March in Maryland

It wasn't a good time for me to leave Morgantown, in the middle of a political campaign. Still, I thought I had a few free days ( I missed two events). Like many people, I've been emotionally raw since the election in November. I found out a few weeks ago that my nephew was leaving the Washington area for Florida the first of April, and March 17 and 18 are the dates my father and mother died, twenty-six and fourteen years ago. I wanted to be with my sister, and see my nephew.

My county to visit for March was Caroline County, on Maryland's Eastern Shore. The county seat, Denton, is an hour drive from my sister's house, near Washington. I wanted to go Thursday to Sunday, but I couldn't leave until 1 P.M. Thursday because I had a Library Board meeting. that morning.

I'm usually too tired to do much in the afternoon, and I slept fifteen minutes at a rest stop in Maryland a few hours out. Traffic was backed up heading south from near Baltimore Airport to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge at rush hour. There didn't used to be anything there fifty years ago, when I lived in Baltimore; now it is all built up and the relatively new I-97 is crowded.

I had booked a room at a nearly-new chain motel (not my usual chain) on the bypass around Denton. The young man at the desk suggested a pub-marketplace restaurant downtown, but, when I looked it up, I saw it had Irish bar food, and it was St. Patrick's Day. I never understood why non-Irish people would think it's a big deal to celebrate this day (booze, maybe?). I never have, especially since 1991, when my father died on the morning of March 17. I ate instead at Bullock's, a local sub and ice cream shop. I had a good grilled chicken sandwich, and then, just to kill the healthy food aspect, I ordered onion rings with it. They were delicious.

I planned a five or six hour trip around Caroline County. It was all written out at home, where I left the plan. I was up late, exhausted, trying to reconstruct it. I also forgot to pack socks.

Friday morning, I awoke later than usual, and was on the road by 9:20. I bought socks for a dollar for two pairs of white socks and another three pair pack for another dollar, in black at a dollar store, just so I wouldn't have to walk into Wal-Mart. I had twenty-three historic places to see in the county. There is no college and no Jewish presence to document in Caroline County. It's a pretty area, with some farmland separating the small towns. Suburbs are just starting to encroach. People who work east  of Washington and south of Baltimore commute, but it is far from the Chesapeake Bay Bridge into the county. The Choptank river forms a border of the county, and the southern part of the river is tidal.

I had a fish sandwich at Royal Farms, a Sheetz-like convenience store. I was not impressed with the food. I left the town of Greensboro to head to my sister in Greenbelt at two, having been to Federalsburg, Denton and West Denton. I ran into more historic places on the way out of the county, near Ridgely and in Hillsboro, and arrived at Robin's about 4:15.

Caroline County Courthouse, Denton, 1895

Boat ramp on Watts Creek, Martinak State Park, south of Denton

Early 20th century bank, with mid-century modern addition, Federalsburg

Nanticoke Lodge, A.F. And A.M., Federalsburg, 1920

Mill on the Choptank, West Denton, building is a visitor center now

Williston Mill House, south of Denton, 1840s

Denton Armory, now a community center, 1938

Denton Schoolhouse, 1883

Marblehead, near Ridgely, early 19th century

Main St., Hillsboro

A friend from Morgantown, now living in Greenbelt, invited Robin out for dinner Friday. Robin called me and asked if I wanted to go out with this couple, who are good friends. I thought I would be tired, so we both voted to stay home. I slept at least an hour and a half after arriving in Greenbelt, and Robin and I had a ready-made dinner courtesy of Wegman's. We lit candles in memory of our parents and stayed in for the night.

Saturday, we attended services at Mishkan Torah in Greenbelt, where my sister is a long-time member. The rabbi, who has been there many years, is retiring, and they were auditioning a new guy, who was a member of the congregation for many years before going back to school to be a rabbi. He was great, but they had already auditioned others for the post, and it wasn't clear that he would be hired. Robin and I rose for kaddish, the prayer for the dead. On March 18, 2003, I was at my mother's apartment in Baltimore when the phone rang. I remember looking at the clock and it was 8:35. The call was from the hospice where my mother had been staying for the last eighteen days, and although they wouldn't speak to me, I knew she was gone. The Saturday morning at my sister's before services, I was eating breakfast, and glanced at the clock. It was 8:35.

We skipped most of the lavish refreshments after services, and met my nephew Evan and his fiancée Kellie, and their dog Sterling back at Robin's house. We left the dog and went to eat at Silver Diner.The diner now has an assortment of healthy and gourmet items and seems to be always crowded with a lively multi-ethnic crowd. We came back to the house, and said goodbye to Evan, Kellie and Sterling. As Evan is leaving Washington for Tampa in his twenties, I left Baltimore for Miami thirty-nine years ago, when I was in my twenties.

Late afternoon, Robin and I saw "I Am Not Your Negro," a documentary about the life of author and activist James Baldwin, one of my favorite authors. The Greenbelt Theater is now owned by the city and plays  the kind of movies typically only found at art houses in trendy neighborhoods in big cities. Baldwin died years ago, but his ideas about race are still relevant. 

I left Sunday morning to come back to my "real" life and the important election campaign I am running. I was able to attend a 6 P.M. gathering of candidates and invited guests in Morgantown.

Left to right: Me, Kellie, Evan, Robin at Silver Diner in Greenbelt