“I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide, is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; and all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, and the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying.”
October 16, 2013: The doom and gloom of Washington politics was getting to be a little much for us, so we escaped over the weekend for the sunnier shores of the Chesapeake Bay. Here’s what we got instead: rain, rain and more rain. A drenching, dumping rain that soaked the landscape and those of us spending the weekend there to the very core.
In lighter spells, water spit and sprayed and hurled itself in all directions as we traipsed this stretch of Virginia’s Middle Peninsula where the Chesapeake meets Mobjack Bay. It was the kind of rain that reacquaints you with card games you haven’t played in decades, the kind of rain that has you monitoring high tide and flood zones, the kind of rain that encourages you to walk the beach in wellies and foul weather gear and click your heels over the sand at the first glimpse of clearer skies.
Related Posts on Neighborhood Nomads:
- Coastal Grays: Pacific Edition (February 21, 2012)
- Return to Irvington (June 16, 2012)
- Traditions of Marriage and Home (June 17, 2011)