1. Trashy people. It’s an exaggeration to say I’ve picked up a ton of trash since I started my daily walks, but even so, every day I come home with pockets filled with bottle caps, cellophane wrappers and toting bottles, cans and all manner of trash that someone has thrown out in passing. We’re almost the end of a peninsula, so all this is likely coming from people who “belong” here – property owners or at least residents. Why the fuck they decide they want to trash their own spot is entirely beyond me. Even here, in the woods, and 500 yards from the headwaters of the Bay, people are simply infuriating in their inability to consider anything more distant than the end of their own nose.
2. Thanks Obama. I got a fundraising text message using former President Obama’s photo to plead for cash for the Democratic Party a few days ago. Boy, using the name and likeness of the guy who “led” me through years of pay and hiring freezes to send fund raising texts is really goddamned tone deaf even for the Democratic Party. I might have to vote for you jerkwads, but after the way their guy fucked with my livelihood for half a decade, there isn’t a single circumstance imaginable where I’d give a plug nickel in his name. Just consider my donation the non-existent and miniscule raises I received during the Obama years. The goddamned audacity of some people.
3. Chicken dreams. I had “chicken dreams” again last night. That’s how I’ve come to think of the goofy ass dreams I seem to have about one in three times I have some kind of chicken for dinner. Last night I was rushing back to Tennessee. Somewhere, somehow, I had inherited a dilapidated manor house in the woods and had to restore it. There was a series of oddball characters and charlatans equally set on helping or hindering the cause. I’m not sure where my subconscious was going here, but I do know I woke up grinding the hell out of my teeth, so something in there is percolating.
Tag Archives: chesapeake
The smell of summer…
There’s a certain smell in the summer. Maybe in my mind it’s actually the smell of summer.
It’s a smell of damp wood, sun-scorched earth, brackish water, salt marsh, and the slightest hint of creosote. It’s strongest, most potent in the high summer, just after the sun sets, maybe around 8:30 or 9:00. It’s a unique smell I only catch somewhere near the Bay after a blisteringly hot day with high humidity. On days when the weather is just right, you can feel it in the air as much as smell it.
This is the time of year I can smell it here at near the head of the Bay. I could smell it from the patio of my one-bedroom bunker in St Mary’s County, too. But the first place I smelled it was in Tracy’s Landing. It was a million years ago when I was a kid and summer was defined by “long” trips to my aunt and uncle’s house. It wasn’t more than three hours from home, but the drive then felt like it took forever. The flatlands of tidal Ann Arundel County might as well have been another planet from the ridges and valleys of far western Maryland.
It feels like that was lifetimes ago, now. More than anywhere else it was on these summer trips that I learned to love the Bay and the critters that dwell in, on, and near it. Those summer days were filled with buckets of corn distributed at a waterfowl sanctuary in Shady Side, picking fossils out of the creek out on the “back 40,” feeding Stormy and Hazy, the resident horses, gathering up vegetables for the night’s dinner out of the deep garden plots just a few hours before they were on the plate, trot lining blue crabs in the West River in a hand-made skiff, or chasing rockfish out on the “blue water” Bay in a proper work boat. There too, innumerable family events unfolded – back before family got too damned weird.
All these years later and I remember it all with stunning clarity thanks to something as completely ephemeral as a smell I can’t quite describe.
What Annoys Jeff this Week?
1. Reading badly written books. One of the small manifestations of my particular flavor of alleged OCD is found in the fact that even when I find something I’m supposed to be reading for pleasure and the sheer joy of the English language tedious, I can’t seem to stop. It’s the feeling of having a personal obligation to keep on with a book I’ve started no matter how badly it sucks. It’s infuriating. I hate to imagine how many books I’ve plowed through over the years long after I’d lost interest just because finishing what you start is the right thing to do. I’m getting better at ignoring that little voice in my head the older I get (and the correspondingly less I care about the “right thing to do”). Life is too short to read badly written drivel. Except when it’s something posted here, of course. Then you should definitely read it.
2. The Fight for Fifteen people. I wonder if these people realize that the minimum wage is exactly that. It’s the minimum wage set by the government. It’s not as if the government is telling business that they can only pay someone $7.25 an hour. It’s the absolutely minimum threshold for pay (as long as you’re not working a tipped position). Businesses are free to pay employees as far above that minimum basic wage as they are willing and able to pay – or more reasonably at any amount higher than the minimum than the prevailing market rates call for. It’s why you make more flipping a McBurger in Times Square than you do in Pig Knuckle, Arkansas. Wanting to make more money is fine – noble even – but you do that by making yourself a more valuable commodity and developing skills that are more marketable in the workplace. Expecting anyone to willingly hand over more money just because you show up with a sign still just doesn’t make any bleeding sense to me at all. It seems to me that if you have time to stand around on the sidewalk holding a sign, you might just be better served by doing something income generating with that time. I know I keep coming back to this well, but every time I forget about it and then see it pop up again, the annoyance mounts afresh. It can’t be helped.
3. People who put tartar sauce on a fresh made, Maryland lump crab cake. I can probably allow it if you’re feasting on fish sticks or if you lower yourself to buy flash frozen imitation crab cakes, but when you slather it on to the culinary gem of the Chesapeake, well, you’re just a monster.
Blue…
Despite the head full of crud that’s had me spend the better part of the last two days relegated to the recliner with a box of tissues and more liquid than any one person should drink, I feel like I need to rally this morning long 
enough to celebrate that most magical time of year – April 1st. Sure, it’s April Fools day and I’m told it’s baseball’s opening day this year, but it’s also marks a far more important milestone: The opening of blue crab season in Maryland.
Sure, you can get blue crabs from other parts of the country and they’re fine if you need an Old Bay fix in the dead of winter, but for a Marylander, there’s something special about the crabs landed here in our own bay, by our own watermen. For my money, there’s no better food in all the world than Maryland crabs. It’s one of those seemingly small features of home that I only really learned to appreciate after spending five years in the landlocked middle of the country where “crab picking” ment dealing flash frozen snow or king crab legs.
For me, the Maryland crab is the quintessential taste of long summer afternoons. A bushel of crabs, an iced case of Natty Boh, what could possibly be better? Happy crab season, everyone.
JEFFREYTHARP.COM 