Wordless on a Thursday

Blood and Water

They say blood is thicker than water. It's a simple proverb that says the loyalties and relationships within a family are stronger than anything else.

I'm here to tell you how sometimes water is thicker.

It's been a while since I've blogged here.  September 28, 2017 is in fact my last post where I said I was going to get back into regular blogging about Deltaville.  Shortly after, the unthinkable happened.

Many know the deep seated love I have for our small piece of property in Middlesex County, VA.  If you've been a regular follower of this blog, you may have heard mention of family history stories that go back to the time of the Civil War- or the War of Northern Aggression as my late great-great-grandmother Sissy used to say.  The truth is that the property has been in the family since 1650.  That's 368 years.  368 years of family history on one piece of land.  In the course of those 368 years, the property was passed down and divided up and passed down generation after generation until it became the parcels that it is today.  And one of those small slices of the original property belonged to my grandparents and upon their death went to my father and his 2 sisters.

All my life I have been going to Deltaville.  With the exception of a few trips to Disney World, some camping trips and my honeymoon, all of my vacations have been to Deltaville.  Nearly every Memorial Day weekend, 4th of July, Labor Day weekend, week long vacations and regular weekend getaways were made to the small house on Sturgeon Creek. Growing up, my cousin and I would spend weeks at a time there together.  And with our great-Uncle next door, more cousins usually showed up during the course of our visit.  We played epic games of capture the flag, helped haul fishing nets and crab pots, went on secret midnight prank adventures and spent time boating and swimming.  It was and idyllic place and a perfect childhood of camaraderie and adventure.

And there was Pepop.  (you can read a post about him here).

Really no words can come close to explaining how much Deltaville means to me.  It holds some of my happiest memories as a child, as a parent and as a grandparent.  I have always felt a contentment here that I have not felt anywhere else.  Even in those times where life was rough or uncertain or just plain ugly and vicious, Deltaville was always there to soothe.  Like the sacred Ganges River of India, the waters of the Rappahannock River and Sturgeon Creek healed.

There was an understanding from a young age that Deltaville would always be a part of our family.  I can remember my grandmother explaining that as each person passed away, the house would be inherited by the children so that it would never leave the family. It's easy to think that's how things will go.

You trust your family to keep something so important, so ancient, so sacred- protected.

So not long after my last post at the end of September last year, the unthinkable happened.  One of my father's sisters passed away unexpectedly.  In the aftermath, my father said something I thought I would never hear, "Deltaville might have to be sold."

I can say that in that moment one of my worst fears was realized, and I went tail spinning into a depression unlike any other I have experienced.  Still, there was hope that it wasn't a possibility.  After all, my grandmother always said it was to be passed to each generation never to be sold.  I held onto that belief.

The 1/3 share that was owned by my father's late sister was inherited by her husband and daughter equally.  And to make a long and upsetting story shorter- they wanted a buy out.  That seems simple enough.  The house gets appraised and you offer the person an exact third of the appraisal and everyone is happy.  Except people are greedy and vengeful, and they hold something you love hostage while they extort money from you.  Because that's what family did here.  That's what blood did.  The blood that is supposed to value the family relationship above all else.  Threats were made to petition the court to have the property sold at auction.  It seemed bleak. I refused to go down there. We all just held our breath and waited.

Death is an awful thing for the living.  It seems to bring out the worst in some.  It feeds the darkest parts of a person, creating a monster that can do nothing but bring about pain and anguish to the already grieving.  I'm certain there's a special place in hell for that sort of monster- a spot that lets them fester and rot alone.

On the opposite side of that coin, in situations like this you learn who really is blood.  Sometimes it's actual family and sometimes it's just friends you've made there over the years.  People who do what they can to help and offer assistance.  This town has some really damn good people.

It's with a massive amount of relief and happiness that I can report as of this past Friday,

the house is safe.  

Because when there's 368 years of history and untold happy memories, you do what you must to protect it.

As for blood being thicker than water,

 the waters of the Rappahannock River and Sturgeon Creek proved to be far thicker than blood. 

Give this a listen.  I particularly relate to the line: 

"I've been searching for something, taken out of my soul, something I'd never lose, something somebody stole" 

Thank God they didn't get away with it.

The Holiday Weekend

Sunset on the Rappahannock

Another holiday weekend is in the books.

It was nice to catch a breather before the crazy that is my life

gets going full gear.

We found some more shark teeth

and spent a lazy afternoon in the water.

My only complaint:

I could have used one more day.

Something I Stumbled Upon

Sea Longing

A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall

Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,
The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land
With the old murmur, long and musical;
The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,
And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,-
Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know,
For I was born the sea's eternal thrall.
I would that I were there and over me
The cold insistence of the tide would roll,
Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,-
Then with the ebbing I should drift and be
Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,
Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.

~Sara Teasdale

Fishing Trips

I find it fascinating how certain tastes, sounds and smells can immediately take someone back to a specific memory.  Looking for a late night snack, I pulled out a box of Cheese-Its.  I don't know if it was strictly that sharp salty cheese flavor or a combination of that and looking through photos for the blog, but immediately I was 10 again and fishing on Pepop's boat.

That's me perched on the bow behind Pepop's black lab Sheba.  

It was always a wrestling match with Sheba over who would stand/sit at the point of the bow.  

Sheba typically won.

She was known to knock people off of things like piers and boats.
(I can't help but chuckle over the memory of Sheba knocking my cousin Kelly face first into the marsh muck at low tide- if only I had a camera then)

Pepop was always at the helm and always in the same attire.

Every summer, Pepop would take all of the kids out on his boat Pigpen to go fishing.  

Grandmother and Aunt Patsy would send us next door with some snacks, which were almost always Cheese-Its and cans of Slice.  

 It apparently had 10% real fruit juice in it. 

At Pepop's house we gathered up our fishing rods and headed to the boat.  

Pepop's rods were unique in that all the hooks were covered by Memom's cigarette butts.  

She was always afraid that someone would run a hook through their skin (which I've done).

Once aboard Pigpen, we would head out to the river.  

Once in our spot, we would all wait patiently for Pepop to bait our hooks, which was always a dangerous operation.

At  the most there would be 5 kids with swinging fishing rigs on a small work boat.  

Someone would be moving empty hooks to get bait, 

someone else would be moving loaded hooks out of the way and 

someone would be casting- and that meant pulling the the rod way back before flinging it forward.  Everyone wanted to be the one with the furthest and best cast.  

Everything is a competition after all. 

It was a dangerous maypole dance of un-cigarette-butted fishing hooks.

Not being known for patience, I usually felt something tugging my line every minute or so and was continuously reeling in the line to check the bait.  

Sometimes I would find a blue crab on the line and sometimes I'd find my bait gone

but most times I just found that the bait was intact and I had nothing.

  On the hundredth time I checked my line, I swore I had something.  

My cousins groaned and laughed and made fun of me- until I pulled a spot on the boat.  

I had hooked it in the stomach as I reeled the line in.

It didn't really matter how I got it, I was vindicated.

A spot I caught when I was 2-3 on my dad's boat, not a Pepop trip (note my chicken pox)

Another time I checked my line and saw the rod bend in a U shape.  

I got excited and I jerked to set the bait and started reeling in my catch. 

It was heavy whatever it was.  

I was thinking it was probably a shark, maybe even a Great White. 

I jerked and reeled and jerked and reeled and as I jerked one final time I simultaneously heard Pepop tell me to stop and suddenly the rig burst from the water and sailed right past Pepop's head.  

I had apparently hooked the bottom of the boat (nearly hooked Pepop's head).

At some point Memom would radio Pepop and ask him if we were all wearing our life jackets.  

This prompted Pepop to quickly tell us, "Put them on! Put them on!" and once we were all standing with our life preservers on, he would radio back to her that yes, we were wearing them (and then they were taken off).

Eventually, some of us would get bored with fishing.  

The snacks would come out and we would sit around, 

rolling with the waves drinking warm Slice and eating Cheese-Its.  

I usually got tired of Cheese-Its and would begin feeding the seagulls.  

Of course I had to do this on the sly as Pepop did not have much love for the seagulls (since one pooped on his shoulder). So I would just quietly drop them over the side of the boat like a trail of bread crumbs.

It never takes long for seagulls to swarm.

This was always Pepop's clue that it was time to pack it up.  

I miss those trips.

I miss that smelly sea green boat.

Kayaking Sturgeon Creek

There is nothing better than spending time on the water.

During our vacation this year, my mother and I rented a couple of kayaks from Lazy Days Kayak Rentals.

(We have rented from her several times and highly recommend using her).

Mom and the Brat Child who looked very much like an
Egyptian Prince being rowed down the Nile.
He's 'Pecial dontchaknow.

Midge and her friend Lizard.
I was secretly hoping one of them would fall in so I could get the shot.



Midge and her friend Lizard



We kayaked clear out to the Rivah (that would be the Rappahannock for those of you who don't know). 

Or the Rappahannatank according to the Brat Child.

It could also be the Piankahannock, I don't remember.

Brat Child with his Grandma

There is a large sandbar that stretches out into the river.

It makes for a great place to swim.



When I asked them to pose, the Brat Child said "Everyone say Hot Girls!"
I'm slightly concerned about kindergarten.



What River is This?

When I was  little, my mother would always play a game referred to as : "What river is this?".  Each time we traveled to Deltaville, my mom would ask what river we were driving over.  Whenever we would cross a bridge, I was always asked, "what river is this?" in a sing-songy way.  My daughter never liked the game and once she could read, she would simply wait to answer after she was able to see the sign.  My son, however, loves the game and embraces it wholeheartedly.  When asked what river it is, he usually replies with "I don't know" in he same sing-song fashion as the question was asked.  But surprisingly at the age of 3, he was able to come up with the names.... sort of.


The Piankatank that we travel over on our way to Mathews or Gloucester became the Piankahannock.

The Rappahannock which is the river our place is located on became the Rappahanatank.

But my all time favorite was the time we drove through West Point across the Pamunkey, that became the Pot Monkey (I've known a few of those in my time).