The Eastern Shore of Upper Maryland

Maryland’s upper eastern shore flows into a succession of intimate, historic towns nestled in the coves and inlets of the Chesapeake. The children and I have been scanning the map of Maryland for several days. I have decided the route. We will start on I95 to Elkton, where we will take 213. 213 will be the main corridor for our visit to the city of Chesapeake and then to Chestertown. For the return, I thought of following the 307 to join the 95. For today’s trip, the boys and I have the company of the wife and our friend Pat. As usual, as soon as the guys see me putting on my shoes, they know we’re going somewhere in the car. They spin in frantic circles at the back door of the kitchen. I open the door and in a second they sit panting in front of the car waiting for my slower pace. I open the car door. “Get your tails inside. We’re on our way to Maryland.”

As I have said in other posts, the most boring part of a day trip is traveling beyond the local atmosphere. We chat. We talk to the dogs. We listen to “Car Talk”, one of the best radio shows of all time. Before we know it we are at the Elkton exit. Now, we are on the path to where we want to be.

The eastern side of Maryland is not unlike the southern part of New Jersey. We drive through acres and acres of flat farmland. Wonderful irrigators spread their huge wings over the soybean fields. Plumes of water rise and fall over the rows of crops. Lonely barns and silos, center on a distant horizon. A country house sits enthroned at the end of a long wooded drive. The erect martial stature of the trees elevates even the humblest demure to the elegance of a Tara Ante-Bellum. The views are a Renaissance exercise in the art of perspective. I enjoy this trip. I feel myself melting into the simplest agricultural landscape. As a driver I think I can be a danger. The red-tailed hawk perched on a telephone pole gets my attention more quickly than the stop sign at the intersection.

An imposing bridge spans the Chesapeake Delaware Canal. Below is the city of Chesapeake. The road curves under the bridge. We are in the city. We parked. The women will sit on a bench by the water. I walk with my children on the shady side of the street to explore the city: summer pavement can get quite hot on their paws. Wooden houses with facades of old gardens line the streets. It seems that each house has a historical plaque detailing its history. A good number of the houses are also bed and breakfast inns. As with many historic towns, the city of Chesapeake has its fair share of “quaint” shops. Two restaurants offer lunch and dinner right on the water. The Bayard House has a few outdoor tables near the water. Bayard House’s reviews aren’t that great. Chesapeake Inn sits right on the water. Chesapeake Inn is very much the loud, blaring summer crab house with an expensive menu found along the summer Atlantic shoreline. You don’t go to them for fine dining. The food is expensive. The atmosphere convinces some that they are having fun in the abandonment of summer. The charm of summer dockside restaurants is their immediate location: water, docks, docks. These crab house spots are indigenous to the Atlantic coast in summer. I’ve finally learned to discipline myself your kind. The recipe for enjoying these dockside crab houses is to load your fries with ketchup and enjoy the water front view with your ears closed to the amplified rock.

We are back in the car. As I’m driving by a historic site, it catches my eye: “Church of Saint Francis Xavier, Old Bohemia, 1704.” This warrants an investigation. It’s a left turn and a winding road for a fairly short walk. Just when I realize we’ve strayed far enough from our path, the church looms before us. It sits on a hill with a cemetery next to it. The building and grounds are a pastoral idyll. I park and go out to see if the church is open. Is closed. There is a small house next to it that I suppose must be the caretaker’s. I call but there is no answer. Going back to the church, at least I can look out the window. The interior is simple, white and very austere. Next to the cemetery there is a large field where the boys can play. How do you like to investigate!

After our side trip we are back on the main road. We cross another small bridge over the Sassafras River. Other than the Fredericktown Marina, there isn’t much here. We travel in. I follow 213 to our next destination, Chestertown. Somehow I missed the turn for Chestertown and found myself across the water in Kingstown. I turn around. Now, I’m on the right track. Turn on the first street. Chestertown is an Arcadia, an Elysium. House after house with a wooden structure transports me to another century, to another world. Chestertown’s main street leads to the waterfront. Magnificent waterfront homes herald another era. Mallards, ducks and geese wade in the waters of the inlet and under the trees on the dock.

It is now well past noon and we are all ready for lunch. In Chestertown there is no restaurant on the waterfront. Along the main street is a hotel restaurant and a Jewish deli with sidewalk seating. Neither of these options appeal to a day trip to Maryland. I look at the map. I find that if we drive a little further there are several cities along the water. My triple A map highlights Rock Hall. Maybe Rock Hall has a beachfront restaurant.

Rock Hall is another little surprise: wood frame shops and a few small restaurants. But I want the boardwalk. I drive around a bit and sure enough there’s the water, there’s the docks and the boats and there’s the crab shack I’ve been waiting for. The most important thing is that they allow us to take the dogs to the outside terrace. The service is immediate and most friendly. Two ladies bring three buckets of water for my boys. The funny thing is, here we are on the coast of Maryland and the buckets read “Sailor Boy Oysters – Port Norris, NJ.”

The menu is what you’d expect from a Maryland crab house, but the prices are a bit on the high side. Three crabs cost $15. That’s pretty expensive when you’re used to 9th Street’s $10 a dozen. I order the crab cake and my wife and her friend share a crab melt. Each of these dishes costs $15. The crab cake is good, and it’s mostly crab, not filler. But the cake is small. From the children’s menu I order a hot dog for my little ones. The environment is wonderful. An osprey dives for his dinner. A crab boat sails away with its traps. That’s why he drives to Maryland.

We take 301, the direct route to 95. A sunny shower and a spectacular cloud formation mark our way home.