Soothing the soul

blogIMG_8306No vacation trip to the water is complete without some time just relaxing on a beach.  So on our summer excursion to Maryland’s Chesapeake Bay area, we ventured away from the bay and headed towards the Atlantic Ocean.

In times past, our family, with our offspring in tow, vacationed on the Atlantic seaboard in New Jersey and Outer Banks, North Carolina, and also a few times in Ocean City, Maryland. So Papa and I wanted to spend a couple of days somewhere different than those spots. 

We chose to drive northeast from the Chesapeake and landed in Bethany Beach, Delaware. The only item on our itinerary was to unwind on the sandy shore, listening to the rhythmic lull of ocean waves.

As fickle weather would have it, rain and overcast skies also arrived when we did, but we took a leisurely drive up the coast a bit and then found a quiet place to have an early dinner.

The next morning, despite the sunshine greeting us, we donned sweatshirts since the rain swept in a cool front and took a brisk, long morning walk near the rushing waves.  

The temperature definitely deterred a lot of folks, but after our walk, we decided to brave the windy, cooler day anyway.  Camped under an umbrella on beach chairs with books to read, water to drink, snacks to eat, and sunscreen since I tend to get sunburned and that happens easily on an overcast day, we still relished a beach day.


No ocean swim that day.

The only attempt we made at going into the water was just to get our feet wet. Why? Because it continued being downright chilly and a brisk wind kept it that way all day long.

I’m certain I provided a crazy sight sitting under an umbrella dressed in capris and tee-shirt instead of a swim suit, with a hooded sweatshirt zipped up and hood tied around my head, AND a floppy hat, eventually wrapping my beach towel around my legs. I’m not usually cold but I certainly was that day! (No pictures of that, thank goodness!)

Luckily, there weren’t many people braving the elements that day anyway, but honestly, I didn’t care what I looked like.   

Both Papa and I were just happy as clams enjoying a quiet, relaxing day on the beach. 

“Nothing soothes the soul like a day by the ocean.” ~ Unknown





Even the birds


“They went that-a-way!”

My posts about our summer trip to Maryland are winding down just like the season, but I wanted to share a couple of photos I captured on our cruise out into the Chesapeake Bay.

Bird life was abundant and when I viewed the scene above, I had to snap a photo.

Every one of those sea birds was lined up like soldiers standing at attention. They caught my eye because each one was looking in the same direction as if they were telling us, “They went that-a-way!”

Or maybe they were just not willing to buck the system. Either way, they’re all part of a crowd, doing exactly what the neighbors are doing.

Then the next shot I captured shows a seagull flying in the opposite direction from the birds on the pilings. And immediately, an old saying, “Wrong way Corrigan!” came to my mind. My parents used that phrase often when something went awry.


Wrong way Corrigan!

If you’re unfamiliar with it, that phrase was actually a nickname given to an aviator named Douglas Corrigan, who in 1938 wanted to fly nonstop from New York to Ireland, but his flight plan was denied by the powers that be.

His altered flight plan was supposed to take him back across the continental United States from New York to California. But he didn’t comply and, without the authority to do so, instead completed what he originally set out to do – fly across the Atlantic Ocean to Ireland.

He claimed after the fact that navigational problems caused him to go “the wrong way.” From then on, he was called “Wrong way Corrigan.”

Isn’t that just like human nature? If someone tells us we’re doing something wrong, we’re going to do it anyway.

Apparently, even birds do that too.

“If there is a wrong way to do something, then someone will do it.” ~ Edward A. Murphy, Jr.


Don’t forget the life savers


Our cruise boat to Smith Island

Yesterday I shared our trip to Smith Island, Maryland and the delightful dessert we tasted there, the famous Smith Island Cake. Today I’m sharing a few more photos from our excursion, both on the cruise boat and on the island.

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We traveled to Smith Island via a twin hull boat, which a crew member assured me was a very safe type of boat. Because I’m not a fan of deep water, that gave me a good bit of reassurance.  Upon boarding, we opted to sit on the sun deck on the upper level of the boat instead of the enclosed area of the lower one.

The view was spectacular and it felt great to have the sun shine on us, a cool breeze to provide comfort, and the distinct aroma of the salty sea. But partway out on our 10-mile, one-hour cruise to Smith Island, the water became very choppy and our captain asked all of us on the upper deck to come below for safety reasons.

Papa and I still opted to stay outside on the lower deck, standing along the railing (holding on), and bouncing along with the rough water. I have to say it was invigorating and fun too.

After sightseeing on the island itself and stuffing our faces with delectable slices of Smith Island Cake, we again boarded the boat for the return trip and chose to sit on the upper deck once more.

Again, when the water turned rough, our captain requested we move below. Yet again, we chose to stand outside rather than sit inside. While leaning against the railing, trying to keep my balance and snap photographs at the same time, I happened to glance backwards to the inside cockpit (or wheelhouse or whatever it is you call the area where the captain steers the boat).

And what did I spy? A bag of Life Savers candy. Hmmm….I thought. Should I be a little concerned that this captain chooses to chomp on that particular brand of candy? I mean “Life Savers”? An omen or just a coincidence?

blogIMG_8480Fortunately, it was just a coincidence. But it provided a little chuckle and a funny photo op. Our cruise was still enjoyable and exciting despite the choppy waves, and I wasn’t scared even once.

“The human mind delights in finding pattern so much so that we often mistake coincidence or forced analogy for profound meaning. No other habit of thought lies so deeply within the soul of a small creature trying to make sense of a complex world not constructed for it.” ~ Stephen Jay Gould


The icing on the cake


Smith Island Cake

You could call us the “one-timers” I suppose. When my husband, the Papa of this empty nest, and I travel for vacation, more than likely we choose to visit someplace we haven’t been before. Somewhere new to us. Some different spot. We aren’t the kind of folks who vacation in the same place year after year.

So our summer trip was no different. Even though we’d been to Maryland several times, we ventured to the eastern side of the Chesapeake Bay to places we’ve never been. While on my research quest to find interesting sights to see, I stumbled upon Smith Island and we added it to our trip itinerary. We’re so glad we did.

blogIMG_8471With only a couple hundred residents, there are three small villages on Smith Island, which is about 10 miles out into the Chesapeake Bay.  Of course to travel to the island, which is actually made up of multiple salt marsh islands, you must go by boat.

No other form of transportation exists. So Papa and I scheduled a cruise departing from Somers Cove Marina in Crisfield, Maryland to this island where you must sight-see by foot, bicycle, or golf cart.

After a one-hour voyage on the bay, we docked at the village of Ewell and ate lunch at the Bayside Inn Restaurant, where Papa enjoyed the best fresh crab cake he’s ever eaten. As you can imagine, crabbing, fishing, and oystering are the main industry of the island. But Smith Island is known for something else as well.

blogIMG_8477After lunch, we enjoyed a leisurely stroll around the village, learning a bit about Smith Island history, visiting the museum there, and observing the natural marshy environment rife with birds like egrets, herons, and ospreys.  And of course, I captured a number of pictures with my trusty camera.

But the best part of the trip was that ‘something else’ – a slice of Smith Island Cake for dessert, a cake like no other we’ve ever tasted. This distinctive, particular cake is Smith Island’s claim to fame, so much so that the state of Maryland declared it the official state dessert in 2008.

Eight to 10 thin layers of cake are sandwiched in between layers of filling making Smith Island Cake a one of a kind dessert for certain. Papa chose the strawberry and cream cake and I opted for the chocolate and peanut butter version. Decadent, delicious, moist, and oh, stacked so high, it was probably the best cake I’ve ever tasted.

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Peanut butter and chocolate Smith Island Cake – notice all the thin layers

After we attempted to walk off the many calories we consumed with just one slice of Smith Island Cake, we headed back to the Bayside Restaurant and waited to board the boat for our one-hour cruise back to the mainland. While seated on the porch, we began chatting with an older lady who was also waiting to board.

The conversation was delightful and we learned that she had actually grown up on Smith Island. She told us what life was like there as a young girl and young adult.  She also related the story behind the Smith Island Cake.

When the island men set out to harvest oyster beds in the bay for long periods of time, their wives would prepare those multi-layered cakes to send with them. So even though those oystering fellows might miss family celebrations at home while out to sea, they would remember their families with this special cake.

Listening to this friendly and gracious lady was a treat as sweet as the Smith Island Cake, which she was taking home for friends on the trip back from the island. Surprising still was discovering that this lady’s son was our boat captain and her daughter ran the restaurant where we had eaten lunch.

None of that information would have been made known to us if we hadn’t taken time to sit and chat with our porch companion.

When we keep to ourselves and don’t engage with others, we just don’t know what we might be missing, which makes me realize I’d much rather be a piece of a continent of many than an island by myself.

“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.” ~ John Donne


Never give up

blogIMG_8359Several years ago, I ran across this quote somewhere – “Fall down seven times, stand up eight.” I don’t really remember where I read it, but that Japanese proverb became one of the inspirational sayings that is written in my handy-dandy, old notebook chock full of handwritten quotes I’ve found and liked.

I remember it seemed most appropriate for a youngster who played soccer with my children on various teams. That young boy seemed to be having a hard time growing into his long legs and he often fell down while racing for the soccer ball or trying to defend the goal box against the opposing team.

But no matter how many times he fell, and he did so often in every game, he popped right back up like one of those old, inflatable clown punching bags. That boy had determination! Fall down seven times, get back up eight.

That quote and the memory associated with it re-emerged in my mind when Papa and I relaxed in a quiet spot just taking in the scenery and warm, summer day on one of our excursion-to-Maryland days.  We noticed a lone wind surfer attempting to glide across the surface of the water. 

Each time that person seemed to catch a good wind with the board’s sail and looked like a successful ride was at hand, boom! Down he went. Climb back up onto the board. Try again. Sail for a bit. Boom. Down again. Climb back up.

I didn’t count how many times he actually fell down but I did notice that he did not give up. He was not going to allow either the windsurf board, the wind, or the waves to defeat him.  

I admire that kind of determination in a person.  It takes courage and resolve to keep going when the going gets hard. It requires fortitude and perseverance not to surrender when it’s just easier to do so. And it also takes hope for a better outcome if you just keep hanging in there.

That’s why I haven’t given up hope about my fellow mankind, even when life on this earth seems dark and dismal, full of violence and hatred.  I hold on to hope for a better world tomorrow for my grandchildren to live in.  

But I don’t just hope. I pray that eventually the tide will turn.

“Never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.” ~ Harriet Beecher Stowe


Words for Wednesday: you lookin’ at me?

blogIMG_8381 (2)Even though all the wild horses were hiding from us (you can read about that misadventure in my post yesterday), we did manage to see a lot of birds of a feather flocking together when we visited Assateague Island National Seashore.

Bird watchers would truly enjoy it there. Most of the fine feathered friends we saw were chowing down at whatever goodies lurked in the marshy water underneath them.

blogIMG_8378But one fellow, an egret seemed to just be taking his daily stroll through the reedy grass. He seemed unconcerned about us until I started taking his photo. That got his attention and at one point he looked at me dead on.

“You lookin’ at me?” he seemed to be saying.

And that got me to thinking. Some of us like it when people look at us, some of us don’t. Some of us enjoy it when we’re the center of attention. Some of us just can’t stand it and will do anything to stay unnoticed.

I think I might just fall in the middle somewhere because I don’t necessarily like standing out in a crowd, but then again, I don’t like just being lost in the crowd either.

And that kind of reminds me of social media. Some folks will post anything or write outrageous stuff just to get attention. Some folks, albeit they often hide their real identity by creating fake personas, seem to get their kicks out of being trolls. They’re attention-seekers whether they admit it or not.

They like saying, “You lookin’ at me?” We look at them but we don’t really see them. We do see that they enjoy arguing back and forth with those who take offense to what they’ve written or posted. But I often wonder if they would say the things they do if they were face to face to someone. You know, in person.

Not me, I’m not a confrontational kind of person. I’m not going to post something just so you will look at me or engage in online arguments, and I definitely won’t insult others because I don’t agree with their posts or they might offend me. I just scroll on by those items in search of something more inspirational.

I try my hardest to post encouraging not disparaging things on my social media account. And when I write these blog posts, I endeavor to do the same.

Do I want to be heard (or read)? Of course. In a way, I guess I am saying ‘look at me,’ but you don’t have to wonder what kind of person I am when you read what I write.

You don’t have to speculate where I’m coming from because I believe I’m pretty transparent about that. I write from my heart. I write from a position of faith. I write, not to get attention, but to insert a bit of hope and inspiration into the forays of this internet world.

Unless you know me personally, you don’t literally see me. You may not even know my name. But, in a sense, if you regularly read this blog, you do know me and hear me without seeing my face, just by reading what I write. And I thank you for ‘lookin’ at me.’ 

“When I write, I can be heard. And known. But nobody has to look at me. Nobody has to see me at all.” ~ Nora Raleigh Baskin, American author


A horse tale


Assateague Island National Seashore

A pony. That’s what I always wanted when I was a little girl. As I grew older and became a teenager, that item on my want list became a horse.

I never got my wish, but I got the next best thing to it. My parents owned what we called a “camp,” a kind of simple, second home located near the national forest in our home state. Our family spent many weekends there all year-long and much time in the summer.

Camp was located back a narrow, graveled, country road where other camps also stood.  But there was one family who lived there year-round and had a daughter close to my age. We played and explored together whenever my family was at camp. And that girl was lucky – she had two ponies!

I have such fond, childhood memories of riding those ponies with her. But that wasn’t the only way I got my horse fix. My oldest sister and brother-in-law always owned horses from the beginning of their marriage. They traveled to horse shows in our area where they would enter barrel and pole bending races.

So I got to be around their horses and even ride a couple of them from time to time. I still have the first and second place horse show ribbons I won at the age of five or six just for sitting on a saddled horse while my sister led it around the ring – an event called ‘lead line’.

In college, I excitedly registered for a horseback riding class to fulfill one of my physical education requirements. I loved that class and everything about it: preparing the horse to ride with bridle and saddle; riding in an indoor ring; taking trail rides on warm fall days; and grooming that animal after riding, even cleaning out its hooves.  That class was one easy A for me.

Not long after that, my sister and her family moved to Oklahoma where they fulfilled one of their dreams of competing in rodeos in barrel racing and calf-roping.  I graduated from college, began working in my career, married my husband.

Horseback riding became a memory and I think the last time I actually was on a horse was on a trail ride in the high desert of central Oregon with my husband and kids on the backs of rented by the hour horses.

That was many moons ago.  Now I get my kicks out of viewing photos of the Outer Banks, North Carolina, wild horses taken by my fellow blogger and good friend Dianna on her site: These Days of Mine.

Dianna and her husband are amazing horse finders on the beach and she has gorgeous photos to prove it. One of her beautiful shots of a horse running at ocean-side graces the fireplace mantle in our family room. 

One of these days, the Papa of this empty nest and I hope to meet up with Dianna and her Motor Man and take a horse tour with them as our guides.

But in the meantime…on our Maryland excursion, Papa and I decided to take the opportunity to visit Assateague Island National Seashore, one of our national parks and also home to wild horses.


Not a wild horse in sight

Naturally, we hoped to see some of those beautiful creatures roaming throughout the reserve. But our hopes were dashed.  Not one horse in sight. Of course, we weren’t there for a long time, just passing through on our way to another place to visit before the end of our week-long journey.

blogIMG_8323On a walk to a beach though, we did spy evidence of the horses – some ‘things’ they left behind while they were playing hide and seek with us.

We looked high. We looked low.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” That just didn’t work for us as the seekers. Those horses must be good hiders.

So we’ll stick to our plan to someday visit with Dianna and Motor Man because they are experts at the horse hide and seek game.

“The essential joy of being with horses is that it brings us in contact with the rare elements of grace, beauty, spirit, and fire.”  ~Sharon Ralls Lemon


A visit from Wilson


Waiting for the ferry

What are the odds?

We say that often when a coincidence occurs, and then shrug it off. But when another related instance happens shortly afterwards, we stop and wonder…hmmmm?  

Something amusing and a little uncanny happened on one of our summer trips. We toured the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland and decided to take the Oxford-Bellevue ferry across the Tred Avon River one day. 

blogIMG_8264This particular ferry is believed to be the oldest privately owned ferry in the country since it was established in 1683. Papa and I have always enjoyed ferry rides so we thought it would be a fun thing to include on our travels.

With time to spare while waiting for the ferry in Bellevue, we just parked at the entrance and sat in our car, windows down, enjoying the beautiful afternoon and light breeze coming off the river. There were no other vehicles in sight and absolutely no people.

No noise either, just the gentle rustling of river water. It was one of those serene, peaceful moments we found on our trip that we had so looked forward to having.

As I gazed out my window, I spied something in the river. Since it was a good distance away, I watched it trying to determine exactly what it was. It kept making its way towards us and I then realized it was a blown up, clear beach ball with colorful splotches on it.

No doubt, some child lost it at some time and it had been floating along the river. The peculiar thing was that it was steadily making its way to where we were parked along the river’s edge. I grabbed my camera, thinking it might make an interesting shot.

Keeping my eye on it, that beach ball kept floating our way like it was on a mission to reach us.   

Laughingly, I told my husband that it reminded me of Wilson, a feature in the 2000 movie, Castaway, starring Tom Hanks. In that movie, Hanks’ character found a volleyball in a package that drifted to his deserted island. He named the ball Wilson and it became his only source for companionship and “conversation”.   

“Come on, Wilson,” I urged that beach ball, and sure enough, it kept on gently floating in until it reached the sandy strip of ground beside our car. I wondered if I should retrieve it and set it in a little picnic area I’d seen nearby before the wind blew it back into the river.

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When Papa spied the ferry coming, I became distracted and then decided against rescuing Wilson. But the funny thing was before we drove onto the ferry, I looked at the spot I’d last seen that beach ball and it wasn’t there. Vanished! Nowhere to be found. I looked all around including up and down the river but Wilson was gone.     

We drove onto the ferry and enjoyed our short 10-minute trip across the river and then some tasty ice cream in Oxford at a shop one of the ferry crew recommended to us.

blogIMG_8298I forgot about Wilson until that night while we were resting in our hotel room. Papa, the eternal keeper of the TV remote, was flipping through channels while I read. I glanced  at the TV briefly and couldn’t believe my eyes. The movie Castaway was being shown.

Wilson! Coincidence? Probably. But kinda funny.

A couple of days later though, Wilson came back to my mind. We were waiting to board a boat for a cruise to Smith Island, Maryland, and again were a little early.

So we walked around that area of the harbor. Several boats were moored there and we watched as one couple readied their boat to launch and then set out into the bay.

On our way back to where the cruise boat waited for boarding, I happened to look down from the walkway into the water of the bay and there I spied it.

A basketball floating in the water. No one around it. No signs of anyone playing basketball anywhere in the area.

Another Wilson.

What are the odds?

“That’s too coincidental to be a coincidence.” ~Yogi Berra


Words for Wednesday: send the light


Hooper Straight Lighthouse

I love lighthouses. And I love photographing them as well. Eventually, I plan to post a lighthouse photograph series from my cache of pictures. But not today. Today, my thoughts about lighthouses are elsewhere.

Because I’m enamored by these structures, on our trips to the sea, whether it be ocean, lake, or bay, we try to catch sight of or visit any nearby. On our Chesapeake Bay trip to Maryland, we visited a few and I managed some photographs of them.

The Hooper Strait lighthouse in Saint Michaels was different from others as it was a screw-pile like the Seven Foot Knoll one we’d seen in Baltimore. Screw-pile lighthouses stood on piles (legs) which were screwed into the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay.  

Once plentiful, there are only a few of these surviving. This particular one was moved from the bay onto land at the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in order to preserve it and it was open to go inside and take a look around. 

I always marvel at the life that was led by the lighthouse keepers, a lonely life indeed.  I imagine it would be difficult living in such small quarters in solitude, especially if you were stationed at one of the screw-pile lighthouses out in a bay of water with access to land only by boat.

And I wonder if at times, the keepers felt forgotten. A sense of feeling lost even though their jobs were to ensure that sailors didn’t get lost at sea, to guide boats and ships safely to shore, to give those navigating the vessel a landmark for guidance, to shine that light through darkness and stormy weather.


Lighthouse beacon

Those lighthouse keepers sent the light outwards. To protect and serve others. To provide guidance and safety.  To save. 

In a way, those of us who are believers in Christ are like lighthouse keepers, or at least, we should be.

There’s a light inside of us – the light of God – belief in a Savior. Just like the little old Sunday School song says, “This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.”

That light is not intended to just be kept for ourselves; instead we must shine it everywhere we go, with everyone we meet. Why? To rescue the lost, to help souls come to saving grace and belief in Jesus.

An old hymn, Send the Light, rings through my mind and says exactly what I’ve been thinking.

There’s a call comes ringing o’er the restless wave,
“Send the light! Send the light!”
There are souls to rescue, there are souls to save,
Send the light! Send the light!

Send the light, the blessed Gospel light;
Let it shine from shore to shore!
Send the light, and let its radiant beams
Light the world forevermore!  

~ Charles H. Gabriel, pub.1888

As I viewed the huge beacon in the Hooper Strait Lighthouse tower, I thought about that. Do I send the light? Do I shine with Christ-likeness? And do the rest of my brothers and sisters in Christ do the same?

We’re human. We often fail in our actions and words because we don’t pray for the ability, willingness, and desire to shine our lights.

But now more than ever, in this seemingly dark world of hatred and vitriol, we need to not only send the light, but share the light. May it be so.

“We are told to let our light shine, and if it does, we won’t need to tell anybody it does. Lighthouses don’t fire cannons to call attention to their shining- they just shine.” ~Dwight L. Moody



Landlubber no more


Didn’t catch any!

I come from a family of landlubbers, those folks who are unfamiliar with sailing on the seas in any kind of vessel.

My parents did not enjoy the water, be it a river, a lake, or an ocean, and I’m not really sure why they felt that way. I cannot remember either of my parents taking a swim ever.

Occasionally, my mother would wade into a cool creek on a hot summer’s day, but that was the extent of it. And get on a boat? No way!

My family only took one solitary trip to see the Atlantic Ocean and that was when I was a mere baby, so I have no memory of it and only a couple of old black and white photos to prove we were there. Neither one of the pictures actually show us on the beach, just on the boardwalk.

So, as a child and teenager, my experience with water consisted of swim lessons at the YMCA and spending summers at our neighbors’ pool. And oh, there was a school field trip aboard the Gateway Clipper on the Allegheny River. And one scary rowboat ride with school friends out into the middle of a deep lake which left me terrified. (Don’t rock the boat!)

That was it.

The result was that somewhere along the way, I developed a fear of deep water.

But then, in college I met this young man.  This fellow who vacationed at the shore every year with his family. This guy who loved boats and ships and anything to do with the sea so much that he once wanted to be a Navy sailor.

I married that man and in doing so, broadened my horizons. The first time I viewed the Atlantic Ocean was with my husband the summer before we married. He couldn’t believe I’d never stepped foot into ocean water nor laid on a sandy beach soaking up sunshine and that distinct oceanic aroma of salt and fish.  So we took a one-day trip to the New Jersey shore just so I could experience the sea.

Since then, I’ve joined my husband, the Papa of this empty nest, on many trips that took us to water. From numerous beach trips to the Pacific Ocean up and down the entire Oregon coast, in Washington, and California to the Atlantic Ocean shore in New Jersey, Maryland, Delaware, and North Carolina’s Outer Banks.

We’ve enjoyed several boating excursions. From riverboat rides on the Mississippi and Colorado rivers to ferries on both sides of the country (Puget Sound and Delaware Bay). From harbor cruises in Boston and Baltimore to a Ducks (amphibious vehicles) tour and a pontoon boat ride on our nearby river. From a whale-watching voyage in the Pacific to a cruise to an island out in the Chesapeake Bay.

I’ve learned to put aside my fear, let go of the land as my anchor, and sail out onto the water doing activities my husband loves so much.  I’ve learned to appreciate the aspects of sea-faring life that Papa does and it makes me happy to see him enjoy our trips to the water.

On our summer excursion to the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland, we visited a little town named Saint Michaels, home to the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum.


Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in Saint Michaels, Maryland

Spread out on 18 acres, the museum has indoor and outdoor exhibits where we watched some boat building, saw how boats are designed, learned about the crabbing and oystering industries, and admired various artifacts and sailing vessels.

blogIMG_8245Papa was in his element and I found I was mesmerized watching live blue crabs and touring one of my favorite maritime features – a lighthouse which had been moved onto land to preserve it.

We passed a fun day of exploring together, something we’ve been doing for the last 40+ years. In all these years of marriage, my husband has opened up new adventures for me that I never would have dreamed of as a youngster.

I’m glad he’s convinced me to let go of my anchor on land and set sail for new horizons.

“The boat is safer anchored at the port; but that’s not the aim of boats.” ~ Paulo Coelho