Eastern Shore Summer

My best memories of Maryland are from my grandmother’s house on the Eastern Shore.

Not the tourist parts. Just a small place with screen doors, crab shells in a newspaper pile, and cousins running in and out like the house belonged to everyone. My grandfather kept a garden that never looked organized but somehow fed half the family.

Every July he would say the tomatoes were late, and every July they showed up anyway.

I put this here because family history is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is a porch fan, a paper plate, and somebody yelling for the kids to wash up.