picnic at Mayo Beach...Summer 1940
It's hot. Nothing new here. What's new is the heat index telling us how hot we FEEL. I could live without this. I have been living through sweltering summers all my life in Washington, but it's disconcerting now to know small children and older people should not even be breathing the air. On these hot summer days all eyes turn toward the Eastern Shore.
Way back when, before the Chesapeake Bay Bridges, a trip to the beach was most likely by car or ferry and did not necessarily mean the Atlantic Ocean. Ferries could take you to places like Betterton or St Michael's- once thriving communities. Now you can still find sleepy piers on that side of the bay while the traffic swarms down Route Fifty towards Rehobeth or Ocean City.
My parents used to go to beaches on this side of the bay like Chesapeake Beach, Mayo, and Woodland. There were nets to catch the nettles, but they didn't work very well, and the water was shallow. Cousins Koula and Thelma had a cottage in North Beach, and their friend, Johnny Monaco had a place in South Beach. Johnny would catch soft shells or fish for dinner. Other times they would go just for the day. Sometimes Mom and Dad would sneak into the dances at Beverly Beach where no immigrants were allowed, but Dad was light haired and blue eyed and got away with it.
No comments:
Post a Comment