There’s something about the shore-the Eastern shore, specifically.
Some call it God’s country.
We’ve trekked west coast to east coast annually the last thirty-five years, but rarely crossed the Chesapeake.
An invitation to a niece’s Navy retirement on the USS Wisconsin in Norfolk generated a visit to my brother on the Bay.
We found the towns of Portsmouth and St Michaels easy, inviting and wonderfully walkable. Each have historic districts with claims to the past. The first, in colonial Virginia, has built Naval vessels that impacted our nation. The latter claims to have foiled the British in 1813.
The countryside is expansive, flat, green, meandering, and inundated with water: inlets, rivers, swamps, peninsulas and islets.
Fields of corn and soy abound. The entry ways- the Bay Bridge and Bay Bridge Tunnel- are glutted with cars filled to the brim to embrace summertime.
The hospitality in the region merits comment. Warmth abounds.
Our reaction is purely physiological, our juices flowing merely thinking of melons, tomatoes, corn on the cob.
Blue crabs???? We are drawn to Old Bay seasoning. Soft shells, steamed crabs, crab soup and crab cakes every which way.
The best ticket was a picnic table covered with brown paper, wooden mallets and beer in hand over the water at dusk, despite the mosquitos.