We've arrived. . . in Maryland

Here we are, in Maryland; hum the theme song from Green Acres while you read this and remember that, like Lisa, I have an inventory of over 100 pair of shoes, neatly boxed. Oh Oliver. . . . We've traded the Pacific for the Chesapeake, Bloomingdales for L.L. Bean, gazpacho for chowder, celebrities for politicians, no seasons for four seasons, and earthquakes for earthquakes.

The move held a few surprises. We learned that “perishable”  (as in “perishable products will not be packed or transported by the mover”) is a fungible adjective. I found a bag of potatoes packed with the water glasses, followed by another bag of onions and garlic. Sadly, the perishables had perished.

While every day is Saturday for us, it appears that time is fluid for the locals as well; the Verizon guy ought to have arrived on Thursday but was in the neighborhood on Tuesday so he stopped in and completed the work two days early. Then again, the painter finished the base coat, and was to return the next day to finish the topcoat, but we have yet to see him.  Scott doesn't see the sense in driving all the way to Lowe's (6 country miles = 5 minutes) to pick up hardware items when he can have them shipped free via amazon. Terry, the fed ex guy, has become such a regular visitor to the house that I now have coffee waiting for him in the morning.

Since our home is surrounded by trees on three sides and the Chesapeake on the fourth side, peeping Toms are not high on my worry list, so I was somewhat taken aback by the peeping deer staring at me while I brushed my teeth.  While I yelled “yikes”, Scott yelled “dinner”.

This past weekend found us attending the 51st annual waterfowl festival. We watched the dog retrieving contest, moseyed over to the Armory to take a look at the rifles, both old and new, and followed that with a viewing of hand carved birds and other fowl. Actually, some of that stuff was absolutely exquisite (if you like that sort of thing).  Crab cakes and oyster fritters abounded.  When asked, my girlfriend  remarked that while the L.L. Bean barn coat allowed me to blend in with the locals, the white cashmere accessories (gloves, scarf, beret) were over the top, so off they came. In her defense, it was 68 degrees, and I did ask.

It turns out that real men wear brown Sperry Top-Siders all year round; the summer version has a white sole whereas the post-Labor Day shoe has a brown sole.

Lest you think there is no more, fear not, we have the muskrat skinning contest in February to look forward to, “followed by a dinner of traditionally cooked muskrat, while the food lasts”. 

Oliver! Oliver?

Kidding aside, it is beautiful here. It took me about 18 minutes to let go of the legal world and enter this one. Each morning I sit at the breakfast nook with coffee and, beyond the white fenced patio, I can see the walkway that meanders to the dock.  The water changes from silver to blue and back again throughout the day. On the other side of the cove, the forest holds the last traces of fall color: copper, gold, rust and evergreen.