Water Wisdom

This past weekend I had the great pleasure of visiting with friends at a house on the bay in Chincoteague, VA. No husband, no kids, no dog, cat, guinea pig or bees. The friends I visited are lifelong, some dating back to Ms. Giles' 2nd grade class at Catonsville Elementary School. Might I say, none of us have physically changed one bit since high school, at least in my eyes. Unfortunately, some of us haven't had much mental development either.

Theresa and her husband Dan own the house in which I stayed, a home that is as gorgeous as it is welcoming.

It is possible, when the sun is setting, reaching brilliant fingers of light across the bay, to experience soul calming happiness in this place.

"Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough." Emily Dickinson

Normally my slightly cynical nature would find Emily's post a bit too full of cheese, but in this instance, girlfriend is right on.

I love spending time with these friends, although their ability to drink into the wee hours is often more than my liver is able to bear. This weekend they put up with my deficiencies with gracious hospitality, allowing me to escape as needed to my room, where I read my book by the light of a bedside lamp. Comforting sounds of the water outside and the drunken singing within lulled me to sleep. I dreamt of shorebirds and shots of tequila.

On Saturday we attended the famous Chincoteague Chili Chowder Festival, in which the toothless and toothful alike gather at the carnival grounds to witness a fierce chili and corn chowder battle between professionals and amateurs. Chincoteague oysters are also offered for sale. Perfectly salty and slimy.

Festival goers get to sample all of the offerings. The line that formed in front of the Road Kill Chili booth was long, a testament to the chili's award winning status. I found the taste of possum a bit too gamy for my liking.

People watching offered astounding opportunities, as the locals walking around were often spicier than the chili. Here's a picture of my friend Lisa with one of them:

 This gentleman's t-shirt read "I'm not a gynecologist...but I'll take a look". His hat identified him as a "Boob Inspector". He offered his services free to both Lisa and I. We declined.

The libations offered were not nearly as entertaining as the festival goers, but I thought the plastic taste of both the bottle and the cup offered a pleasing chemical addition to the palate.








After the festival we headed by boat to a small island near the mouth of the bay.

Theresa brought their dogs, who love to chase porpoises as much as they do cats. Max had to be restrained from jumping aft. He seemed to quiet down nicely once offered a cold cup of Viognier.















We were lucky to have the island to ourselves, except for a few defensive inhabitants.

We offered this guy a drink, but he had to decline. The absence of opposable thumbs made the Solo cup a bit too difficult to handle.

The day was breathtakingly beautiful. We sat under a cerulean October sky, with our toes in the sand and our spirits in the heavens.


My friend's little girl was busy, busy, busy, unaffected by the somnolence that overtook the rest of us as we sank into a bed of sand and sun.



Saturday evening I sat again by a window facing the bay, watching dusk dissolve sharp details, leaving behind a softened seascape that somehow seemed even more complete.

 "...But sound is never half so fair

As when that music turns to air

And the universe dies of excellence." 

Thomas Merton