Susan Peacock: Men, boats and exploding eggs

On a whim and a deal worked out on the back of a paper napkin, my husband and I left the confines of Salisbury and moved to Whitehaven in 1984.

There, in our venerable home beside the Wicomico, we set up housekeeping for 15 years.  People would always ask us, “What do you all do down there in that little town?”

And, we always would answer, “You wouldn’t believe it!”

Whether it was boating across the Chesapeake Bay each summer; hosting Labor Day picnics, as well as two weddings, in our front yard; winging water balloons over the river; following the progress of raising the lightship “Frying Pan” which lay half-sunk in the river; buying fresh vegetables and oysters on the Whitehaven Ferry or surviving the village controversy over the rehabilitation of the Whitehaven Hotel, there seemed scarcely a dull moment.

That, plus a creative and eclectic cadre of neighbors, made for an altogether delightful period in our lives.

One of my favorite Whitehaven stories involves boats and exploding eggs

Are you ready?

We were to have company for dinner one evening, and I called my husband, who was off that day, and asked him to hard boil some eggs. Simple.

When I arrived home from work several hours later, my neighbor met me at the door.  She had been alerted by the strong smell of burning eggs.

Running into the house, I removed the glowing, super-heated pan from the stovetop while assessing the wainscoted kitchen ceiling which was now plastered with exploded eggs.

My husband arrived home shortly thereafter, sheepishly apologetic as he saw me vacuuming eggs from the ceiling.

Seems like right after he put the eggs on to boil, he got a call from his friend about going to look at a boat in Deal Island.

As every man knows, boats trump eggs any day.

After this potentially disastrous incident, I always provided adult supervision in the kitchen.

Susan Peacock lives in Salisbury.


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