the charge is chair Dale Jafari and cochair Gail Shorter, each a long-time Festival of Trees volunteer. For Dale, volunteering to support Talbot Hospice is personal. “I have spent over a decade volunteering with the Festival of Trees because it gives me the opportunity to strengthen the vital services Tal-

Dale Jafari bot Hospice provides. Their support meant everything to our family as our mother was dying, and I am committed to supporting them as they continue to care for our community,” Dale explains. Co-chair Gail says it is an “honor to step into the role of co-chair of the entire event.” She explains, “I have been honored to be a volunteer for the Festival of Trees for the past several years. I was welcomed into

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Festival of Trees this supportive family, everyone dedicated to the same cause - providing support to individuals and their families through this end-oflife transition. Before I volunteered, I would attend the event and feel the wonder and magic that surrounds all the trees. I had always wanted to be part of making this happen.” The Festival of Trees is truly magical. Walking into the Gold Ballroom of the historic Tidewater Inn is a beautiful sight. One hundred trees of varying sizes, all twinkling with lights, is the maker of memories each holiday season. The Preview Gala, which serves as the official launch for the Festival,

Gail Shorter will be held on Fri., Nov. 27 from 6 to 8 p.m. Advance tickets will be sold only. The event is open to the pub-

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Festival of Trees lic from Sat., Nov. 28 through Tues., Dec. 1. Tickets cost $10 for adults, $5 for children 6 to 12, and are free for those 5 and under. Don’t miss the Mistletoe Marketplace, where carefully curated items, including custom ornaments and notecards, are perfect for gifting or adding a touch of festive charm to your home. Explore a collection of wreaths and one-of-a-kind trees ranging in size from 12 inches to 3 feet. A family event, the Festival of Trees offers Santa’s Workshop on Saturday from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Children pose with Santa and the elves for a holiday keepsake and participate in crafts.

For those who enjoy a brisk jog, dress in your best elf costume and join the Santa 5K Run/Walk on Sat., Nov. 28 at 9 a.m. at Idlewild Park. Awards are given by age group, and pets are welcome to participate. Reserve beautiful poinsettias in time for the holiday season online at festival-of-trees.org. The limitededition luminary design for 2026 will be unveiled soon and is a real showstopper. Additionally, a festive quilt designed for this year’s Festival of Trees will be raﬄed in support of Talbot Hospice. To volunteer, sponsor or learn more, visit the website at festivalof-trees.org, email talbotfestival@ gmail.com or call 410-819-3378 (FEST).

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Chesapeake Odyssey by Gilbert Byron Edited and with notes by James Dawson Foreword and with Watercolors by Jack Lewis Introduction by the Editor Two i mpor t a nt book s on t he Chesapeake Bay would be inspired by the Avalon’s circumnavigation of the Bay from August 9–29, 1941: Gilbert Byron’s first book of poems, These Chesapeake Men, published in 1942 and Jack Lewis’s The Chesapeake Bay Scene, which was published in 1953. Byron’s book would be illustrated with watercolors by Jack Lewis and Lew is’s book would incorporate some of Gilbert Byron’s poems. The other crew member, “Bill,” was high school senior Wilbur R. Dameron, who soon went to Harvard and Cornell, where he played football. He then became a lawyer in New York. The Avalon was named for the island paradise from the legends of King Arthur, and so for the better part of the month, it would be a wooden paradise for its crew as they savored the joys, and inconveniences, of sailing the Chesapeake Bay and visiting its islands and villages. It is unlikely that either Byron or Lewis was aware of how drastically the Bay

Gilbert Byron they had known from their boyhood would soon, like Avalon, vanish into legend itself. Just by chance, they were seeing the very last of the old ways and the old Bay that would soon be gone. Even though the war in Europe was on everyone’s minds, the country was still a few months from Pearl Harbor, the aftershocks of which

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Chesapeake Odyssey would reach even the peaceful waters of the Bay. And, as if that was not enough, 1952 would see the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, which opened the Eastern Shore to the “come heres” (as the natives would call them), who, attracted by the beauty and slower pace of life on the Eastern Shore, would also, inevitably, help to change it forever by their sheer numbers. But all of this was still in the future. For a few carefree weeks, the three would enjoy the cruise of a lifetime. Note: Chesapeake Odyssey was probably written about 1949 and has never been published before. The photos used in this edition are by Gilbert Byron and the watercolors by Jack Lewis. The dinghy used on this trip was built by Byron from plans for the sailing pram Sabot in the April 1939 issue of Rudder magazine, which was 7’9” in length and had a beam of 3’11”. Sabot meant wooden shoe. The design was unusual because it used a radical new material at that time: marine plywood. Old timers said it wouldn’t last, but the pram still survives today in the possession of the editor. Following the example of Thoreau’s A Week On the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, which Byron mentions reading on this trip, I have broken his text into days instead of numbered chapters.

Avalon Thanks to Jack Lewis for writing the Forward and Jacques Baker, Gilbert’s friend and biographer, for making this material available. ~James Dawson FORWARD BY JACK LEWIS I met Gilber t in Dover where he taught English and may have coached basketball. He had a third interest in a 30-foot catboat, the other two owners were Virgil Wiley, Superintendent of Dover High School, and George Henr y, who taught High School English and was lovingly referred to as “The Dean” by his students. During the spring of 1941 when I was peddling my book The Delaware Scene to Delaware schools, I stopped at the Dover High School and met Gilbert. We had kindred interests, the most important of these was a strong dedication to the teachings of Henry Thoreau. Gilbert had noted the statement in the

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Chesapeake Odyssey introduction of The Delaware Scene written by artist N.C. Wyeth, also a follower of Thoreau. This statement insisted that truth was at Walden, not in glamorous foreign places such as Paris. This idea may have sparked the resolve of Gilbert to explore the Chesapeake Bay with the catboat Avalon. He asked if I would be interested in joining in this Bay odyssey as I was beginning to explore the pictorial splendor of the Eastern Shore. I readily accepted his invitation. We sailed down the Sassafras River extolling the natural beauties of the Sassafras and the Chesapeake towns of that river and the Bay. I’ll never forget Gilbert’s reiteration of the Thoreauvian principle that beauty is near at hand. I was not quite as convinced as was Gilbert that we were traveling greater distances than friend George Henry, who was traveling on a railroad ticket to any place in either the U.S. or Canada. I was soon to fi nd that this voyage on the Bay was not all rosy. Off Solomon’s Island, Avalon lost its rudder. A kindhearted waterman towed us into Solomon’s harbor. We ended up on the beach back of Capt. Burt’s on an unusually high tide and the tide went down and stayed. Our boat was like the ark up on high ground. This delay was a blessing in disguise. Gilbert composed some of his best waterman poems and I got off some 130

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Chesapeake Odyssey of my best watercolors, also based on watermen. Capt. Burt occasionally came to the boat with a pan of fried fish fixed up by his sister “for the boys.” Eventually, after about ten days, the tide came up to a flood sufficient to get the Avalon off. Out trotted Capt. Burt with a giant oar. “Boys,” he called, “I’ve taken a likin’ to you. Before you go over to Crisfield for a new rudder, I want you to take this steerin’ o’er.” As I said, our most productive times creatively: Gilbert with his poems and I with my watercolors, happened during the times we were beached, and because of a sailing malf unction, it happened again awaiting our new rudder. Gilbert was a great friend. Later, while I was torn about signing up for the active military service, I followed his wise advice. “Jack, you won’t like to be disliked by your friends, if you become a conscientious objector.” And still later, Gilbert suggested the Fulbright Exchange, which became so rich and fulfilling when I was accepted. Following is a favorite Byron poem from our Chesapeake odyssey days

Chewing tobacco and the will to wish That somehow better days will come To make old age less burdensome. This man who sailed tall schooners far, Should have these years without the mar Of cleaning fish and scrubbing floors Or polishing brass cuspidors. A time to whittle wooden ships, While smelling sweet of cedar chips, To tell tall stories to small lads, Buccaneers outwitting pale Galahads. A time to scull his little skiff, Where the fishes bite by the yellow cliff. To watch the low sun golden grow To see the lamp light’s mellow glow.

OLD CAP by Gilbert Byron He’s lived ten years on liquor and fish, 132

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Chesapeake Odyssey To row across the quiet stream To a warm berth and a sweet dream. From Byron, These Chesapeake Men, 1942 Day One August 9, 1941 Sassafras River to Rock Hall In many ways it was a strange trio that sailed down the Sassafras River that early morning in August of 1941. There was Jack Lewis, the young watercolor artist whose talents have recently been directed to the Chesapeake scene; Bill, a high school senior who loves a breeze; and the skipper, a school master on

vacation. Three weeks would give Jack ample time to scatter his paints along the old piers and streets of the salty, little bay towns. Three weeks were left before school bells would call Bill and me back inside the walls again; these days would be doubly sweet. There would be windy days to sail our old girl Avalon. When the favorable breezes faded we could absorb local color and good Maryland seafood. There was no need to hurry. Beyond Ordinary Point we approached a bugeye at anchor. She was the Florence Northrup from Annapolis, now converted into a yacht with a long cabin amidship, but enough of her original lines were left to please a sailor’s eye. A Negro cook was fingering a fish line stretched

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Chesapeake Odyssey over her neat monkey rail; two white boys were enjoying their morning dip. The scene was nostalgia itself and sent our ship’s artist hurrying for his paints. Bill dropped the jib and anchor for Jack’s first painting of our trip. Soon he was lost, applying colors to the heavy paper spread on Avalon’s forward hatch cover. When propped on the sampson post this made a fine easel. In a few minutes the beauty of the old Chesapeake was caught for all time, not with the cold efficiency of the candid camera but through the warm eyes of a human being, one who loved her simple rig and rakish lines. Thirty minutes later we were off again, slipping into Betterton on the last of the early morning breeze. A long t he a ncient stea mboat wharf at Betterton numerous power launches were moored. On holidays they are kept busy taking vacationists for a boat ride, but now they were dozing; their lines were reminiscent of the old shad skiffs. Jack was intrigued by their sturdy independence and gay-colored awnings. Nothing would do but he should paint them so out the bottles came once more. This time he found his best view from the wharf. Soon he was concentrated on his work, oblivious of the strolling couples who stopped to peer over his shoulders. These kibitzers would almost invariably return to check Jack’s progress, nod know-

ingly or perhaps gesture in despair that our artist’s eyes were not more photographic. As the sketch neared completion, Bill came back with a two-gallon can of oil; it seems that the first day of the cruise always finds us short some important item, and we were on our way again, this time under motor. Betterton is flanked by high bluffs which cut off the usual southwest breeze and make it a very hot place, but once moving, our large awning created a cooling shade. Bill took a long trip at the wheel while Jack dozed and I read Thoreau’s A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers. This little-known book from the pen of the Walden sage, while long drawn out in some places has a gem-like quality soon recognized by those who like to go down to the sea in small ships. Some seven miles below Howell Point we turned in to have a look at Fairlee Creek. A low tropical-looking island almost filled the mouth. A squat fisherman’s shack and drying nets lured us still farther, but even Avalon’s thirty inches scraped the sandy bottom. Every time we stop

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Chesapeake Odyssey here the bar seems to be in a different place though the channel can be located if one wishes to take the dinghy and lead the way with an inquisitive oar. This time we had the urge to put the miles behind us down the bay so we pushed the old girl off and continued on our way. As we approached Swan Point, pound nets almost surrounded us. They were guarded by a host of imperturbable gulls, birds which sat on bush stakes as solemnly as judges and did not even fly when we saluted them with the foghorn. This would be a dangerous course to run at night, particularly as there are always some stakes broken off and hidden by the water, lurking

to puncture an unlucky garboard strake. To be doubly safe we make a practice of passing by very close to a visible stake which assures us that there should not be a hidden one nearby. Past Swan Point a long bar bearing the same name stretches down the bay, and in order to enter Rock Hall harbor a stranger must make a long reach toward Love Point before he can be certain of a safe passage into the newly constructed yacht basin. But we had learned from local boatmen on previous trips that the long detour is unnecessary for shallow draft boats. Avalon crossed the bar on a line connecting a group of bush stakes below Swan Point and can buoy No. 5 at the entrance of the harbor. At low tide we still had over

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Chesapeake Odyssey a foot to spare. However, it would not be wise for a stranger to try this course. Swan Point Bar is hard, and the waves roll big over its shoal waters. In a severe storm a grounded boat would not live very long on this shoal. The federal government has recently completed a fine basin here, protected from the bay storms by stone dikes and adequately buoyed. We tied up to the Bertie, a squat broker boat whose iron rub rail was much harder than her name would lead one to suspect. Day Two August 10, 1941 Rock Hall to Tilghman’s Island

The next morning we were awakened by the sounds of someone slushing dow n the decks on the Bertie. After a leisurely breakfast, Jack climbed aboard the Bertie and painted a picture of the harbor. The day was a hot one; soon Bill and I were in the water; it was beginning to lose the brackish upper-bay taste. Though we did not know it then, this was to be our last swim free of jellyfi sh for several weeks. As the Chesapeake becomes saltier, the jellyfi sh (and they are the kind that hurt) increase in size and numbers. The w ind was nor t hwest and fresh, just the breeze the Avalon wanted. Shortly before noon we raised our sails and started a long reach toward Love Point. The mouth

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Chesapeake Odyssey of the Chester River is wider than the bay and rough in anything that approaches a fresh breeze. Crossing it, familiar landmarks, impressed indelibly on my memory by numerous boyhood steamboat trips to Baltimore, drifted by on the horizon: Eastern Neck Island lined with tall bull pines; Hail Point, where all the sailing ships of colonial days were inspected before proceeding up the river to Chestertown; Love Point Lighthouse warning us to keep away from the bar off the northern end of Kent Island. With the coming of the trucks and passenger automobiles the steamer’s hoarse horn is gone, but the old landmarks are still there

looking just the same as they did thirty years ago. Past Love Point Lighthouse, Avalon entered the bay and slid along with the wind dead astern. Work at the wheel was difficult for it is an old axiom that all catboats carry strong weather helms. While ours is slooprigged, her head is still stubborn when sailing with a following wind. Sails came up the bay. Four motor sailors from the naval academy passed us close-hauled in perfect formation with the crews all hard at work mastering their appointed tasks. So much so that, though I dipped our ensign twice, we failed to see any returning sign. Of course our old girl is old and unsightly; perhaps they were on some special maneuver

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that required all of their manpower elsewhere. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Off in the distance we saw a bugeye under foresail only, a schooner, and a miscellaneous assortment of sails which we learned later was the Oxford-Gibson Island sailing race. Past Matapeake we got a closeup of the double-ended sailing cutter which Mr. Ralph Wiley of Oxford built for his own use. Her lines reminded one of the whale boat though the bowsprit and guibre is reminiscent of the clipper bow as used on old Chesapeakers. When the cutter passed us she was going great guns, close-hauled, seemingly almost directly into the wind. The Annapolis-Matapeake ferry boats were r ushing back and for ward

across the bay. It is only six nautical miles from Matapeake to Annapolis Harbor. Far in the distance Bloody Point Light raised a sooty finger; old records tell of piratical forays in this neighborhood which led to the crimson name. Even today, in keeping with its ancient reputation, the lighthouse is painted a dark red. One landmark which seemed never to be erased was the group of radio towers at Annapolis. We were past Poplar Island before they finally disappeared in the haze. Approaching this island, we looked northward on the east side of Kent Island and saw Claiborne. The long row of poplar trees, which resembled a huge comb with its teeth pointing sky ward, made a fine landmark for Claiborne.

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Chesapeake Odyssey The water began to be filled with large jellyfish, and off Poplar Island our lookout called out that he saw the bottom. The chart showed plenty of water; the ten foot awning pole was used to no avail. Finally our twenty-foot topsail spar touched the mud at about three fathoms, almost unbelievable as the Chesapeake is not a particularly clean body of water. Later old watermen assured us that the condition was caused by the long period of drought. For several miles two of us stood in the bow enjoying the sight of an eighteen-foot cross section of marine life. Besides jellyfish, we saw crabs, schools of small fry, silver sides shining, and occasional darting dark shadows. Somehow we did not care to go swimming on that particular day. Past Poplar Island we picked up the black marker at Knapps Narrows entrance, furled our sails, and slowly

motored into this quaint landlocked harbor. On several previous occasions we had grounded on entering the narrows, but this time Avalon did not even touch. Our local knowledge was increasing. Knapps Narrows is an interesting overnight harbor with a restaurant which specializes in homecooking at reasonable prices. The group of jovial party boat fishermen who make their headquarters here always have time to stop and chat awhile. The largest fishing boat on the entire bay, Captain Randolph Harrison’s Sylvia J., named after his daughter, is located here. With the Avalon moored and everything shipshape we decided to eat ashore for a change. Our dinner was on the table when Jack gazed thoughtfully out of the window and remarked that under the late sun the harbor and boats had the quality of a Japanese print. Between mouthfuls of fried trout I dreamily agreed, but Jack deserted his food and went hurrying away for his paints. Bill and I ruthlessly continued to devour the meal. Jack finished his picture with the last rays of the dying sun and returned thoughtfully to his cold trout. After supper we loafed around the little store and restaurant. Since my last visit new slot machines had been installed. Now, thanks to the photoelectric cell, for a nickel you had the choice of trying your skill at machine gunning, a swooping airplane, or sinking an elusive submarine.

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My facile imagination conceived a similar device which at irregular intervals would disgorge parachutists, as even more appropriate. The local captains matched their skill with these tools of a warlike world. One local Ronnie hit the fast-flying plane with such machine-like regularity that I was sure he must have dropped many a black duck or can-

vasback during the colder months. We all tr ied our marksmanship before returning to Avalon. There, stretched on the decks, we watched the stars fall. To Be Continued... James Dawson is the owner of Unicorn Bookshop in Trappe.

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With Sadness Comes Light part 2 by Dan Hoyt

And then, finally, we met her. We f lew into Orange County— John Wayne Airport—and made the hour-and-a-half drive south. It felt longer than it should have. Not because of traffic or distance, but because of what was waiting at the end of it. The anticipation had been building for weeks. Now it was right in front of us. We stayed close by that week, in a small place of our own. Near enough to be there whenever we could.

There are moments in life that don’t need to announce themselves. Walking up to that door was one of them. We stepped inside, set our things down and did the small things first. Washed our hands. Took a breath. And then… Dawn was the first to hold her. There’s a quiet handoff in moments like that—unspoken, natural, the kind that happens after a lifetime together. We watched as she held her, and

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in that instant, the distance, the waiting, all of it gave way to something real. Something we could finally touch. And when it was my turn… I held her, too. Eleanor Adeline. We had imagined this moment so many times. But being there— feeling her weight, so small and yet somehow so full—was something entirely different. We kissed her. We held her close. We loved her the only way you really can in that first moment—through touch, through presence, through simply being there. She was perfect. Her long fingers stood out right away—something about them made us smile. Maybe from her dad, Luke, we thought. But so much of her… felt like her mom,

Liz. Familiar in a way that didn’t need explanation. Time didn’t stop. But every once in a while, it felt like it had. We spent the week together. Not doing anything extraordinary—but somehow, it all felt like it mattered. We visited Pacific Beach. Found a few good restaurants. Luke and I got out for some golf. And through all of it, she was there with us—part of everything now. (Just not the golf.) More than anything, we just enjoyed being together. Watching them with her. Being near. Letting the days take their time. And somewhere in those quiet moments, we felt it again. Not in a loud way. Not something that needed to be spoken. Just… there. The same feeling we had when the wind chime stirred back home. The same sense that something unseen was still somehow present. We didn’t talk about it. We didn’t have to. Because holding Eleanor, we understood something more clearly now than ever before. Nothing had been left behind. Not the love. Not the memory. Not the connection that carries through names and moments and time. It was all still here. Just… different. Too soon, it was time to go. We had a noon f light that Saturday,

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but before heading out, we stopped to see them one last time. Those goodbyes felt a little heavier. We held Luke and Liz a little longer than usual. And we held Eleanor again. Just a little longer. There’s something about that last hold. You don’t rush it. You don’t think about anything else. You just take it in. And then, eventually, you let go. The drive back was quieter. Not empty—just full in a different way. It had been a wonderful visit. And somewhere along the way, without us even realizing it at first…what we had been waiting for had changed. It was never just about meeting her. It was about understanding what it feels like to

hold both things at once. The joy. The memory. The love that never left. And now we know—not in theory, not in hope, but in something real we’ve felt with our own hands— sadness and light don’t take turns. We carried them with us on the way there. And we carried them home. Epilogue: Weeks later, we find ourselves back home, settling into the rhythm of things again. The backyard looks the same as it always has. The dandelion girl still stands where she always has. And the wind chime still catches the breeze when it comes.

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With Sadness Comes Light But it all feels a little different now. Sometimes, when the wind moves just right, we still pause for a moment. Not because we’re searching for something. But because we remember. And now, when we hear it, we don’t just think about what we lost. We think about what we’ve held. And that has made all the difference. I Was There (A Poem of Remembrance in Adeline’s Voice) I was there. Not always where your eyes could find me, but where your heart remembered me.

I was there in Las Vegas, in the laughter that filled the rooms, in the music, in the light that seemed to follow her before anyone knew how precious those days would become. I was there while futures were imagined, while love unfolded naturally, while family grew around a table without realizing how sacred those moments were. And when everything changed— when sorrow arrived uninvited and the world became something unfamiliar—I was still there. I was there in the quiet hospital room, in trembling hands, in tears that needed no words. I felt your love. Every bit of it. You thought you were saying

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With Sadness Comes Light

goodbye. But love does not leave simply because a life changes form. I was there in the long week that followed, in the silence, in the comforting presence, in knowing when to sit close and when to simply remain near. That is one of love’s greatest gifts. And I saw you give it. I was there by the water, at that little place you never planned to find. You saw a child holding a dandelion and felt something stir inside you. You could not name it. I could. It was hope. It was memory. It was me. I was there when the keepsake found its place, when the wind chime hung waiting, when remem-

brance settled gently into everyday life. I was listening. And I knew you were listening too. Then came an ordinary April day. Open windows. Quiet rooms. Nothing remarkable—until suddenly everything was. When the news arrived, when joy rushed in so quickly that tears followed behind, I was there. The chime sang. The wind answered. And before you understood why, your heart already knew. Because she is part of my story. And now, I am part of hers. I was there on every mile of the drive, in every hopeful thought, in every breath taken before the door finally opened. And when you first saw her—I was there. When you paused, washed your hands, and stepped carefully into a moment you knew would matter forever—I was there. When you held her for the first time, I was there. Not to be seen. Not to be noticed. Only to witness. Only to love. You did not leave me behind. You carried me forward. I was there at the beach, at the table, in the laughter shared between generations, and in the quiet moments that often say the most. And when the time came to say goodbye again, I was there.

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In the lingering embrace. In the reluctance to let go. In the understanding that some moments deserve to be held a little longer. So please, do not wonder anymore. You did not lose me. You simply learned another way to love me. Love does not divide itself between what was and what is. It gathers. It remains. It travels beside you. So, when the wind begins to stir, when the chime finds its voice, when a small, unexpected moment causes your heart to pause, don’t search for me. Don’t worry where I am. I am in the love that remains. I am in the memories that endure. I am in the story still being written. And I am already there. Dan Hoyt lives with his wife Dawn in Moline, Illinois. 153

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Buskers

by B. P. Gallagher “C’mon man, you gotta drop me off,” Seth says after donning the paint. “If I have to walk it ruins the effect.” Carlton, sprawled expansively on the futon, groans. “Can’t you drive yourself?” “My car’s in the shop until next week. I told you that.” “So, is this a one-time thing, or

will you be asking me again tomorrow and the next day?” “One-time deal. Promise.” Carlton sighs. “Just drop you off?” “…and pick me up,” Seth says with a sheepish grin. “Same spot.” Another sigh, theatrical in scope. “Fine. But bear in mind that I know exactly what you’re doing.

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Buskers This is classic foot-in-the-door. Next you’ll be asking me to paint you.” “Only the hard-to-reach spots.” Carlton scowls. “Joking! Joking.” “Everything’s a racket with you.” “I think the word you’re looking for is riot.” “Why don’t you switch things up for once? Try talking at work and playing mute inanimate object around the apartment.” “You’d like that wouldn’t you, you sicko.” “Eff off. And will you stop leering at me like that? With the paint on, it’s ghoulish.” “So, you’ll drive me?” “Fine.” Carlton sits up with a laborious grunt. They’ve roomed together since college and, although Seth is technically the performer, Carlton is far more performative by nature. “Let me grab my keys.” Seth grabs his hand-painted cardboard sign and a ratty beach towel to keep the paint from rubbing off on the seats of Carlton’s Honda Civic. His usual spot on the corner of 9th and W 53rd is all but deserted at this hour, which is the point. Busking permits are nonexistent in NYC; for street performers it’s first-come, first-serve. For this and other reasons, he avoids Times Square and Union Station like the plague. Higher foot traffic

means stiffer competition, and the veteran breakdancers may as well have a monopoly there. Plus, a guy can only listen to “Empire State of Mind” so many times before he loses his. He thanks Carlton for the ride and gives him a pickup time and promises pizza for payment. As Carlton pulls away from the curb, Seth props his sign against the fire hydrant along with his cookie tin and assumes the first in a long repertoire of static poses he’ll hold throughout the afternoon. Thinking man, to kick things off. Why tire out the legs before the streets get busy? The sign reads: For $1 I wave. For $10 I go crazy! Seated on the nearest stoop with an elbow propped on his knee and his chin rested on his knuckles, he locks his muscles in place and lets his eyes glaze over. His mind wan-

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Buskers ders. Pedestrians pass by and some deposit crinkled ones in exchange for selfies and a friendly wave. Going rates strictly maintained. He gets his first tenner of the evening on the sly from a young mother with two exhausted children in tow—one a puffy-eyed, towheaded boy of four, the other a dour-faced girl of five or six. Both look in need of a nap. Their faces light up when he springs to life behind them and does an impromptu jig on the sidewalk. Every twenty minutes or so he changes position, compelled by $10 donations or the buildup of lactic acid or sometimes, by happy coincidence, both. At the end of the night, he unfreezes and takes his sign and tin full of cash and heads to the agreed-upon alley to wait for his ride. However, Carlton never shows. He calls and gets no answer, which could mean anything. Hangs up the phone, sighs and grumbles to himself, “Guess I’m walking after all.” It’s unseasonably hot for April, and within a few blocks, his paint starts to run from sweat. At least it doesn’t look like rain. Working his way toward home, he decides to deviate from his original plan by ordering a slice instead of a whole pizza. He’s earned it. Carlton, on the other hand… Gold my paint and coal my soul,

he thinks. Who wants to carry a whole pizza all the way home anyways? The line outside his usual spot snakes down the sidewalk and around the corner, so he skips it and heads to Paolo’s on W 45th. Paolo himself is working the counter like always. “Aye, look who it is! Goldie Hawn himself! She ate here once back in ’92, you know.” “So you’ve told me. How’s it going, Paolo?” “It’s goin’, it’s goin’. The usual?” “Yessir.” “You got it. Slice of pep and a root beer, comin’ right up. Want any action while you’re at it, Goldie? I see your piggybank there. Couple a good fight cards coming up this weekend. MMA and boxing. Take your pick.” “Just the food,” he tells the overthe-counter pizza afficionado and under-the-counter bookie. He pays and stuffs a tip in the jar. Shakers

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Buskers containing red pepper flakes and grated parmesan stand in a caddy beside the register. He chooses one of the former and, upending it over the slice, dispenses seven precise shakes. He takes the glass bottle of root beer, nods to Paolo and leaves with his dinner, a handful of napkins and his cookie tin tucked against his side like a football. Steam rises from the pizza, which overlaps the grease-soaked paper plate. The bottle of root beer sweats in the humid evening air. He blows on the slice and takes a couple experimental bites to reduce it to a more portable size and sets off for home. It’s good, thin, New York pizza, slightly crispy, laden with cheese and pepperoni, both charred just enough. He eats the whole slice and washes it down with the root beer. By the time he finishes his din-

ner, he’s a third of the way home and feeling inclined toward further deviations. Turning down a side street, he stops by Friendo’s Public House for a drink. Friendo’s Pubic House, some call it. Not him. He’s got a hometown love for the neonlit dive, much like a mother for her ugliest child. The guy working the bar tonight is unfamiliar. He looks about thirty-five going on fifty, furrowbrowed with a Romanesque nose and an unfortunate hairline on the verge of retreat. A small scar on his upper lip, faded almost to the point of being imperceptible, might recall a schoolyard fistfight or surgery to correct a cleft palate. Fit, in a ghoulish way. Gollum-like build, lean and muscular but with a decidedly subterranean complexion. As if he did most of his exercise indoors or by night, likely alone. “What’ll it be?” the barman asks as Seth slides onto a stool and sets his cookie tin on the bar. To the guy’s credit, he takes the golden getup in stride. “Bulleit Rye. Make it a double.” The bartender locates the squat, green-labelled bottle after a momentary search, pops the cork and pours a generous two fingers of the amber liquid into a whiskey glass. Slides the glass across the bar to Seth and says, “Can I ask you something?” Seth shrugs. Between the paint and the tin full of cash, questions seem inevitable.

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Buskers “How much does your act rake in per day? Ballpark.” “I do okay,” he deflects. “Over or under three hundred?” “Some days over, some days under.” He sips the rye and sniffs at the burn that lingers on his palate. The whiskey tastes of woodsmoke and spice, and it cascades down his throat, warming his belly. The glass clinks against the bar as he sets it down. The rye loosens his tongue. “You considering taking up busking?” “Just curious. I’ve got my own thing.” “Who doesn’t?” He drains the glass and taps it twice for another. The bartender retrieves the bottle and uncorks it with a thunk like a mortar round exiting the tube. As he pours, Seth says, “Let’s put it this way: I do my act Thursday through Sunday, and I don’t have to work the rest of the week if I don’t want to.” “Just sitting there like a statue, huh?” The pale man grins, bottle in hand. “How’s that for passive income?” Seth smiles wryly and raises his glass in acknowledgment of this joke. “I prefer static income. Besides, it’s the movements that make me money.” “Touché.” He takes another sip, smacks his lips, and says, “Where are my manners. Want a drink? Pour one for yourself.”

“Do people do that anymore? I don’t usually bartend.” “Why not?” Seth looks around. “I don’t see anyone who’s going to tell you otherwise.” “True.” The bartender gets himself a glass and a generous pour. “So, you got a name for your act, or should I call you C-3PO?” “I’m Seth. Since we’re drinking together, I’ll pretend that’s the first time I’ve heard that one.” “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Wendell.” He offers his hand over the bar and they shake, leaving smears of gold on the barman’s palm. “Thanks for the drink.” “Don’t mention it.” Setting his glass down, Seth sucks his teeth and says, “So, what’s your shtick?” “What makes you so sure I have one?” “C’mon, man. It’s New York. Plus, you already said you’ve got your own thing.”

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Buskers “What would you say if I told you I paint myself silver and do the robot for cash?” “Do you?” Wendell smiles, shakes his head. “Nah. Social media. I’ve got a semisuccessful fitness page.” “Good for you,” Seth says. He means it. “How many followers?” “Well, it’s still in its infancy. But I’d say it’s a healthy baby.” “More power to ya. I don’t have the patience.” “For social media? This from the guy who pretends to be a statue all day?” Seth laughs. “Maybe I do that because I don’t have anything interesting to say.” “Oh, so you’re a sad drunk.” “Not generally.” He takes another sip, and his new drinking buddy follows suit. “My Ma likes to sue people,” Wendell volunteers. “She’s what you might call litigious.” “That so?” “Big time.” “Does she ever win?” “She wins enough. That’s the problem.” “Kinda like a gambler, I guess.” Wendell snorts. “Sort of. I’d rather she gambled, frankly. Less ill will.” “I hear you.” “Another one for the road? You’re not driving, are you?”

“Maybe a small one. Not driving, no.” “Good. This one’s on the house.” Seth amends his uncharitable assessment of earlier. Not Gollum after all. Sméagol. The last rye of the night goes down smoothest. Feeling lubricated and ready to give Carlton a stern but fair dressing-down for ditching him, he asks Wendell to close his tab. Outside, the night blues and the city lights blot out the stars. Sirens blare and horns bleat, the sounds of traffic permeating the empty restaurant in an attempt by the streets to reassert themselves. “You’ll be paying cash, I assume,” Wendell says with a glance at the cookie tin. “Card, actually. Gotta build my credit somehow.” “Right. Well, card machine’s broken. I’ll have to run it in the back.” Seth removes the lid from his cookie tin and fishes out a ten-dollar bill, which he leaves on the bar for a tip. When Wendell returns, he takes his card with the receipt wrapped around it and pushes back his stool. “Good luck with the social media thing.” “Same to you. And uh, stay golden, Ponyboy.” “That’s two cheap shots.” “Sorry. Hey, thanks for the tip!” Seth nods and heads out the door. The humidity has coalesced into a haze that mingles with the neon-tinted smog of the city and en-

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Buskers shrouds it. Boozily armored against this oppressive atmosphere, he resumes his walk home. He slips his wallet from his pocket and returns his credit card to its dedicated sleeve. He’s about to toss the receipt in the nearest trash can when something written on it catches his eye. A slow grin spreads across his golden features. Scrawled in fi nepoint Sharpie below the total are a string of social media handles and an overwrought John Hancock. What a racket. He laughs softly and pockets the receipt instead. Then, picking up the pace and tightening his grip on the cookie tin, he makes for home.

At the intersection across from his building, the traffic rushes past in a steady blaring stream unbroken and unforgiving to would-be jaywalkers. He plants his feet on the sidewalk and stands swaying, waiting for the stoplight to turn red and secure his safe passage. It takes some time, but eventually it does. B. P. Gallagher’s fiction has appeared in Roi Faineant Press, Flash Fiction Magazine, Meniscus Literary Journal, and elsewhere. He is a 2013 graduate of Easton High School, holds a Ph.D. in Social/ Personality Psychology and is currently Assistant Professor of Psychology and Culture at Nazareth University.

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