Memories from the Past

By Bonna L. Nelson. Photography by Angie Myers and Sharon Marvel.

Clydesdale stallion Prince, along with his pal Sicilian miniature donkeys Gloria, Paris and Harley, stick their noses through the white wood pasture fence to greet me between munching on mouthfuls of hay. Traveling down the sparkling white clamshell driveway leading to Carriage Memories from the Past at Hidden Acres Farm in Denton, Md., I was amazed at the pristine, picture-perfect farm in front of me. I wondered how Sharon and Gary Marvel could manage to keep a 50-acre, 100,000-chicken poultry farm and horse-drawn carriage business so immaculate and beautiful.

“It takes passion and hard work,” said Sharon, as we sat in the Carriage House, a large structure where special events, such as weddings, are held, and where tour groups are greeted, entertained with a video, and served lunch. “We both love animals and wanted a nice place to raise a family.”

Married for 33 years, both Sharon and Gary are area natives, Sharon from Denton and Gary from Whiteleysburg, Del., near Greensboro. As a tribute to their local heritage, the couple decorated the interior of the Carriage House with family heirlooms — farm implements hang on the walls, along with photographs of the Clydesdales and carriages.

The Marvels established Hidden Acres Farm in 1993, building four shiny silver poultry houses, which Sharon manages, planting the fields and gradually adding to Gary’s “hobby and love” — a collection of Clydesdales and carriages.

During a tour of the property, Sharon and Gary explained that the horses are only hitched up to the carriages for special events at the farm or elsewhere, before which they are groomed and dressed and the carriages are cleaned and polished. Gary said events include weddings, anniversaries, birthday parties, picnics, proms, church and business functions, community events and reunions.

“This is the ‘Cinderella’ carriage, usually a favorite of brides,” Gary said with a smile, pointing to the shiny, pearl-white carriage with maroon velvet seats and brass lamps that would make any bride feel like a princess on her wedding day.

The Marvels have taken their horse-drawn carriages to weddings in Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania and Virginia, always dressing in tuxedos and top hats for the occasion.

“Here’s our version of the Budweiser Clydesdale wagon,” Gary said, of the red rectangular wagon we approached next. “We use this one in parades and other community events.”

The Marvels also have on hand a snazzy black carriage with grey interior, a 12-seat maroon Victorian with a permanent top, a 15-seat easy access trolley, a 16-seat natural wood wagon and a black sleigh for making snowy memories.

When they aren’t on the clock for special events, the Clydesdales like to hang out together in the barn, which has no stalls (Sharon chuckled at my abrupt surprise).

“They get along well and are gentle, even-tempered and easy to work with,” she said. So much so that stallion Prince naps with the donkeys in the pasture, sleeping nose to nose. Pulling on my heartstrings, Gary nearly choked up when describing another example of the horse’s gentle nature.

As the story goes, during a regular trip to a local nursing home to visit with the residents, where the horse is taken room to room so the residents can pet it, Prince revived the spirits of a man who hadn’t spoken in years with one nudge of the nose. That little nuzzle left the man smiling in amazement and talking to Prince.

As we approached the horse barn, seven Clydesdales — Ace, Moe, Silver, Rusty, Kate, Noah and Puma — were busy eating hay from their feed bin. Each horse eats about 16 pounds of grain and drinks about 30 gallons of water per day. Two were curious about me and wandered over to the fence for a pet.

Soft and gentle, the beautiful, bay-colored horses are huge, weighing up to 2,000 pounds. With white feathered socks and white blazes on their faces, the horses look sophisticated when dressed for an event in their black leather harnesses and bridles with plumes.

Finishing the tour, we rode along the edge of the property’s extensive woods, past dogs, goats, white-fenced pastures, a pond filled with mallards, orchards and, finally, past the stallion Prince and his buddies, the donkeys, one more time. The barn with a gift shop filled with an array of items for the horse lover or souvenir collector completed the tour.

If your wedding dreams include a horse-drawn carriage, check out Hidden Acres Farm. As they say on the big screen, “Madam, you’re carriage awaits.”

For more information about farm visits, tours or the horse-drawn carriages, contact the Marvels at 410-482-6058, 410-310-0203 or www.carriagememoriesfromthepast.com.

By Carolyn Swift Lasako. Photography by Amanda White.

UMES Fundraising Gala Features Five Celebrities

“I’ve always liked this area. I love the people, the friendliness and openness of them, just the warmth,” the elegant Tippi Hedren said sitting among a crowd of VIP guests on the eve of the University of Maryland Eastern Shore (UMES) Gala in Ocean City. Tastefully dressed in a classic-cut pink suit, enlivened by an animal print top, the longtime Hollywood actress has an air of old-world sophistication that is striking, especially to a young woman of 25.

As insightful as she is stunning, the 82-year-old Hedren, who is best known for her roles in the Alfred Hitchcock films “The Birds” and “Marnie,” talks freely about her life outside acting, reflecting on her contributions to humanitarian efforts all over the world.

As part of the weekend’s festivities, Hedren and five other celebrities were presented with honorary UMES degrees for their charitable acts during a ceremony prior to the March 3 gala. Hedren received an honorary doctor of public service, while actress S. Epatha Merkerson, broadcaster Larry King, and performers Billy Davis Jr. and Marilyn McCoo received honorary doctors of humane letters.

A philanthropist at heart, Hedren volunteered for years with Food for the Hungry, setting up relief programs following natural disasters and war. “We’d travel to areas of the world affected by earthquakes, hurricane, war, or whatever was the problem, and we wouldn’t just put a Band-Aid on it; we’d establish programs to help them rebuild houses, get their businesses back together,” said the passionate Hedren, who credits her accomplishments off-screen to the morals and sense of dignity her parents instilled in her from a young age.

A true champion of women, one of Hedren’s most passionate causes was helping a group of female Vietnamese refugees integrate into American society following the Vietnam War. “I had a lot of affinity for these women and a strong interest in their well-being,” Hedren recalls. “They came into a country where the war in Vietnam was not a welcome war; we had suffered through how our own servicemen were treated. So these women came here after losing their families, their country, and then they had to weather all of that resentment.”

Recognizing that many of the women were both business-savvy and good with their hands, Hedren brought in typists, seamstresses and her own manicurist from Los Angeles to teach their respective trades. After becoming fascinated with Hedren’s fingernails, most of the women took to manicuring, and so started a movement that continues to flourish today. “I am responsible for all of the Vietnamese manicure shops, and I’m so proud of that,” Hedren said, still carrying a hint of shock. “Seeing this grow into a huge endeavor has been astounding.”

A King with a Heart

As a career broadcaster, Larry King is accustomed to putting others before himself. “It was never about me,” says the 78-year-old former host of Larry King Live in his signature deep, raspy tone. “I never used the word, ‘I.’” That sentiment is true for his career as an acclaimed interviewer, but also for his efforts off-air as the founder of the Larry King Cardiac Foundation and a benefactor to scholarship funds for disadvantaged students.

As “a kid who never went to college,” King called it “a great honor” to receive an honorary degree from UMES. The degree recognizes King’s commitment to giving back, as seen through his $1 million scholarship to George Washington University, which helps underprivileged students majoring in communications pay for their education. King’s other main charitable focus, the Larry King Cardiac Foundation, saves probably a life a day by providing funds to those who need heart procedures, but can’t afford them.

Amid the hype at the VIP reception, King is laid-back yet focused as he mulls over his 55-year career in radio and television between sips of red wine. “I got into interviewing early and I loved it right away,” he recalls of his early days in the Miami market. “I thought I’d be a sports announcer, but once I found interviewing … it was a special niche for me. It came naturally for me, drawing people out.”

After interviewing more than 50,000 people – including “Frank Sinatra, Martin Luther King, six presidents, heads of states, bad guys, good guys” – the profound yet unobtrusive King had several insights to share. “What I’ve learned the most is, one, every person I’ve interviewed who was a success always had luck involved. If they didn’t admit that, they were lying,” he says candidly. “Also that every successful person was driven. They were never driven by money; money was the byproduct of what they did. Bill Gates didn’t do it for the money; he did it because he loved the idea of computers.”

Reeling me in further with his gentle wisdom that seems to come so naturally after a career of educing others, King continues, “And I’ve learned that people are more alike than they are different, no matter where they are in the world. I’ve never met a mother who wanted her son to go to war.”

Still adjusting to being the interviewee and not the interviewer, King returns to talking about his personal accomplishments, saying, “I’ve had a lot of luck in my life, too. I always wanted to be a broadcaster, but I had no idea I’d be known all over the world. It still comes as kind of a daily shock to me.”
These days, in addition to his charitable endeavors, King is staying busy doing stand-up comedy and soon will be announcing a new venture, which remains his secret for now, he said.

The Subtle Difference Maker

As she walks into the intimate reception at the Courtyard Marriott in Ocean City, actress S. Epatha Merkerson doesn’t steal the show. She’s not one to “own” a room or demand attention. Dressed simply, yet elegantly in a dark cocktail dress accentuated only by large hoops in her ears and on her wrist, the television, theater and film star is remarkably down-to-earth.

Brushing her short braids away from her face, Merkerson says, “Oh, no,” when asked if this is her first time on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. “I lived in Fort Washington for a time, so we used to come to Ocean City often.”

Her effervescent voice draws you into conversation as she begins talking about what an honor it is to receive recognition from UMES for her humanitarian efforts. “Even with the awards I have, this is different,” says the longtime “Law and Order” actress, whose character, Lt. Anita Van Buren, is the longest running African-American character in the history of television. “This is special because it’s a reflection on my participation in the world.”

Most of Merkerson’s charitable work involves cancer care and prevention; she is a generous supporter of the American Lung Association, a cause to which she has a personal tie, as her sister is a lung cancer survivor and two of her friends have passed away from the disease.

The Dedicated Duo

Humble and inviting, married couple Billy Davis Jr. and Marilyn McCoo greet each guest who approaches them as if they were an old friend, joking and laughing as they shake hands or hug.

“We are so happy to be here,” says McCoo, who looks stunning at 68. “We’re very impressed with the wonderful history of UMES, and we were honored that they asked us to be a part of this event.”

The seven-time Grammy Award-winning duo has been contributing to scholarship funds for more than 40 years, first as members of the band The 5th Dimension, when they participated in the Lou Rawls Parade of Stars Telethon benefiting the United Negro College Fund. They continue to support that scholarship fund and others today. “We like the idea of providing funds for needy students who have the grades, but just don’t have the money,” McCoo says, while taking a break from mingling with the crowd.

The couple also is active with the Los Angeles Mission, a nonprofit organization serving the homeless on the streets of Skid Row, as well as with a praise ministry Davis founded in Los Angeles years ago.

“We support each other in the things that are important to us and the things we have a heart for,” says McCoo, who credits the couple’s deep-seated friendship as the secret to their successful 42-year marriage, a rarity by show business standards.

“Sometimes when you feel like you’re ready to walk away from the marriage, you don’t want to walk away from the friendship,” she discloses, as Davis shakes his head in agreement.

Lights, Camera, Action!

It was a night of glitz and glamour, a star-studded soiree that transformed even the most unlikely celebrity admirers into bright-eyed fawners. There is something about the shared anticipation of a celebrity walking into the room, but five celebrities, “Wow,” as my publisher put it. All eyes were on the illustrious guests as they entered the VIP room prior to the UMES Gala, with cameras instantly flashing in applause.

At the outset, King, Hedren, Merkerson, Davis and McCoo seemed to steal the show, but the true celebrities of the evening proved to be the UMES students, who supplied everything from the entertainment to the catering at their college’s signature fundraising event. Sounds from the UMES Saxophone Quartet and Jazz Combo reverberated throughout the room, as the three-course meal prepared and served by the students of the hotel and restaurant management program was presented in impressive fashion.

A standing ovation ensued, as the students paraded out for their introduction, during which many guests were brought to tears after witnessing the quality of food, service and professionalism displayed by these fine future hospitality professionals. Also contributing to the success of the night were members of the UMES Drama Society and the UMES Jazz Band, who provided entertainment during the cocktail reception.

It was an illustrious evening not soon forgotten. From the celebrities in right to the celebrities in theory, talent was abounding at the UMES Gala. And the University of Maryland Eastern Shore takes great pride in their continued work of discovering and developing talent.

In my mind, there have always been big differences between yachting and boating. Yachting requires a proper yacht, a blue blazer, club tie and membership dues. Boating just needs a boat.

I have been on the water in some form of vessel or another most of my life starting with rental rowboats and tiny sailing boards. I learned to sail as a boy on the lakes of Michigan on a craft that could barely qualify as a boat. It was a 12-foot-long slab of foam, pointed on one end, with a wooden dagger board, rudder and tiller, and a small triangular sail strung up on aluminum poles. I don’t think it weighed 50 pounds because my cousin, Scott, and I were able to carry it to the water, rig and launch it with ease, and we were only 12.

As basic as it was, it was thrilling to scoot across the lake on a sharp breeze. When we would run downwind, the little vessel would surf. The thin mast stepped in a metal sleeve formed into the foam would thwack away with a rhythmic cadence. We named her Thumper. Huck and Tom would be hard pressed to find more fun on the water.

Suddenly, I was 25 and working for a newspaper in Rochester, N.Y., covering cops, crime and courts, daily detailing the assorted bad things that people frequently do to each other. One of my regular contacts, George, was a defense lawyer who managed to land some of the more interesting, and usually guilty, clients. They paid him well to find ways to keep them out of jail. Well enough to buy a sailboat.

Now this was still a boat, not a yacht. It was 25 feet long and 8 feet wide with a small, temperamental outboard motor. It looked like a wooden shoe with a mast but it was the largest vessel I had ever sailed. I crewed with George on several weekends, and one Saturday, he invited me to cruise across Lake Ontario on a five-day trip to Canada. There were six other boats in the fleet on a trip they called “Vikings’ Revenge.” The cruise drew its name from tales of the distant past when Scandinavian marauders plied their way through the Great Lakes. It sounded like good fun, so I signed on. After that adventure, with a storm at sea and a close encounter with a huge ocean-going freighter (we were hit by a six-foot wake but never saw the boat), I was hooked on sailing, and within a week, I was the proud owner of a 16-foot sloop.

It was on that little boat I first sailed the Chesapeake Bay 35 years ago. I had taken another newspaper job in Philadelphia and trailered the boat down from New York state. Looking at a travel map, I could see Havre de Grace on the top of the Bay was a little more than an hour down I-95 from my new home.

Since that day in June 1977, when I launched my daysailer at Tidewater Marina, I have been in constant wonder and awe of this marvelous body of water.

I was even more amazed when I sailed off that first day across the open expanse of the Upper Bay and ran aground two miles off shore in a boat that only drew 18 inches with the centerboard up. On the Great Lakes, if you saw water, you could sail, and we had no tides. While the Bay was five miles wide at that point, it was only a foot deep at low tide. The travel map did not mention that I was sailing across the Susquehanna Flats, where floods and storms have deposited several square miles of rich Pennsylvania farmland.

My first Chesapeake Bay lesson was to buy good charts, read them and believe them. Even if it looks like you have plenty of water, you can be suddenly wrong. An old waterman’s saying goes something like this: “If you haven’t run aground on the Chesapeake Bay, you haven’t sailed much.”

Within a year, the 16-footer was traded in for a 23-footer with a cabin. Next came a 28-footer that I sailed with my family to Norfolk and back several times. A decade later, that old boat was traded in for a 35-footer with more amenities, including a shower, steering wheel and a mounted compass.

Since those early days, I have been fascinated by the Bay’s deep, rich history and its swallow, backwater beauty. At night, at anchor in a snug cove on the Eastern Shore with the stars reflecting in the water, it is almost impossible to believe the glow on the western horizon is the Baltimore-Washington I-95 corridor, where millions of people rush about on super highways and high-speed rail lines.

One of the great joys of cruising the Bay is the ability to move about at your own pace from isolated anchorages to charming villages to the pulsing hearts of cities. Each has its own sense of place, and all are within reach by water. I like to tell visitors to our homeport of St. Michaels that we can pull away from the dock and go around the world. We have friends who have done that, but they came back to the Chesapeake.

What makes the Bay special is its configuration. It is a drowned river with as much coastline as the entire continental United States. Hundreds of creeks, coves and quiet headwaters offer refuge. There are bays within the Bay that offer open-water sailing and racing courses. The crew of a high-speed powerboat can have breakfast in one town, lunch in another and dinner in a third. Sailors seeking solitude can spend the night at anchor in front of a colonial plantation and only hear the cries of ospreys and gulls as they net a basket full of blue crabs off the bottom with hand lines baited with chicken necks.

I didn’t see it coming, my becoming a yachtsman, but about a decade ago, I bought what I refer to as “my last boat.” It is a 1971 Hinckley Bermuda 40 yawl. When I bought her, an old sailing buddy told me, “That is not a boat; that is a yacht.” He is right, of course. For those who are not familiar with boats, the Bermuda 40 is considered one of prettiest, best constructed boats ever built in America. Only 203 were handcrafted at the famed H.R. Hinckley yard in Southwest Harbor, Maine, between 1959 and 1991.

Along with owning a Bermuda 40, comes the responsibility to preserve the history and spirit of the old thoroughbred. As things progressed, I became involved with the Chesapeake Bay Bermuda 40 Association, a group of fellow owners who feel the same pride and obligation. I moved through the ranks of the association and spent the past two years as its commodore. Yes, I wear a blue blazer, club tie and khakis, and pay my dues.

But in my heart, I am still just a boater who feels at home in the cockpit heading out with no set destination, at peace with the world and going where the wind blows best.

The ‘Chef Boyardee House’ Comes Alive

By Carol Sorgen. Photography by Angie Myers and Aloft Photography.

At the end of a winding gravel driveway in Queenstown rises the stately Georgian-style brick mansion known as Penderyn. Sitting gracefully on a 32-plus acre peninsula at the confluence of the Wye River, DeCoursey Cove and the Wye Narrows, this 22,500-square-foot manor house may look as if it has graced the property since Colonial times, but Penderyn (Welsh for “head of the bird”) actually was built less than 25 years ago.

Situated at the heart of the Eastern Shore opposite the banks of the Wye Island Preserve, Penderyn is one of the largest river homes in the area. The impressive home, elegant in its simplicity and restraint, is bounded by water on three sides and enjoys a central sitting amidst verdant lawns, wildflower meadows and colorful English gardens.

Despite its recent vintage, Penderyn has a storied past. While many local residents may not know the estate by its formal name, mention “the Chef Boyardee House” and you’ll be met with knowing nods.

Penderyn was not built by the Italian-born Chef Boyardee himself (yes, he was a real person, famous for creating the “Chef Boyardee” line of canned foods) but by his entrepreneurial son, Mario Boiardi.

Mario’s father, Ettore, was raised in Italy, becoming an excellent cook even as a child. He immigrated to America when he was 16, taking the name “Hector” as he passed through Ellis Island. Once in this country, he worked in the kitchens of several upscale restaurants, including those at New York’s famous Plaza and Ritz-Carlton Hotels. Often the youngest cook in the kitchen, Boiardi grew the stylish mustache that eventually became his trademark, but at first, was simply an attempt to make himself look older.

Boiardi and his wife moved to Cleveland, where, at the tender age of 24, he opened his own restaurant, Il Giardino d’Italia, in the city’s Little Italy neighborhood. It wasn’t long before his spaghetti sauce became so popular he started selling it in carry-out bottles. Sales of the bottled sauce soon surpassed his restaurant’s business, and in 1936, Boiardi began labeling his pre-packaged foods as “Chef Boyardee” (changing the moniker to the more phonetic spelling of his name, having had to explain one too many times just how to pronounce his actual surname). The Chef Boyardee products proved so popular that during World War II, the plant was open 24 hours a day, producing food rations for soldiers grateful for a taste of home. In 1946, following the war, Boiardi sold the company to American Home Foods for the then-staggering price of $6 million.

Even after selling the company, the elder Boiardi appeared in numerous TV commercials during the ’50s and ’60s, advertising the foods he had made popular. Hector Boiardi died in 1985, but that characteristic mustache and smile still grace cans of Beefaroni, ravioli and other prepared Italian foods (the company is now owned by ConAgra), and spinoffs of his TV commercials are once again being broadcast.
Son Mario didn’t follow his father into the food business. Instead, the graduate of Valley Forge Military Academy and College served as an Army Ranger during World War II, later attending Case Western Reserve University on the GI bill and earning a degree in business, before serving the country again during the Korean War.

Father and son did, however, own a steel mill together, and Mario later established a marble flooring and tile company, which he sold in 1990, then founding Super Step, a research and development firm for new business owners.

In the early 1980s, Mario and his wife Maureen (“Mo”) moved to the Eastern Shore and built Penderyn, where they lived until they sold the estate in 1999. Boiardi died in 2007 at the age of 81.

Rumors abounded at the time of the sale of Penderyn that celebrities such as Michael Jackson and Oprah Winfrey were interested in purchasing it — though those rumors were never confirmed — and the estate was eventually sold to its current owners, Morgan O’Brien — co-founder of Nextel Communications — and his wife, Belle.

The O’Briens were first captivated by the property while sailing past the foundation of the house as it was being built. Once the home was completed, the couple was invited by the Boiardis to a New Year’s Eve party which — though they didn’t know it at the time — sealed their fate.

“The house was filled with flowers, music and several hundred people having a wonderful time,” O’Brien recalls. “We just fell in love with it.”

About a decade later, the O’Briens were renovating their own Queenstown estate of Bowlingly and Morgan, half-joking, said, “We should buy Penderyn.” Soon afterwards, they did just that.

“The house just speaks to me,” O’Brien says.

It’s not hard to see why. Boiardi patterned Penderyn after William Paca’s Wye Hall Manor, with generous wings and meticulous architectural details. Handmade rose-colored bricks, stately proportions, authentic English corbelled chimneys, rippled glass windows and doors, classic columns, and lead and copper roofs pay homage to the 18th-century Palladian style, but with all of today’s expected conveniences.

Inside the main house, the 23 rooms include a marble foyer, 60-foot-long gallery lined with sculptured busts, urns and ginger jars, 11 fireplaces, nine spacious bedrooms, nine full baths and three half-baths. Most of the bedrooms have their own balconies. The other rooms, including a billiards room, family room, drawing room and conservatory with hand-painted trompe l’oeil ceiling, feature such unique accents as hand-painted Chinese silk wall-coverings, a 17th-century French limestone fireplace, Coyne vaulted ceilings and an 18th-century signed Perry of London crystal chandelier.

Ceilings soar 12 feet in height (even higher in the entrance foyer); principal first-floor rooms and upstairs bedroom suites feature wood-burning fireplaces and antique mantel surrounds imported from Europe, and floor-to-ceiling windows bathe the interior spaces with sunlight and offer beautiful vistas of the changing seasons on the river Wye.

The rest of the Penderyn estate includes a pool house for the large swimming pool and a 157-foot Bailey dock with 11 boat slips. Between the exterior wings lie regal courtyards and elegant formal gardens. The land is surrounded by adjoining properties to protect the area from future development, ensuring perpetual privacy and unchanging views.

“There is a terrific feeling of seclusion here,” says O’Brien, noting that on summer mornings, he enjoys hearing the voices of local oystermen. “But come every season, I say, ‘This is the most beautiful.’”
Despite its grandeur, once inside, visitors to Penderyn will find a warm, inviting, family-friendly home. The O’Briens worked with their longtime interior designer Mary Weaver in furnishing the estate, re-creating the European style of the original owners.

While the house has a formal exterior, the O’Briens wanted to make sure it didn’t feel like a museum. And indeed, the interior has a surprisingly cozy feel. Architecturally, its large scale was gracefully modulated by creating rooms with proportions suitable for both intimate gatherings and normal family living, but also large-scale entertaining (such as Morgan O’Briens 65th birthday celebration, attended by 750 guests).

“It’s a good mix of old and new,” says O’Brien, adding that he and his wife wanted the home’s interior to be “warm, lively and family-friendly.”

Weaver took her cue from the O’Briens’ preferences for the feel of an English country house that would be welcoming to family, friends, kids and pets. “We wanted people to feel that they could put their feet up and just relax,” says Weaver, who used many pieces that the family already owned and then combined them with new treasures purchased at auction or on the O’Briens’ many travels. In keeping with the more relaxed feel, Weaver chose informal, colorful chintzes for many of the home’s upholstered pieces, steering clear of the more expected — and more formal — silks and taffetas one might see in such a grand space. Ottomans, rather than coffee tables, further add to the sit-a-spell feeling throughout the home, and in every room are reflections of the O’Briens’ many interests, from book-lined shelves to personal collections of Delft, Chinese export porcelain and Staffordshire dogs.

“The main emphasis on furnishing the home was comfort,” Weaver says. “I think we accomplished that.”

But a new chapter is waiting to be written for Penderyn, as the O’Briens have put the estate up for sale in order to move closer to other family members, as well as to spend time on their floating home and at their Caribbean residence. They hope another family will love it just as much as they have. And though they are excited to try a different lifestyle, still, they say, “We will miss it terribly. It has been a privilege to live here.”

For more information on Penderyn, contact Benson & Mangold Realty at www.bensonandmangold.com.

If indeed the traditional method is outdated and fiberglass is not the “miracle product” it was thought to be years ago, what is a boatbuilder to do?

For brothers Eddie and Ronnie Cutts, the answer is simple – follow their father’s lead. “My dad (the late Ed Cutts Sr.) was an innovator,” says Eddie, who, along with Ronnie, now owns and operates the family boatyard, Cutts & Case Shipyard, in Oxford. “He was always trying to design better, lighter, stronger boats.” His quest led to a formula, dubbed the Cutts method, that melds wooden boatbuilding traditions with “advanced space age technology” to construct wooden-hulled boats his sons claim are better than both the old-fashioned wooden boats of yesteryear and today’s newfangled fiberglass hulls.

Almost entirely made from raw product on site, these boats take years to build, Ronnie says, but are much stronger than those built under the traditional method and less penetrable than the more modern fiberglass hulls. And with a price comparable to that of a fiberglass-hulled boat ($250,000 to $300,000 for a 28- to 30-foot boat), why wouldn’t you trade up to a Cutts & Case? Between 18,000 and 20,000 man-hours can go into a boat like Spellbound, a 44-foot sailing yacht built at Cutts & Case that appeared in the movie “Failure to Launch” as the Miss Paula. The man-hours accrued by Ed Cutts Sr. over a career must be impressive, considering he built between 75 and 80 boats in his lifetime. “They’re like lost children,” Ronnie says of his father’s creations, many of which are still maintained at Cutts & Case.

The shipyard had a unique start. No one named Case works at Cutts & Case, and no one ever has. But without wealthy yachtsman and wooden boat enthusiast John Case, Cutts & Case would have never existed. Nearly 50 years ago, when Ed Cutts Sr. was working for a boatbuilder in New York, he built a boat for Case, who told him he should be running his own boatyard – and bankrolled it. Cutts then took over the Oxford shipyard of Ralph Wiley, who was ready to retire, renaming it Cutts & Case Inc. Cutts eventually bought Case out, but to this day, the name of their “benefactor,” as office manager Mike Moore calls him, remains on the door.

Although the Cutts family has only been in Oxford since 1965, their property has a major place in Oxford’s history, for it is now the site of Byberry House. Built in 1695, it is, according to a plaque next to the back door, the oldest house in town. For decades, it was the home of Ed Cutts Sr. and his wife, Marguerite. But it was not always there. Ralph Wiley moved it from another site in town, leaving destruction in its wake, during his tenure. “He took a vacation” immediately thereafter, according to Moore. “He just left it to the contractors and got out of town” until the furor died down.

The house sits as an inspiration for Ronnie and Eddie, who hope their family’s boatyard can stand the test of time, as it has. The Cutts patented method of boatbuilding features veining grooves, Kevlar cording, a double-planked skin and epoxy-saturated cording. Gone are the leaky seams, insufficient strength, butt blocks and electrolysis of traditional methods. Finished is the water penetration that leaves fiberglass hulls more vulnerable to delaminating multilayer cores. “For the first time,” boasts a Cutts Method brochure, “a boatbuilding system offering simplified construction of the high-grade composite yacht. The Cutts Method now presents a remarkable and exciting breakthrough in structural design, allowing unlimited possibilities to the designers and builders of custom wooden yachts.”

In addition to boatbuilding, Cutts & Case performs repairs and restorations, with their specialties including repair and maintenance of wooden spars, structural design and repair, and painting and varnishing. The shipyard also provides a full menu of marine services, including woodworking, engine repairs, haul-out services, metal fabrication, dockage (42 slips, with running water, 30-amp electricity and WiFi available), brokerage, indoor and outdoor winter storage, and mechanical work: lighting, wiring, engine plumbing and shipboard plumbing. Of the 31 occupied slips, most are home to sailboats, because the marina has deep water access. But Moore hastens to add that powerboats are welcome, too.

The shipyard prides itself, of course, in the one-of-a-kind wooden-hull boats that have anchored Cutts & Case for years. The wait for these creations may be long, but those looking to trade up to a Cutts & Case boat appreciate the custom designs and fine workmanship and are willing and able to pay for them.

Cutts & Case Inc. is at 300-302-304-306 Tilgman St. in Oxford. For more information, stop by, call 410-226-5416 or log on to www.cuttsandcase.com.

By Mary McCoy. Photography by Geoffrey DeMeritt and Angie Myers

Using All Salvaged Wood, This Furniture Maker Sculpts His Masterpieces

In the aftermath of Hurricane Irene, my husband and I stood in our yard with the insurance adjuster looking at the tangle of trees blown down by the storm. Leaning precariously on top of a scraggly mulberry tree was a straight-trunked black walnut.

“A woodworker or someone might want that one,” the adjuster suggested. I knew just who to call.

Vicco von Voss is a furniture maker with a deep love and respect for trees. He doesn’t cut them down. Instead, people like me give him trees.

I knew von Voss’s elegant furniture from the Carla Massoni Gallery in Chestertown, where he has shown his work for the past 17 years, so I knew our black walnut would be put to good use. Each table, desk or bench he creates is a piece of sculpture.

Combining superb craftsmanship with a playful sense of creativity, von Voss uses traditional joinery to make distinctive, one-of-a-kind furniture. There’s a feeling of natural growth and a graceful sense of balance in all his work, whether it’s a cherry sideboard whose simple lines put the focus on the blaze of radiating wood grain in the panels of its doors, or his tour-de-force, a small table carved with curving legs that “grow” out from a perfect blossom tucked beneath the table’s top, like a secret waiting to be discovered.

A few days after my phone call, the tall, slim artist was deftly chain-sawing the limbs and roots away from the black walnut’s trunk. In minutes, he was up on his tractor dragging the whole trunk out to the lane, where he expertly slid it onto his open trailer, nudging it safely into place.

All of von Voss’s wood is salvaged, either from trees felled by storms or ones homeowners have had to remove. He has been known to stop and ask a tree company for the wood they are cutting. As a result, he works almost exclusively with wood local to the Eastern Shore.

Von Voss creates both his furniture and custom architectural features on commission. His architectural works celebrate the beauty and strength of wood with a remarkably light touch. A longtime yoga practitioner, von Voss considers the balance of yin and yang in every piece he creates. The natural curves of the logs in the barrel-vaulted ceiling he created for the Hoagie House in Virginia seem to dance above the room like gentle waves.

When I visited his workshop in the woods overlooking Southeast Creek, north of Centreville, I was amazed at the many stacks of large tree trunks arranged neatly along the lane and around his workshop.

“That’s all Irene,” he told me in a slight accent that reveals his German birth. “Hurricanes are always good to me.”

Von Voss’s family settled in the U.S. when he was 13. After graduating with a degree in art from Washington College in 1991, though, von Voss returned to Germany for three years to apprentice with master cabinetmaker Heinrich Meyerfeldt. In 1995, he came back to Chestertown to launch his furniture business. For eight years, he lived in a tiny cabin without electricity or running water on his land above Southeast Creek while he built his business and, using salvaged trees, his present workshop and the home where he now lives with his wife, acupuncturist Jacqui von Voss, and their two-year-old daughter, Ella. In the process, he learned to use every part of each tree.
“Now, when I mill wood, everything gets used,” he said. “The first slabs become firewood, the second and third become furniture, the core becomes timber for architecture. Nothing is wasted.”

These days, von Voss’s workshop, although not completely finished, is up and running. It’s a spacious, functional building, but it feels a bit like a small cathedral with its two levels of curving roof spaced apart where clerestory windows will be installed when he has some time in between projects. His tools and materials are all in place, neat and orderly, ready for work. Although most of his work is accomplished with hand tools, he has the equipment to mill six-foot diameter logs and work with slabs of wood four inches thick.

Giving fallen trees a second life by creating with their wood is all-important to von Voss. As a way of having respect for the tree’s spirit, he purposely designs his furniture to last at least as long as the life of the tree whose wood he is using. He notes that in nature, a tree takes as long to decompose as it did to grow, and in decomposing, it nourishes other organisms, as well as the soil.

“Mankind has come in and isn’t allowing that process anymore,” he said.
From his years of living in the forest, von Voss is highly attuned to natural processes, not only in the life cycle of trees but also in his work. He feels his own spiritual growth is tied to the process of working, even more than to the completion of a finished product.

As we sat in the loft beside wide windows overlooking the forest, I couldn’t help but notice we were surrounded by wood: the living wood of the forest, the wood von Voss milled himself to build the workshop, the hurricane-felled trees drying in the yard and the stacks of milled wood organized in neat piles ready for future projects.

“I don’t know what these pieces are going to become,” he said. “Sometimes it’s the magic. When I do a commission, I go into the clients’ home and see what their style is. It’s a reflection of their home. It’s important that it looks like it’s always been there.”

He invites his clients to visit his workshop to choose the wood for their commission.

“The personality of the wood matches the personality of the client,” he explained. “They’re tapping into the spirit of that wood. Maybe my purpose is to teach something, to teach about the spirit of the trees. We have to preserve the spirit of the trees.”

Von Voss often is invited to speak to groups about his work with wood. He tells them about how the history of a tree can be read in its wood—how new branches cause the grain to bend, how you can tell from the growth rings which side of the tree faced north and how they record the weather over the years.
“It’s an amazing language,” he said. “When we know when a tree came down, we can count back and start to decipher the history.”

In a recent talk at Gunston Day School, he asked the students whether they think a tree has a spirit.

“Usually more than 50 percent of the kids do, not so many of the adults,” he said. “But after I give my talk, more people will raise their hands.”

The black walnut we lost in the hurricane was not a big tree, although it gave good shade to our back yard. Von Voss plans to mill it into a support post for a future building. As sad as I was to lose our tree, I feel better knowing it will have a new life as architecture.

For more information, visit www.viccovonvoss.com or contact Vicco von Voss at 410-708-4698 or viccovonvoss@gmail.com.

Two hours and 50 years away from D.C. on Tilghman Island

By Beth Rubin. Photography by Angie Myers and Bob Zuber.

The sound of water lapping at riprap lures me from a sound sleep. Not since I was a camper in a lakefront boathouse 50 years ago have I wakened to such an intoxicating reveille. Eyes fully open, I glimpse through the picture window of my deluxe hideaway, a roiling expanse of the Chesapeake Bay as a front passes through. As rain hammers the roof, I burrow further under the blankets. I could stay here forever, snug in the king-size cocoon of this wood-paneled bedroom, gazing at the water and listening to mother nature. Sunshine is so last year.

The afternoon before, I’d lunched with a friend and browsed in St. Michaels before continuing 15 miles south on a ribbon of country road past turnoffs for Claiborne, Wittman and Sherwood. After crossing the Knapps Narrows Bridge onto Tilghman Island — a mile-wide, 3-mile-long sliver of yesteryear, with a population of 750 — the road meanders past clapboard houses, piles of oyster shells and a country store that first opened its doors in 1938. A couple of kids slurp soft drinks out front, in a scene worthy of Rockwell.

I leave the macadam of Black Walnut Point Road. The pock-marked surface forces me to slow down. I take the message to heart, passing the U.S. Naval Radar Station that opened in 1948. The inn, set on a drop-dead gorgeous promontory surrounded on three sides by water, comes into view. This is where the Bay meets the Choptank River. The end of the line. Any further and you’d get your feet wet.

The handsome white farm house consists of two buildings that were joined in the 1930s. The original house was built around 1840 and moved twice before it put down roots here. The current innkeepers, Bob Zuber and Tracy Staples, took over the B and B, with its three waterfront cabins and four guest rooms, in July 2010.

Unpacking can wait. First, I want to explore this magnificent site. Facing the water, the house at my back, I take in the fishing dock, decorative metal gazebo that has framed numerous “I do” exchanges, the large pool and deck, and the hammocks and Adirondack chairs beneath towering trees on the sprawling lawn. Beyond is Sharp’s Island Light, the Bay’s very own leaning tower, which lists 15 degrees north owing to ice pressure during a flood tide in 1977. Though I have sailed around the lighthouse (the island is submerged) many times, giving it a wide berth to avoid the notorious shoals that have grounded many a boat, this is my first sighting from terra firma.

Bob greets me and takes my overnight bag. He arrived on Tilghman Island by way of New Jersey, Maine, Baltimore, and D.C., and enjoyed a stellar career performing in musical theater, as well as with the Washington, Wolf Trap and Baltimore opera companies. He’s also taught voice, and is a published writer. He and Tracy stumbled on Black Walnut Point during a bike ride a few years ago. It was kismet: the previous owners were poised to sell, Tracy was between jobs, and they fell in love with the property. Before returning to Washington, they had put down a deposit.

While Tracy is off doing chores, Bob shows me my cabin. Camp was never like this! We enter via a screened porch with rockers facing the water, through sliders to the living room, which is comfortably furnished with a sofa, chairs and small dining table, and a TV and DVD player. Bob suggests borrowing a movie from the inn’s collection for viewing later. The kitchen — oven, refrigerator, microwave, dishwasher, coffeemaker, toaster, blender (“for margaritas,” he says) — is fully stocked with pots and pans, cooking utensils, glass- and dishware. Daily maid service is provided. And, with a few days’ notice, they’ll provide guests in the cabins with lunch or dinner — “all you have to do is heat it” — or a cake or pie to mark a special occasion. I fantasize about holing up here for a couple of months and penning a bestseller. Or maybe just holing up.

Bob revels in sharing his substantial knowledge of the 58-acre property, local flora and fauna, and the area. What’s saved the place from the ravages of time and tide, he says, is that Leslie Edgecomb, a steel magnate who owned the property from about 1930 to 1950, encased the shoreline with steel bulkheads and riprap. I learn that Tilghman Island had its heyday in the ‘50s, when oystering and crabbing were at their peak. When they died off, the processing plants up the road shut down and so did the town. But Tilghman has been making a comeback in recent years, Bob says. “Crabs are coming back, and oysters too. And the water is clearer.”

Stories about the property — real and apocryphal — abound. Bob says locals recall breaking into the property as teenagers in the ‘60s, when it was owned by the Russian embassy as a safe house. “They told me they’d climb the fence, then try to get back before the dogs got them.”

Like any good host, Bob tempts me with a menu of local activities. The adjacent bird sanctuary and nature path pique my interest. If I want, I can fish from the dock, play croquet or pitch horseshoes, go out on the Lady Patty with Capt. Jeff Mathias, join Capt. Wade on the last of the local working skipjacks, the Roberta Ruark, berthed at Dogwood Harbor, take a lighthouse tour with Capt. Mike Richards, or rent a bicycle, pontoon boat or jet ski at the Tilghman Island Marina. Feeling decidedly sloth-like, I beg off. I brought field glasses, a birding book and the latest New Yorker — all the stimulation I seek. He chuckles. “Most people come here with a list of things to do and end up sitting and staring at the water.” I can see why. There are frequent sightings of eagles, waterfowl, minks, otters, foxes, possum, raccoons and deer, he says. As an afterthought, he adds, “sunrises and sunsets are amazing.” That’ll work.

Tracy joins us. The retired electrical engineer and “fourth-generation preacher’s son,” tells me, “six eagles live here, and the best time for viewing is early morning.” I make a note to bring my field glasses to breakfast. Tracy recalls one morning just before dawn hearing “this whoosh whoosh noise.” At first, he thought it was bluefish making a racket in the shallow water. His eyes light up. “But it was a family of dolphins. They were silver-blue, about 7 feet in length. The noise came from their blow-holes.” While I’m visualizing this image, he hits me with another. “You ought to come here in June when the skates are mating.” During the full moon, he says, you can watch them surfing, skimming the top of the water, their wings exposed. I wonder if they listen to Barry White for inspiration.

Bob chimes in about the thunderstorms. “I’ve seen St. Elmos’s fire here.” While I’m wondering why he’s dropping a movie title, he explains the dramatic phenomenon that occurs during severe electrical storms. Then he gestures to a huge tree near the water’s edge. “In spring, guests can sit in that hammock and watch ospreys build a nest overhead.”

I tear myself from an Adirondack chair to enter the main house. The first-floor décor raises the bar on eclectic. Though they bought the house furnished, Bob and Tracy have added furniture and antiques, all gifts from their families and friends. And everything has a story. The Rockwell and bird and flower plates that hang in the front hall belonged to Bob’s grandparents. In the living room, the circa-1850 dusty-pink velvet couch came from a house built by Brigham Young when he was a carpenter in Ithaca, N.Y. (Bob has a music degree from Ithaca College. The sofa belonged to a friend.) His mom’s grand piano is the focal point of the room. The sunroom sports authentic shag carpeting, a ‘60’s jukebox, and multiple windows to take in the panorama. In a corner cabinet of the formal dining room, with its table for 12 and original wide-plank floors, is a collection of gold-rimmed Bavarian china with hand-painted birds. “At Christmas, we put the china away and replace it with Dickens figures.” I remark on a 1920s nautical chart on the wall. “Back then, you could walk to Sharp’s Island,” Bob says. The kitchen features black-gum beams, ‘60s-style cabinets and an oversized range. You could spend a day flitting among the porches — front, side and back.

Upstairs are four bedrooms, all traditionally decorated. The Tilghman Room is the most spacious and sumptuous with a king bed, twin, chaise, and hand-hewn black walnut planks fastened with pegs. Three windows face the point, water, pool and grounds. The Talbot Room has a cathedral ceiling, queen and twin bed. “Ideal for snoring couples,” Bob quips. The blue and white Bay Room features a queen bed and two antique rockers. If you’re on a budget and willing to climb three flights, you can stay in the cozy Attic Hideaway with two dormer windows.

The next morning, after feasting on a breakfast of cut-up fresh fruit, baked Canadian bacon, cheese and locally farmed organic eggs — “After we moved in, our neighbor had to buy more chickens” — toast and assorted jams, French toast, and bottomless cups of organic coffee, I’m ready to go back to bed. But reality intrudes. I bid farewell to Bob, Tracy and the Black Walnut Point Inn and vow to return on the June full moon to watch the skates get it on.

For more information on The Black Walnut Point Inn B&B, 4417 Black Walnut Point Road., Tilghman Island, Md., call 410-886-2452 or visit www.blackwalnutpointinn.com

By Malou L. Sayson. Photography by Dave Toth.

Delmarva Rug Hookers Look to Keep This Utilitarian Craft Turned Art Form Alive

The grapes bulge out of a wooden frame, so real, yet muted. They taunt me to feel their texture, their form. They are soft and subtle, “Ars Poetica” indeed, delivered not in words, but in fabrics. Sculpting not with wood, stroking not with a brush, coloring not with paint. It’s rug hooking, and it has come a long way from the utilitarian craft it emerged as nearly two centuries ago to the form of fabric art it is today.

Amid a crowd of veteran rug hookers at the Worcester County Library in Ocean Pines, Md., Janice Russell, program chairman for the Delmarva Friendship Rug Crafters, introduces the technique of sculpting and proddying, using her finished bunch of grapes as a guide.

“We feel like we are making heirlooms that we can pass down for generations,” said Russell, who believes strongly in not letting this part of American heritage die out.

The origin of rug hooking in America dates back to the early 1800s, when women across the Eastern Seaboard and Canadian Maritimes hooked rugs to cover walls and floors that turned frigid and drafty in the dead of winter. It was known as a craft of poverty, since wealthy families could afford the machine-made carpets that became popular in the mid-1800s.

Although they worked solely with whatever materials were handy, it didn’t take long for the early “hookers” to find their creative side. They began converting burlap sacks that carried potatoes, grains and animal feeds into rugs, incorporating simple geometric and nautical designs, and later some colors using pigments from vegetables and fruits available around the house.
“The craft fell out of favor over the years, but made a significant resurgence about 20 years ago. The rise of the Internet bolstered its growth,” said Peg Dutton of Bivalve, Md., an avid rug hooker. Today, the practice is viewed more as a form of fabric art than as a craft.

“It has become very upscale and expensive, but it’s very easy to learn,” said Eric Sandberg, a hooker from the Eastern Shore of Virginia and the lone male teacher at the upcoming Maryland Shores Rug Hooking School, which gathers around 100 rug hookers each year for its annual event. This year’s convention will be held April 15 to 20 at the Dunes Manor Hotel in Ocean City, Md.

Sandberg’s status as a man among women isn’t the only thing that makes him stand out; he’s known among his peers as the “master colorist,” which is evidenced in his acclaimed piece “Le Chateau”—a breathtaking creation with a character all its own. Sandberg actually hooked the rug with the visual turned upside down, attacking the intricate design piecemeal by hooking highlights and shadows, working, reworking, and experimenting with hues, shades and colors. The piece, he said, catapulted him to the top of the rug hooking map. Making his home in Onancock, Va., Sandberg runs the Carraway Rug School and teaches about 120 students a year.

Sandberg’s affinity with fabric started at a tender age. To keep the rambunctious Eric still, his grandmother would give him a jar of buttons, a yarn and a shirt cardboard on which to attach the buttons. With his grandmother’s creative genes in his blood, Sandberg found himself doing all sorts of needlework—embroidery, cross-stitch, needlepoint—until he found a book on rug hooking during one of his trips to a flea market 20 years ago.
Coaching himself through the technique, Sandberg said, “I can do this. It’s the same motion over and over again,” which is pulling the strips of wool through a backing. Today, Sandberg is a sought-after circuit teacher, crisscrossing the country to bestow his nearly unrivaled skills as a rug hooker on his students.

When off the circuit, Sandberg spends his time working on what he expects to be another grand piece, one he calls “Omar Khayyam.” It’s bold and bodacious, rendered in green, red and gold, evoking the richness of Persian art. The piece already weighs 20 pounds and measures 5 feet by 7 feet. It’s too heavy to carry around, but Sandberg said he may bring it to the Maryland Shores Rug Hooking School exhibit on April 19. Promised to the highest bidder, “Omar Khayyam” exemplifies hooking scrolls, with an emphasis on spirals, curves and serpentine lines.

Although it takes years to become a seasoned hooker like Sandberg, getting started is simple, as a beginner needs only a hoop or a frame, a small pair of scissors and strips of wool. The process involves a repetition of the hooking motion, wherein loops are pulled through a backing material with a hook attached at the tip of a wooden handle for a better grip. To create light and shadow effect, narrow “precision” wool strips of 1/32 to 3/32 (of an inch) in width are used. To achieve a primitive or antique finish reflective of the pre-McGown era, wider cuts of wool, about 6/32 to half of an inch in width, are needed.

Then there’s sculpting, where the artisan hooks on what’s on top first, pulling the loops higher as he or she goes.“We sculpt something (like the grapes) to make it more prominent,” Russell said. The forerunner of sculpting is proddying, when pieces of wool are cut into shapes that resemble flower petals, for instance, to add embellishment to the hooking.

The real challenge, however, is the process of dyeing or coloring, Sandberg said. The longer route involves extracting dyes from onionskins, marigolds, walnut shells and barks of trees, but Sandberg prefers the use of commercial dyes, which offer him a wide array of shades and color combinations.

The loud and restless colors depict vibrancy often found in rugs with oriental themes, while soft and muted hues give an antique, more polished look to the rug. Some hookers go the traditional way; others want the avantgarde, like Betty Burbage, president of the Delmarva Friendship Rug Crafters, who started a whimsical project involving a mermaid last November.

“I’m putting everything on it, like fancy yarn for the mermaid’s hair, ribbons for the kelp and seashells. I’m getting out of the box,” she said. She’s hooking, sculpting, proddying and embellishing her project with a mix of materials—a deviation from the traditional rug hooking that could produce a fantastic result.

Rug hooking has indeed come a long way, thanks in part to the dedicated mentors like Pearl McGown, born in 1891, who was responsible for starting a formal rug hooking teachers’ workshop in 1951 at the age of 60 to save this American tradition from fading into oblivion. These teachers continue to capture the heart, passion and mission of keeping fabric art well and alive for generations to come.

For more information on the upcoming Maryland Shores Rug Hooking School, which will include the April 19 exhibit of anywhere from 100 to 125 pieces of fabric arts, contact Janice Russell at 410-289-4110 or ocrug@aol.com.

Critic’s Review

By Mary Lou Baker. Photography by Angie Myers.

The local buzz was loud when the Inn at 202 Dover opened its doors to the public several years ago. A loving restoration of this historic mansion by new owners Ron and Shelby Mitchell had transformed a long-neglected property into one of the most beautiful buildings in Easton — and given birth to a world-class hostelry for visitors to the Eastern Shore.

Over the years, the inn’s first-class status has been recognized in rave reviews from guests, as well as travel publications. It has earned a coveted Four-Diamond rating from Triple A, a “Top Ten Romantic Inns in America” designation from Destinations Travel Magazine, and accolades from Food and Wine, Travel and Leisure and American Express.

Mysteriously, however, the inn’s Peacock Restaurant and Lounge seems to qualify as one of those “best kept secrets,” although my dining experience there makes me eager to shout its praises.

If you don’t have a special occasion to celebrate, create your own by making reservations for a glorious evening of remarkable foods, fine wine and caring service in an atmosphere reminiscent of Downton Abbey. Park your car on Dover Street, breathe deeply as you enter the high-ceilinged foyer, take a seat in the library or the music room, let your gaze wander around the antique-filled premises, order an aperitif and prepare for take-off into another sphere.

Where else would you be offered a “flight of three vodkas” — selected from the inn’s 27 infused and standard brands — served in museum-quality flutes identical to those at the iconic Russian Tearoom in Manhattan. Long-stemmed, hand-blown wine glasses will cradle your choice of vintages from a list of 70 wines hand-picked by Mr. Mitchell, a retired Hopkins professor. He is a world traveler who shares a passion for fine food and wine with his wife, a retired lawyer and talented artist, whose exquisite taste is evident throughout this grand property.

While we sipped a lively Fontana Candidas Italian pinot grigio and a classic manhattan, Robert (our smiling server) brought us each an amuse bouche from chef Douglas Potts on this evening, a wee teaser of lobster terrine that boded well for future bites. At the same time, Robert presented the menu and described the evening’s specials. He got no further than an entrée that combined Maine lobster tail with day boat scallops, and I claimed it as mine. My husband had a harder time, waffling between his favorite lamb shank (dressed up in puff pastry, for heaven’s sake) and grilled venison medallions, which proved to be a felicitous choice.

Having given our orders, we lingered awhile before being ushered into one of Peacock’s gorgeous dining rooms. “Pellegrino or Easton’s finest?” queried our server as he brought a basket of comforting sweet potato rolls (the chef’s great-aunt’s recipe) to the table. In a short time, the food parade began.

First to arrive were the appetizers — a picture-perfect pear salad, its tangle of micro greens tossed with slivers of fruit and shreds of duck confit moistened with a brandied pear dressing and crowned with a walnut-encrusted croquette of tangy cheese. My companion was pleasantly surprised with chef Potts’ near-reverential treatment of calamari, its delicate tentacles tender and tasting of the sea in a fragrant ragout studded with tiny rounds of fingerling potatoes in a pepperanata and parsley sauce.

Admiring the antique-filled dining rooms and tables set with heavy cutlery, sparkling crystal and starched white napery, we waited for the arrival of the entrees, hoping their quality would match the excellence of the appetizers. Out came the Maine lobster tail, two of its tentacles flying like flags on the tops of swirled whipped potatoes, with sweet scallops flanking the main attraction and baby carrots adding color. The seafoods swam in a shallow pool of lobster consommé enriched with shallots and cream. OMG.

On a heartier plane, my companion’s venison medallions were fork-tender —grilled to a rosy medium, sauced with a champagne pear sauce and partnered with velvet-textured pureed rutabagas, shitake mushrooms and peppered spinach. The kitchen’s artistry is on display here — not just in the preparation of the food, but in the creative plating of each dish.

I have eaten many a crème brulee over the years, but none so ethereal as the velvety version prepared in Peacock’s kitchen. Underneath the crackly caramelized sugar lid was a custard so fresh it could have been a la minute — with none of the rubbery texture that gives away the age of this retro dessert. Bread pudding, moistened with rum-infused custard studded with raisins, is another crowd pleaser — especially if ordered with the restaurant’s fabulous homemade ice cream.

The Mitchells have a hidden treasure in the kitchen. That is chef Potts, an Eastern Shore native and graduate of Johnson and Wales in Charleston. His experience includes a decade of cooking at high-end restaurants up and down the East Coast. He spent three years as executive chef at the high-end Keswick Hall Hotel near Charlottesville, Va., before arriving at 202 Dover 15 months ago. His menu, which changes with the seasons, demonstrates a rare ability to combine his classical training with taste twists that make the Peacock Restaurant at 202 Dover one of a kind. It deserves a blue ribbon — and so do the Mitchells, who have created a rare oasis of luxury for the pleasure of the public.

For more information about the Peacock Restaurant and Lounge at the Inn at 202 Dover, 202 Dover St., Easton, MD, call 1-866-450-7600 or 410-819-8007, visit www.innat202dover.com, or email info@innat202dover.com.

Dinner: Thurs-Mon – 5:30 p.m.; reservations suggested; High Tea: Thurs at 3 p.m.; dietary needs accommodated with prior notice. Major credit cards accepted.

Site of Local Militia’s Stand Remains Marked Today

By Reen Waterman. Photography by Angie Myers.

The Chesapeake Bay has long been a place of vast waterfront vistas and abundant waterfowl, and has long served as a liquid highway for commerce. Gazing on its waters, one feels peace and tranquility. Yet with the 200th anniversary of the War of 1812 ever present, one recognizes that its waters posed easy access for an invading enemy to roam at will and strike without mercy.

In the War of 1812, one was very likely to go to bed admiring a peaceful sunset over the harbor, only to awaken the next morning to the imposing and terrifying sight of heavily gunned British man-of-war at anchor and disgorging loaded boats of armed troops headed to shore to attack and destroy.

The War of 1812 began after British warships attacked American shipping vessels and attempted to exercise their believed right to search American ships for alleged Royal Navy deserters. In 1807, before the actual War of 1812, the British warship Leopard, commanded by Capt. Humphreys, attacked and seized the American frigate Chesapeake, commanded by Commodore Barron. Three seamen were taken from the ship by the British, and one, John Strawhan, was a Queen Anne’s County resident.

With storm clouds gathering, American government authorities met to organize a militia. The governor of Maryland appointed Samuel Wright, a veteran of the Revolutionary War and native of Queen Anne’s County, to the post of adjutant general. Maryland’s quota for the militia was to be 5,863 men. Samuel Thomas, Thomas Harris and Thomas Wright were appointed as lieutenant colonels placed in command of the 38th, 35th and 39th Regiments of Queen Anne’s County.

On April 29, 1809, the United States secretary of war informed the governor of Maryland that as the “clouds of war” had abated, the Maryland militia would not be needed anymore and he ordered the troops discharged. But, in 1811, conflict with England began again. After exhausting all means of diplomacy to resolve the continuing conflict, on June 18, 1812, America declared war on Great Britain.

If anyone had taken the time to visit quaint and quiet Queenstown, called “Queen’s Town” at the time of this conflict, they would have found a small, quiet, picturesque little town. In 1812, this town was actually a mere hamlet with about twelve homes and few businesses. It had survived through the early Indian wars, the French and Indian War and the Revolutionary War — all without any attack or predation by a foreign enemy.

After declaring war on Great Britain, the Chesapeake Bay gave easy access to the Royal Navy, offering opportunity for the deposit of experienced battle-hardened combat troops to seize and destroy. With a limited colonial navy to combat them, the British had free reign to appear at selected times and places of their choosing without hindrance. On Aug. 5, 1813, a British naval squadron landed about 2,000 troops on Kent Island. They placed a cannon battery with 2,000 troops at the Kent Narrows to support an attack on mainland Queen Anne’s County.

To meet the enemy, 244 Queen Anne’s County residents, members of the 38th Regiment, prepared to face the enemy. Maj. William H. Nicholson was in command of this gallant group of soldiers. In addition to the infantry, there were 100 cavalrymen commanded by Maj. Thomas Emory, and a company of artillery with 35 men and two light six-pounders under command of Capt. Gustavus Wright.

At 3 a.m. on Aug. 13, 1813, American scouts reported that British troops were crossing Kent Narrows towards Queen’s Town. The blocking force of approximately 379 men had dug a trench line six feet deep. (This gully is still visible in the woods just 100 yards from the intersection of Maryland Route 18 and Bennett’s Point Road, and is marked by a Maryland Historical marker identifying the site of the Battle of Slippery Hill.) The pickets of the Americans fired upon the British, killing two and wounding five, without losing a man. Eighteen privates and two captains provided the picket or advanced guard for the defensive position. Maj. Nicholson wrote in a letter to the regimental commander Lt. Col. Wright: “If anything I could say, would add to the reputation of these gentlemen, how freely I would say it. In giving their names to the public, I do all I can; it shall be known, that a picquet guard of the following gentlemen stood firm at their posts, received the attack, and returned the fire of a column of British troops 2000 strong, supported by 4 field pieces, retreated, formed again, and gave the enemy their second fire.”

The militia feared a British frontal attack would be backed up with a pincer movement from troops landed behind them in Queen’s Town.Shortly after firing on the advance scouts, flares fired by the British in Queen’s Town harbor announced the reality of this potential threat. To escape encirclement, the greatly outnumbered militia hastily retreated towards Centreville.

Then British troops landed at Bolingly, the home of resident Richard Hall. They proceeded to sack the town. Having missed the opportunity to defeat a clearly inferior force, the British decided to sack and plunder the town and its stores, taking all the valuable jewelry, silver plate and food they could carry.

It has been said that the “gods of war are fickle.” I’m not so sure about that, but in my opinion, the only explanation of the success of the Battle of Slippery Hill, as it is known, was provided by the intervention of divine providence. So, when sojourning through Queen Anne’s County, stop on Route 18 and see this marker, and picture the colonial troops huddled in the dark awaiting the onslaught of a huge number of crack British troops. Venture onto the backstreets of Queenstown and read the historical marker in front of Bolingly and imagine the sights and sounds of British troops wreaking havoc in this home and the surrounding homes.

While this was not a battle that occupies large pages in the history books or is the substance for blockbuster movies, it stands as a shining example of the courage of ordinary men facing extraordinary circumstances — a lesson we can all surely use as we face the challenging times in which we now live.

Get a Glimpse of Historic Homes and Colorful Gardens

By Carol Sorgen. Courtesy of Talbot County.

For the house- and garden-proud among us — or simply the envious and curious — springtime means the return of the ever-popular home and garden tour. This spring is no exception, and the annual Talbot County House and Garden Pilgrimage looks to the past as it takes “A Step Back in Time” from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Saturday, May 12 (rain or shine, so have your Wellies handy just in case).

Sponsored by the Talbot County Garden Club and part of the 75th Maryland House and Garden Pilgrimage, this year’s tour once again will feature an outstanding variety of historic properties, waterfront homes and colorful gardens, along a tour route that will take visitors from Easton to Trappe.

Get your bearings and plan your route at The Historical Society of Talbot County in Easton, which will serve as headquarters for the tour, offering information, tickets and refreshments. Take some time to stroll through the historical society’s gardens, an oasis of dwarf boxwood, spring and fall blooming camellias, oak leaf hydrangeas and perennial beds, all designed and maintained by the Talbot County Garden Club.

Tickets for the Pilgrimage also include admission to the exhibit, “Excavating the Wye House Gardens,” at The Academy Art Museum in one of Easton’s historic landmark buildings. The exhibit contains rare artifacts from enslaved Africans who worked at Wye House, as well as contemporary topographic maps showing the variety of planned landscapes built in the course of the 18th century in the area of Wye House.

From the exhibit, visit any or all of the featured properties on the tour. At Joe Weems’s Gardens, for example, a series of garden rooms will delight all horticulturists, with offerings in each room that range from native plants, such as hostas, ferns and rhododendrons, to fragrant displays of old-fashioned flowers, such as irises and peonies, that Weems has created on the property his grandparents purchased in 1926.

At Chloras Point Farm, one of Talbot County’s premier rural locations since the 1700s, you’ll be able to see at least six bodies of water. Once part of the Hyer Dyer Lloyd grant of 1659, this splendid home has grown and changed considerably since it was first built, but its appeal, complemented by the beautiful landscaping of Gordon Hayward, has not diminished over time.

Moving on in the tour, The Wilderness’ 350-year history serves as a reflection of the early land expansion, gradual decline and rebirth of Talbot County. Many buildings on the property have been painstakingly restored, including its Colonial- and Federal-period house built by the Martin family of Hampden, also originally part of the Hyer Dyer Lloyd grant of 1659. In 1663, Thomas Martin acquired 200 acres and built what remains unchallenged as the first brick house in Talbot County. Only four families have occupied this special place, and The Wilderness’ present owner, an artist, has furnished her home with an eclectic mix of furniture and decorative items, all of which reflect her creative sensibility and provide a backdrop for the colorful paintings of her beloved family, farm and flowers.

At La Trappe Creek Farm, you’ll be enchanted first by the breathtaking entrance porch and columns leading into the picturesque Georgian-style home, and once inside, captivated by the many fine antiques, as well as the panoramic views of La Trappe Creek, home to some of the oldest properties in Talbot County. Stroll through the grounds by the water lily filled ponds, along the meandering patios and walkways, and amid the giant oaks lining the waterfront.

Next on the tour is New Trappe Landing Farm, where the current owners have painstakingly restored and improved this charming farmhouse to house their collections of antiques and furnishings. While the exact date of the house is a mystery, an old tax map dating to 1794 shows a building on the exact place.

And not far from New Trappe Landing Farm, at the headwaters of La Trappe Creek, is the next tour stop, a charming waterfront home that pays homage to the surrounding history of the area. In keeping with the Eastern Shore style, the owners have created a home that showcases the views and evokes a continuous relationship with the outdoors.

The tour comes to an end at Scott’s United Methodist Church, notable for its original windows and sanctuary dating back to the 17th century. (Make sure you reserve a boxed lunch ahead of time so you can sit and enjoy lunch in the peaceful surroundings.)

Advance tickets are $30 and are available in Easton at Garden Treasures, Bountiful and the Historical Society, and by mail to Talbot County Garden Club, PO Box 1524, Easton, MD 21601. The price will increase to $35 on May 12 at all Talbot Tour sites. Box lunches are $15.

For more details, call the Historical Society at 410-822-0773 or visit www.mhgp.org. Proceeds from the Pilgrimage are used for the restoration and historic preservation of a variety of projects throughout the state.