Writing life: Prison City research trip to Rock Hall and Dorchester County
On September 11, Doug and I visited Rock Hall in Kent County, just north of Tilghman Island on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. It's an old watermen's community, and though the watermen have nearly been squeezed out, there are a couple of museums there that have watermen's devices. Then, two days later, we took a return trip to Dorchester County - in particular, to Hoopers Island.
ROCK HALL
It's nice to see a community that hasn't become so gentrified that it has turned its back entirely on its past. In addition to the two museums we visited, we visited a special section of Rock Hall Harbor that has been set aside for today's watermen. It's marked by a statue of a waterman.
Rock Hall Museum is tucked away in the municipal building. It's a typical local museum, best visited by folks who already know something about the subjects being discussed. One of the two rooms is devoted to watermens' lives. Doug wandered rather dispiritedly into the room with displays on everyday life, while I made cryptic remarks like, "Oh, a floating lantern!" or "Lookie, a filling funnel!"
He woke up when we got to the Waterman's Museum a couple of blocks away, partly because we had to take a trek over to the store next door to get the key. "I'll have to let you in myself," said the storekeeper. "I didn't turn off the alarm over there today." When I checked the guest book at the museum, I saw that the museum was getting about one visitor a day.
This is a shame, because it's a nice little museum, not just devoted to the usual exhibits on crabs and oysters but to all aspects of commercial fishing in the Chesapeake area. Doug was especially taken with the replica of a shantyboat or "ark" - a houseboat that some watermen would live on when they were away from home for weeks. Since one of my scenes is set on such a boat, I took copious notes, asking Doug to identify objects that were too far away for me to see clearly.
INTERLUDE IN LEWES, DELAWARE
Doug and I slipped away from my father and stepmother on Saturday in order to follow the Lewes Maritime History Trail. Until recently, Lewes was a center for commercial fishing; now the town is gentrified. The only physical reminders of its past - other than the working lighthouses - are a turn-of-the-century station of the Life-Saving Service and a 1930s "lightship," which is just what it sounds like, a ship that served as a lighthouse.
The life-saving station was small but interesting. I hadn't realized that one of the main methods of saving people from sinking ships was to essentially harpoon the ship: the life-saving service would shoot a rope onto the ship, then pull a life preserver (or a fully enclosed boat) along that rope, using it to transport people back to shore.
The lightship was also interesting, in terms of class division. The officers got way nicer quarters than the crew.
We walked back by way of the beach, me barefoot, with a careful eye out for hazards.
HOOPERS ISLAND
Speaking of hazards, someone whose name I've forgotten said that the only things saving Dorchester County from being overrun by tourists are jellyfish and mosquitoes.
Doug got a taste of the county's legendary mosquitoes on Hoopers Island. I am not exaggerating when I say that he looked like a victim of war afterwards.
The mosquitoes didn't touch me. I'd worn a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, just like I'd advised Doug to do. I felt smugly virtuous.
Doug complained heartily when I announced that I was going to walk the mile from Honga (the northernmost village on the upper island) to Fishing Creek (the next village), simply because that was the path that my character was going to take. He drove ahead, and then drove back to announce that I still had seven-tenths of a mile to go.
"Great!" I said. He still hasn't figured out that literary goals take away all pain for me.
Getting bored with waiting for me at Fishing Creek, he walked back to meet me, just in time to hear me ask, "Have you seen the crabs? There must be thousands of them!"
"I don't believe it!" he announced, so I showed him the little fiddler crabs that are in every front yard of every house, in the ditch alongside Hoopers Island Road that is the only remains of the marshland on those lawn-filled yards. Even more are in the patches of marshland nearby. Crabs must be as common as houseflies on Hoopers Island.
"There must be thousands of them," said Doug in awe.
We ate lunch at Old Salty's Restaurant. Rather heartlessly, I ordered crab cake. I figured that was a safe bet; I'd had crab cake before.
Or so I thought.
"I think I'm having a religious experience," I told Doug after the first bite. It turns out I'd never actually eaten crab cake before. What I'd eaten was crab-flavored breadcrumb cake. This was pure crabmeat, melting on the tongue, except for the fried breadcrumb crust, crisp and golden.
I've been dreaming of crab cakes ever since then. And I'm a vegetarian, darn it.
While I'm going to have to doublecheck online maps, I'm fairly sure that the restaurant is located right about where a general store was located in the 1910s - the very store that is my character's destination. While we were eating, I had a nice view of Barren Island, west of Hoopers Island, where my character was born.
BLACKWATER NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE
We took the same route to reach Hoopers Island that we did last time, on the road that cuts through Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge. Last time, I was gripping the carseat in terror, certain that Doug was going to drive off the edge of the road and that we'd perish in a marsh, miles from any rescue.
This time I was able to enjoy the ride. Halfway there, Doug did what drivers aren't supposed to do: he stopped the car in the two-lane road (there were no shoulders). We got out and looked at the dozens of white herons/egrets (we're still not sure which they were) that were hunting fish in the marsh. Every now and then, a bird of prey would fly past, and we could see minnows in the marshwaters and could hear insects, rather lethargic from the fall weather. Otherwise, we were alone.
On the way back from Hoopers Island, we happened to pass the visitors center for the refuge. "Do you want to stop?" Doug asked obligingly, and so we skimmed through the little museum, which had lots about the refuge's animals and nothing about its plants. Typical faunacentric humans.
I'd love to go back to Hoopers Island in late October, which is when my character walks across the upper island - I'd like to know what wildlife is out, and how much bird noise occurs then. (Dorchester County is part of the Atlantic Flyway for migrating birds.) But that would be pressing Doug's patience, so I'm going to have to use my imagination to fill in the gaps.
Now I just have to convince him to take that much-delayed trip to Southern Maryland. "We just got back from Hoopers Island!" he said when I tentatively pointed out on Wednesday that I had only ten days left before the research portion of my year ended.
ROCK HALL
It's nice to see a community that hasn't become so gentrified that it has turned its back entirely on its past. In addition to the two museums we visited, we visited a special section of Rock Hall Harbor that has been set aside for today's watermen. It's marked by a statue of a waterman.
Rock Hall Museum is tucked away in the municipal building. It's a typical local museum, best visited by folks who already know something about the subjects being discussed. One of the two rooms is devoted to watermens' lives. Doug wandered rather dispiritedly into the room with displays on everyday life, while I made cryptic remarks like, "Oh, a floating lantern!" or "Lookie, a filling funnel!"
He woke up when we got to the Waterman's Museum a couple of blocks away, partly because we had to take a trek over to the store next door to get the key. "I'll have to let you in myself," said the storekeeper. "I didn't turn off the alarm over there today." When I checked the guest book at the museum, I saw that the museum was getting about one visitor a day.
This is a shame, because it's a nice little museum, not just devoted to the usual exhibits on crabs and oysters but to all aspects of commercial fishing in the Chesapeake area. Doug was especially taken with the replica of a shantyboat or "ark" - a houseboat that some watermen would live on when they were away from home for weeks. Since one of my scenes is set on such a boat, I took copious notes, asking Doug to identify objects that were too far away for me to see clearly.
INTERLUDE IN LEWES, DELAWARE
Doug and I slipped away from my father and stepmother on Saturday in order to follow the Lewes Maritime History Trail. Until recently, Lewes was a center for commercial fishing; now the town is gentrified. The only physical reminders of its past - other than the working lighthouses - are a turn-of-the-century station of the Life-Saving Service and a 1930s "lightship," which is just what it sounds like, a ship that served as a lighthouse.
The life-saving station was small but interesting. I hadn't realized that one of the main methods of saving people from sinking ships was to essentially harpoon the ship: the life-saving service would shoot a rope onto the ship, then pull a life preserver (or a fully enclosed boat) along that rope, using it to transport people back to shore.
The lightship was also interesting, in terms of class division. The officers got way nicer quarters than the crew.
We walked back by way of the beach, me barefoot, with a careful eye out for hazards.
HOOPERS ISLAND
Speaking of hazards, someone whose name I've forgotten said that the only things saving Dorchester County from being overrun by tourists are jellyfish and mosquitoes.
Doug got a taste of the county's legendary mosquitoes on Hoopers Island. I am not exaggerating when I say that he looked like a victim of war afterwards.
The mosquitoes didn't touch me. I'd worn a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, just like I'd advised Doug to do. I felt smugly virtuous.
Doug complained heartily when I announced that I was going to walk the mile from Honga (the northernmost village on the upper island) to Fishing Creek (the next village), simply because that was the path that my character was going to take. He drove ahead, and then drove back to announce that I still had seven-tenths of a mile to go.
"Great!" I said. He still hasn't figured out that literary goals take away all pain for me.
Getting bored with waiting for me at Fishing Creek, he walked back to meet me, just in time to hear me ask, "Have you seen the crabs? There must be thousands of them!"
"I don't believe it!" he announced, so I showed him the little fiddler crabs that are in every front yard of every house, in the ditch alongside Hoopers Island Road that is the only remains of the marshland on those lawn-filled yards. Even more are in the patches of marshland nearby. Crabs must be as common as houseflies on Hoopers Island.
"There must be thousands of them," said Doug in awe.
We ate lunch at Old Salty's Restaurant. Rather heartlessly, I ordered crab cake. I figured that was a safe bet; I'd had crab cake before.
Or so I thought.
"I think I'm having a religious experience," I told Doug after the first bite. It turns out I'd never actually eaten crab cake before. What I'd eaten was crab-flavored breadcrumb cake. This was pure crabmeat, melting on the tongue, except for the fried breadcrumb crust, crisp and golden.
I've been dreaming of crab cakes ever since then. And I'm a vegetarian, darn it.
While I'm going to have to doublecheck online maps, I'm fairly sure that the restaurant is located right about where a general store was located in the 1910s - the very store that is my character's destination. While we were eating, I had a nice view of Barren Island, west of Hoopers Island, where my character was born.
BLACKWATER NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE
We took the same route to reach Hoopers Island that we did last time, on the road that cuts through Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge. Last time, I was gripping the carseat in terror, certain that Doug was going to drive off the edge of the road and that we'd perish in a marsh, miles from any rescue.
This time I was able to enjoy the ride. Halfway there, Doug did what drivers aren't supposed to do: he stopped the car in the two-lane road (there were no shoulders). We got out and looked at the dozens of white herons/egrets (we're still not sure which they were) that were hunting fish in the marsh. Every now and then, a bird of prey would fly past, and we could see minnows in the marshwaters and could hear insects, rather lethargic from the fall weather. Otherwise, we were alone.
On the way back from Hoopers Island, we happened to pass the visitors center for the refuge. "Do you want to stop?" Doug asked obligingly, and so we skimmed through the little museum, which had lots about the refuge's animals and nothing about its plants. Typical faunacentric humans.
I'd love to go back to Hoopers Island in late October, which is when my character walks across the upper island - I'd like to know what wildlife is out, and how much bird noise occurs then. (Dorchester County is part of the Atlantic Flyway for migrating birds.) But that would be pressing Doug's patience, so I'm going to have to use my imagination to fill in the gaps.
Now I just have to convince him to take that much-delayed trip to Southern Maryland. "We just got back from Hoopers Island!" he said when I tentatively pointed out on Wednesday that I had only ten days left before the research portion of my year ended.
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