We are sailing in a sailors playground. The Chesapeake is known for bringing delight to everyone who moves by sail. The water is protected, so no sickening swell. The winds are frequent, and sometimes quite challenging. We have sailed in similar water in the Sea of Cortez, San Francisco Bay, the San Blas archipelago and might I add Puget Sound. What makes this different are two things, first the depths, or lack thereof and second the shear number of other boats. We are still a bit queazy going full speed in tenfeet of water, but since that ten feet holds steady for miles it seems silly to be tentative. When you visit a playground you should expect to find others playing. Annapolis, the heart of the Chesapeake is known as the “Sailing Capital of America.” They have the boats, lofts and races to prove it. There are plenty of fishing boats, cigarette boats, trawlers and jet-skis, but I think the masts out number them. Only San Francisco and Seattle had this variety of boats. The big, old, small and new all mixed together and are being used.

My mother has been a constant companion to me this trip up the bay. My mother loved Osprey and their nests. She found the large, ungainly lump of sticks that the osprey call home to be endearing. The osprey have found that most buoys, especially the day markers make perfect bases for their nest. Every green and red marker had a pair, most with chicks. One man told me he saw a nest with a toddler’s lacrosse stick (called a fiddle stick) used to decorate the Coast Guard provided condo. The osprey and the eagles glide across the bay, with their large wingspan, often trying to steal each others fish. My mother would have loved the displays.

Annapolis was a special treat. When I was pregnant my mother and I came to Annapolis to look at boats. It was part of Dave and my great plan; to grow a crew member, buy a bigger boat and go cruising again. My mother was a somewhat reluctant partner - she wasn’t crazy about her grandchild cruising, whether because of the dangers or just because she didn’t want to miss watching one of this precious generation growing up. During our junket we had an accomplice, Scott Morrison a college friend of my sister Lucy and a boat broker. Mom and I really enjoyed Scott’s company, and I took much of his advice to heart.

This trip was so different than that time nine years ago, for instead of seeing as many boats as possible, we explored this city. Having lived on the West Coast for thirty years, returning to the East Coast has shifted my historic perspective. Annapolis played an important part in colonial and federalist history, as the first Capital of the New Country, the site where Washington resigned as commander of the revolutionary force. It is here that Kunta Kinte was delivered to the slave market, and so where Alex Huxley’s roots began. Maryland was occupied by Union forces during the Civil War, since they were a slave holding state, but also North of Washington DC. Oh, and then there is the Naval Academy, with its collegiate and military traditions. We took an historic tour with MIstress Ruth, who dressed in colonial garb walked us through the academy and the historic district.

Mistress Ruth told us the origin of some of our favorite phrases. “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead,” came during the Civil War, when Captain Flag was trying to pick his way through Mobile Bay Georgia that had been mined with torpedoes. When he realized that he could not see the explosives, and therefore had no way to logically avoid them, he just went forward. As a side note, he survived. Dave and I have been tempted to “damn the crab pots”, but since we can actually see them, have opted to be more cautious. John Paul Jones shouted “I have not begun to fight” as he took his sinking boat up to the British warship for hand to hand combat. Jones won the battle, and the British ship, a good thing since his sunk before reaching safe port, and needed the warship to finish the voyage. And then Mistress Ruth told me the answer to one of my mother’s puzzles. When Kara was a baby she loved a series of books written by Mary Ann Hoberman (a college friend of my mother’s), who takes familiar songs and turns them into stories. My mother began to ponder Yankee Doodle, and why the feather is called macaroni. Well, Mom according to Mistress Ruth in pre-revolutionary times macaroni was a new, novel treat, a meal used to impress your neighbors. So when Washington stuck a feather in his cap, in the slang of the day he called it the bomb or phat or groovy.

While Mistress Ruth showed us the past of Annapolis. Scott showed us the present, the sailing side. First we met a the sailing hangout, the Boatyard, with good beer and and good food. Then he drove me and Kara around to do our shopping. We finally got to Trader Joe’s, and what a relief that was. Kara thought we bought enough food for a month, but already some favorites are almost gone (the sesame and honey covered cashews were quick to go). Finally Scott told us where to go for the finish of the Wednesday Night Races - the bow of Flight in the mooring field. This weekly race ends at the yacht club, so the finish takes the boats down the river, and to get cleaner air, many of the racers opt to weave through the parked boats. It was fantastic to watch these skilled sailors as they stretched to the line. I just wish it had been a downwind finish, because I would have loved to have seen all the spinnakers painting the mooring field.