Ordinary Time
The annual trek to 7 Mile Island for the fruits of the sea
When I was a child and regularly attending Mass across the street, I remember being so bored with the green garments the priest wore during what seemed like the interminable “Ordinary Time”—the Sundays between Easter and Advent, those celebratory holidays, marked with bright vestments. Ordinary Time seemed to go on forever.
Today, Ordinary Time sounds pretty good considering the tumultuous political world, our globally disrupted climate, and my own aging body with daily reminders that good health is fragile and fleeting.
Now I celebrate Ordinary Time, the more ordinary the better. Gathering with friends for a sunset potluck on the mountaintop, the sudden visit of an old friend, and our annual drive to South Jersey. Hold on to that which is good.
We have been coming to Stone Harbor annually for 45 years, since our boys were babes in arms. The town has changed a lot; half a century can make a difference. Most of the small beach houses are gone, replaced by McMansions that look hermetically sealed. We are so fortunate to rent one of the originals and keep all the windows open for the sea breeze and the sounds of the birds in the sanctuary behind the house. Many of the businesses downtown are the same—McCoy’s 5 and 10, Fudge Kitchen, Springer’s for ice cream—and we patronize them. But the advertising planes draw banners for lawyers who want you to sue instead of “Eat at Zaberer’s.” There’s a different message in the air.
As we loaded the car and did last-minute gardening projects, my old friend Anne-Lise, the Norwegian bellydancer who taught dance classes in State College during the mid-70’s, showed up for a quick visit with her partner Mike. Anne-Lise turns 91 next week and is a force of nature. She is finished with belly dancing, but she still creates art. No longer her beautiful pottery, because the clay got too hard to haul around, but fine medallions. She works at Gallery North in her hometown of Port Edmonds, Washington State, every week and proves that age is a state of mind. I’d venture she is about 39 by that reckoning.
The evening before we drove “down the shore,” which is the Philly-speak, we gathered with our pals at the top of the mountain. It’s hard to catch us all in town at the same time anymore. We seized the day and were rewarded with a spectacular sunset that bathed us all in Alpenglow, central PA style.
I stopped at Bailey’s in Port Elizabeth on the way down to see what local fish they had and was happy to see drum in the case. I purchased a side at $7.95/pound, for our first dinner. Bailey’s is a local spot, where pick-up trucks pour in and out with bushels of hard-shell crabs. It was delicious, brushed with garlic butter and pan-roasted. The rule with fresh seafood—the simpler the preparation, the better.
Our first visitors were my brother and his wife, Barbra, the hard-working artistic couple who are our first beach visitors because they are the Original People that we vacationed with over the decades. We had two seafood dinners while they were here, scallops and clams the first night, and flounder and crab cakes the second. Served with store-bought side salads, dinners were easy and allowed time for beach art.
It’s not all about eating while in Stone Harbor. There is also Yoga on the Beach in Wildwood, which requires a 20-minute drive but is so worth it. The class is held every day at 9 am, with a small number of attendees during the week (there were 8 of us on Wednesday) and large numbers on the weekend (there were 40 of us on Saturday). But it’s a very worthwhile $8 worth of exercise for 90 minutes. One dolphin rhythmically rose and fell just beyond the waves both times I attended this week, enchanting all of us as we faced the ocean and followed teacher Charla’s cues for Warrior 2.
Our second visitor, my sister Mary, made it to the Saturday class, and then we went to Marvis Diner for breakfast, Jersey diner style. Our server, from Bulgaria, was efficient and courteous, explaining that he was just here for the busy summer season because his wife is still at home. He is cautious these days.
On Friday afternoon, we did something we had never done before, which was as much fun as doing the things you love over and over again.
I am a firm believer in the power of the library. Whenever you get somewhere new, check out the library schedule to see what is going on in the area. There are art classes, lectures, cooking demos, and language classes all available for free or at nominal cost. A couple of months ago, I looked ahead at the library schedule for Cape May County and found a conversational Lenni Lenape class at the Lower Cape May library held every Friday. I had forgotten all about it until 10 minutes before the class started on Friday, when I received a notification about it. We were involved in a drapery changing project, but dropped it and flew out the door and drove over to Bayshore Road in Villas, NJ, and joined the class in progress.
The teacher, Teri Hisplop, and her nine students were very welcoming, and we went through introductions in Native and in English. Then we played a Go Fish game with wildlife cards that was a hoot.“Kèku hàch ksisileyo?” Do you have any bison?
John tied the winner of the game at the end, with his three sets: mountain lion (kwèn’shùkwënay), opossum (òpinkw), and grouse (popokus).
The class went a bit late with lots of good fun over blunders. And we found out a little about the culture of the true Original People of the area. There’s a powwow next week, as well as a Lenni Lenape Blessing of the Fleet in Cape May.
After class, we went out for a late lunch/early dinner in Wildwood at a place on the bay that we stumbled upon. It’s good to explore new worlds—and to celebrate the old ones.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch and still decompressing from their Big Apple adventure, the Country Mouse is making his own breakfast, and Kitty Princess had her first spa night with mommy.
