Dewdrops at Dawn and Beer in the Bay

I woke up Saturday morning with the dawn sunlight blazing in through my bedroom windows, Rosie Lee walking over my shoulders and Tricksie Treat yodeling for breakfast. I would have loved to sleep in a little longer but with their combined efforts the cats had ensured that I was fully awake so I looked out of the window, noticing immediately that the fields looked like a fairy tale land, laden heavily with millions of little dew drops. After everyone had bolted a quick breakfast I left the cats to nap while I drove to a pretty and relatively unknown park area. I keep these places under my hat as it's lovely to go and find nature without hoards of hikers and groups noisily making their way along the trails. Some places should remain peaceful.

 A light mist was draped over the empty road as I drove into the sun. It seemed that not a soul was around and upon arriving at the park I was delighted to find I was the only vehicle there. Two baby rabbits grazed along the edge of fence, eying me with interest as I passed by slowly, their grass packed mouths munching furiously and noses twitching.

 Every grass, flower, stem and seed head was draped with jewels, large crystals spheres glittering and sparkling as I walked along the grass trail. Rainbow colors flashed as I looked about me, dazzled by the brilliance of the dewy water droplets. The grass underfoot was sodden too and I was initially glad of my heavy hiking boots, until I realized that they were no longer waterproof. I had discovered a tear on the sole of one boot, which had likely protected my foot from injury but now that foot was soaked through. The path was flooded in many places, the swampy water on each side of the path determined to meet in the middle.
The air was alive with insects. Golden dragonflies swept overhead while crickets jumped to the side as I walked forward. Birds were heralding the morning sun, chorusing with others as they flittered from branch to branch. A small group of deers were drinking from the pond, three young fawns keeping close to their mothers and the bullfrogs were a symphony of twanging elastic bands, thrumming and croaking from between the reeds, the only signs of movement were the ripples expanding on the water as they jumped into hiding places among the bull rushes.

 Spider webs glinted like silver threads, spun between delicate stems, tips of leaves and flower petals. They were invisible at first until I moved so the sun shone through them and then they were illuminated, their strands twinkling like delicate crystal necklaces. 

It wasn't even 7:30am yet the heat was already stifling, the air thick with humidity. I had a sheen of perspiration on my arms and legs, and although the mosquitoes were ignoring my limbs, thanks to my botanical wipes, they were attacking my back and shoulders through my t-shirt. One landed on my wrist. It was huge and actually hurt as it bit me. That was its last action. As I completed the lap around the field I walked quicker to get back to the car, anxious to escape these biting tyrants. It's becoming an epidemic with these insects, they're becoming more invasive with each year and I swear they're also getting larger. I took one last photo of my favorite chicory flower before jumping into the sanctuary of my car and the AC.
 On Sunday Emily and I drove up to Baltimore to pick up Rob and meet with his friend Dennis at a nearby dock where he kept a small boat. Dennis was waiting for us, anxious to get going, his engine already idling. We handed coolers across and jumped in. It was a smallish seating area but plenty roomy for four people and small enough that Dennis could sail the boat single-handedly if he chose. He was having a problem engaging gears so decided to raise the sails. Rob had helped on previous voyages and so now took a rope to pull up one sail while Dennis hauled on the other. The wind kept changing direct and the air was filled with commands of "Tack now!", "Keep tacking!" and "Prepare to tack!" It sounded like we were going into battle.

We zigzagged our way across the water towards the mouth of the bay, where we would then see Hart-Miller Island, our destination. It opened for public access in 2016 for the first time since 1981 and is now a wildlife area and bird sanctuary, accessible only by water. Rob had told us to bring a spare change of clothes in case we couldn't get close to the island and needed to swim a short distance. I'd also brought watertight bags for Emily and I to stow our cameras and phones, although I hadn't worked out how I was going to hold on to that while doggy paddling to shore. I'm not a good swimmer, but I'd deal with that problem once we dropped anchor.
But I was also wondering how long it would take to get there as we first veered to the left, straightened up, and then swung to the right. And then I noticed we were actually going around in a circle and just as I voiced my keen observation we grounded. And we couldn't move, we were stuck. Time for a beer! We cracked open a lovely fruity whipped Volume 4, a frothy concoction of peaches and cream.

Dennis was furious, needlessly blaming himself for our predicament, and radioed for a tow. I was rather disappointed that I didn't get to hear him yell, "Mayday! Mayday!" but I had to concur that maybe it would have been an overkill in our situation. Yet it was a situation we minded not one jot. We sat and enjoyed the cool sea breeze blowing across the boat, there was no humidity, and best of all no mosquitoes. I loved this photo of Emily clutching her beer, while behind her the tiller is unmanned. Obviously, perched on our sand bar this wasn't an issue, but it looked good!

Emily suggested we climb out of the boat and pull it back to the dock but our rescue was on its way. Within 40 minutes and 2 beers our help arrived and we were slowly dragged back to the berth.

The boys tied up the boat and once again we opened the coolers. Dennis' dock neighbor turned up in his little boat and then climbed on board with us to share our picnic. It was only when we saw flashes of lightning and heard thunder rumbling that we thought we should pack up for the day. Even though we hadn't made our destination we'd still had fun with superb company and a promise that we'd have another attempt at reaching the island once Dennis had repaired his boat.
We said goodbye then decided to drive around and explore the area. There wasn't really much but it was a quiet neighborhood and one I wouldn't mind living in, cute little houses on dead end roads, many of which backed onto the water. We'd noticed that the bay had been very peaceful, no jet skis, speed boats or anything with loud engines. It was a place I'd like to come back to.

Down the end of one road we discovered an old flying strip. This was Essex Skypark. We initially thought it was abandoned, the main buildings were looking a little worse for wear and a couple of old planes that had been parked up for years, grass growing up around the wheels, were certainly not taking to the skies any time soon. But after researching online, I was impressed to find that it was a little thriving concern, housing antique planes and also amateur experimental machines, the runway also being used for flying model aircraft.

They formed a flying club in 2015, proudly boasting that numbers are increasing, and while we were there a car arrived, its occupants entering a hangar. We drove away and started the journey homewards. The only thing marring my weekend were the welts now beginning to swell and itch on my back from those abhorrently odious mosquitoes. I would be scratching for at least a week now...