Back Home, After Bird-Watching & Shell Collecting

On Tuesday, we drove over Cape May Two Mile Bridge (which splits and rises, so boats can pass through) and arrived at a wildlife refuge by the sea. We found many heavy horseshoe crab shells, like iron armor in the sand, and some pretty shells, both perfect and perfectly broken, that Dan put in the pocket of his fuzzy brown fleece jacket. Figgy lent us her bird guide (a gift from Sis)--we saw an American oystercatcher and sandpipers. 

Oystercatcher with babies photo from here. We loved walking the desolate (off-season) trails, especially the Dune Trail and the Marsh Trail at 

Cape May National Wildlife Refuge - Two Mile Beach Unit

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The car ride was so much lighter on the legs and the spirit than those long treks to/from Maine, Vermont, Cape Cod, for all of their staggering beauty.

Cape May is just about 2.5 hours away. Nice and easy. But still at the edge of the earth.

We had a peaceful, restful time. Dan did have to work for a full day out of our four-day/three-night trip, writing an article for Neurology Today, a publication for neurologists. He does interviews and reports on complicated science/health news...it’s been our bread and butter for a while, certainly during the pandemic, when his 60-Second Novelist event/party gigs vanished, along with the now limping high-end entertaining circuit. He has accepted more Neurology assignments and it’s been good. So yesterday, when it poured rain all day, he worked in our hotel room and I did a little shopping (small gifts) and a little fashion wishing in the Congress Hall style boutique. I drove to the lighthouse in the night rain at 7 p.m. (it was evocative--I stayed in the car) before picking up our dinner from The Mad Batter.

When Dan and I were dating, we drove down to Cape May for a few days in the late 1980s and happened upon that restaurant. We were bowled over by an appetizer of baked Brie with raspberries--we had never tasted anything so divine, that rich, melty cheese baked in pastry with a layer of berries/berry jam under the crust. It’s not on the menu anymore; too bad, but better for our waistlines. The memory lives on.

Last night we got takeout....they have a signature Bloody Mary, and Dan loves those, so I got one to go with Tito’s Vodka. He had the crab cakes, which came with macaroni and cheese and plump green beans. I got the seafood risotto, and it was soooooo delicious, the rice a tender, buttery bed for a handful of freshly wilted spinach leaves, peas, huge fresh scallops plus lobster meat, crabmeat, shrimp. I enjoyed every morsel. Such a treat.

Here are some photos:

Fireplace from 1816 in Congress Hall, an elegant old hotel. We sat by it on Monday evening, where we met a new friend named Anne (sp), and Tuesday evening. Yesterday, I settled into a wicker chair with floral cushions, right by the fire, and felt the warmth as the rain fell outside. It is a beautiful place to sit. 

I love the name and the logo--Magic Brain Cafe. I bought a bag of coffee beans at the Perry Street coffeehouse.

Mini moss kingdom on the Cedar Swamp Trail today. Our scientist/artist/plant lover/biologist Figgy is moss-obsessed and now I’m catching on. We took a hike after checking out of our small hotel, grabbing a sandwich and stopping at the Stephen Smith House, an important summer home built (in 1846) and owned by a wealthy Black man from Philadelphia. (I didn’t take a photo, just breathed in the history.) Follow the link to read about it. The house was part of the Underground Railroad and was destined for the wrecking ball until the owner sent a telegram to President LBJ.

The swamp. It was mystical and beautiful but we couldn’t find a way around some swampy paths. Our socks and shoes were soaked. Thank goodness we had other shoes in the car. We got lost on the trail and were out there from about 2 to 3:40 p.m. But we both loved the adventure.

Dan clowning around on Cedar Swamp Trail--before we were up to our ankles in water.

Found this portrait of Stephen Smith from here.

Picture of Stephen Smith House from here. The house is on the road at the end of the town, far away from the Grand Dames--the finely painted ladies, the oceanfront mansions, the inns and restaurants with intricate white Victorian gingerbread architectural trim and fancy shutters. Smith did a lot for Black people. If we traveled back in time, we could see what it was like for a Black family like his to build and own a summer house in what is still very White-bread Cape May. (I love it there, but that seems like the truth, at least off-season in March.)

Good night. May the sound of ocean waves lull as all to sleep.