Felicity Cove and Pocologan
This collection of memories was written by Betty Lawton. She
came with her family to Felicity Cove in the 1920s when she was a very young
girl. Among other things, she describes the
building of her family's home Pocologan; the oyster house and parties on its marshy island; the muddy
condition of the roads; and a hurricane during the 1930 that destroyed the
community pier.
Where
Felicity Cove is a small group of cottages near Shady Side
in Anne Arundel County. It is just south
of the point where West River and Rhode River empty into the Chesapeake Bay.
Who
My parents: Mr. and
Mrs. J. Edwin Lawton (Ed and Helen)
My brother: Edwin H.
Lawton (Ted)
Me (I have three names):
Betty Lawton (Until
1946)
Elisabeth L. Ridout
Mrs. Orlando Ridout
IV
1021 Whitehall Cove
Annapolis, MD 21401
Phone 410-757-1473
Why
I have been told that the Cove has changed a lot, with more
houses and a lot of the marches washed away.
I got to reminiscing about how it used to be….....
Felicity Cove
from 1921 – World War II
Elisabeth L. Ridout
(Betty Lawton)
My parents wanted a summer retreat
from the heat in Washington, D.C. So Mother set out – I don’t know how she
found out about Felicity Cove but she talked about working her way through honeysuckle
and briars to the waterfront to pick out a lot. They bought one lot right at
the mouth of Jack Creek, which divided the vast marshes from the mainland.
Mother said that it was like a perfect “watering hole” where wild animals
instinctively came to drink. She planned right then to call the cottage
“Pocologan” which she said was an Indian word for “watering hole”. She knew there
would be a lot of eating and drinking there.
After the building was underway,
they realized they really needed more space around the house, so they bought
the second lot, giving them a big lawn on the one side.
Mother knew just how she wanted the
cottage built. It was to be a large
living room with porches on two sides.
The other two sides would flank the living room with four bedrooms of
different sizes, a bathroom and a kitchen.
I had the corner bedroom closest to
the road. My bed was against the wall,
right by the window. The mattress was
only about an inch below the window sill, so I would ease my pillow onto the
sill, and I was practically sleeping outdoors.
There seemed always to be a Whip-poor-will in the woods and I loved to
hear his jaunty call. There were also owls calling, occasionally a
“chuck-will’s widow” and often the lonely sigh of the Mourning Dove.
Across the creek from the cottage
was the abandoned and dilapidated “Oyster House”. It was a one-room shack of grey, weathered
boards where the oyster boats used to bring their hauls in to be prepared for
sale. The building stuck out over the
water and was surrounded by oyster shells, from the shucking. There had been a platform, the width of the
building, where the oysters were unloaded.
The flooring had long ago worn out, but the posts and joists were still
there, for us to clamber over. The marsh
(there and in front of our cottage) was about a foot high above the water. You could walk on it, but there were often
deep holes and also the grass had sharp edges, so we didn’t like to invade the
marsh.
From the oyster house the marsh went
out many canoe –lengths to a point. Then it curved south along the Chesapeake
Bay. There was quite a long beach. The sand had to have been made from broken-up
oyster shells. It was white and fine and
a lot of small particles of shell were mixed with it. Most of it was back several feet from the
water. Waves broke against a shelf of
spongy march, then there was a ridge of marsh grass, and behind this was a wide
flat band of sand. The seagulls (actually
“terns”) nested there. A shallow “saucer” of sand would nestle several
creamy-white eggs that had a generous sprinkling of brown freckles. The eggs were extremely hard to see. They blended right in with the sand. And when the chicks hatched, they also
blended in. Each summer when the eggs
had been laid, we would go to the beach.
We could pretty well tell when the time was right, because there would
be so many gulls and they would be so noisy.
We would start at the near end and
each of us would count eggs, extremely careful not to step on any eggs. (I realize now – I do not remember any of us
destroying any eggs, we were so careful.) I think the total number would run
well over 75. Each of us would go the
length of the beach and back, perhaps twice, until we agreed on the number and
were sure we had counted all of them. Of
course, all this time the gulls were screaming their heads of, trying to drive
us away. We would only do it once each year.
My brother Ted was eight years
older than me. He and his crowd of older
kids would sometimes have a beach party over there. I think it was late in the summer, a last
hurrah before school started. (It was never when the sea gulls were using the
beach).
Everyone was invited and there was
much excitement among my crowd. The
party was after dark and there had to be a lot of planning about which boats
would be used and who and how many would go in each boat. One a canoe tipped over as it was rounding
the point and there was wild excitement.
It didn’t even slow things down and the ones who got dunked dried off by
the fire.
The people in charge of the party
had carried over armloads (boat-loads, I guess) of firewood and then went to
the beach beforehand to get a good fire burning and settling down. They had also cut long, slender sticks for
roasting the hot dogs and later, the marshmallows. Fortunately, I like my hot dogs to be a
little bit charred. The black, crisp
outer layer made a good balance for the gender juicy meat inside. It was easy to char them. There were always plenty of buns, mustard and
ketchup. And sodas to drink.
After everyone had had enough to
eat, the older kids started talking and joking and seeing who could tell the
best ghost story. Some of the stories were really scary and it felt good to
have so many friends right around you.
I had a very small rowboat. It named it the “Corky” because it was so light
that it just bobbed on the top of the water.
I would row up Jack Creek, to explore.
Just beyond the
Cove, where the cottages were built, there was an arm of the creek going off to
the right. Just at that point we discovered a very deep hold in the creek,
close to the marsh. If you pushed your oar
down, you could not touch bottom! I always felt that some subterranean creature
lurked there. If we didn’t poke at him,
he would leave us alone!
It was near that corner that I got a really
close-up look at a marsh wren’s nest.
They weave an egg-shaped nest of grasses, attached to some tall grass,
all closed in, with a little round entry hole.
I wish I could see them build it!
The creek straight ahead and the
arm going off on the right both led to two very large lakes, which were
joined. The water in the lakes was very,
very shallow, about a foot deep. The
bottom was very muddy. If you pushed
your oar into the mud, it was a little hard to work it out. That was enough for me! I figured that if I
went into the lakes to explore, my boat might ground on a mud-bar and I
wouldn’t be able to push the boat off, because of the deep mud – and I would not
even try to step overboard to pull the boat! No, I was not very venturesome.
However, there was one venture that
caused a bit of trouble. I had somehow
managed to erect a bamboo stick for a mast. (I can’t imagine how?) I attached a
blue and white striped cotton bedspread to the bamboo mast and tried it out in
front of the Cove. It worked pretty
well. I sailed the length of the Cove and past the point at Idlewild (sic).
Then I could see small sailboats fat up West River, apparently racing. What a
great opportunity! I could sail up a little farther and watch them. However, before I got that far I realizes
that I was not a good enough navigator to get the boat back to Felicity
Cove. I know something about tacking,
but I didn’t want to head for the other side of East River and perhaps not be able
to get back. The shore on the other side was miles and miles away from the
Cover! I brought the Corky ashore, probably a little father on from where Rom Ammon
lives. I pulled the boat up to safety, took down the sail and set off on foot
for Shady Side. Unfortunately, I was
barefooted and by the time I had gotten to Shady Side (on black-top road) and
then the mile and a half of gravel road from there to the Cove, my feet were
very sore. As I got near the pier, I saw
my Mother getting into someone’s motor boat – several people. They were going out to hunt for me! I
was terribly embarrassed, but very glad that I had returned in the nick of
time. They took me on board and went up
West River to retrieve my boat and tow it home.
Ted, being older, had a motor boat.
He had drawn up plans of exactly what he wanted. Dad said he would have the boar built, but
only if the plans were changed to be two feet wider. It would lose on speed but gain on
safety. Ted was heartbroken. However, he just had to have a boat, and so
it was built according to Dad’s specifications.
Ted name the boat “Pocolong”, to tie up with “Pocologan”. (And perhaps as an eternal reminder to his
Dad of what and injustice he had done? I don’t know.) Dad said to Ted, “This
boat won’t sink. If calamity should ever
overtake you, say with the boar until you are picked up.” And it was a good
boat, steady, reliable and very useful. Ted pulled a surfboard behind it and gave
us turns on it. You could either like on
it, at water level, holding on to a rope, or you could stand up, holding the
rope. For me, the boat went plenty fast
enough.
My Mother’s creativeness many times
came into play, over the years. When I
was about six, the Felicity Cove Association needed money to have gravel put on
the roads. Mother planned a circus to
raise the money. It took place in the
park behind Pocologan. I wish I could
remember all the acts the kids put on.
Everyone worked on developing funny ones, and easy things to do. All I did was wear a tutu on the high wire
–which was a saw horse. I stepped from
one end to the other, with my arms wavering to show how dangerous it was. One girl had some trained fleas. She called them by name and had them jump
through hoops, and so on. A woman on the
front row whispered to her husband, “I don’t see any fleas!”
Ted’s part in the circus was a
strong man act. He came out, flexed his
muscles, took a firm stance, contemplated the huge barbell that he as to lift.
He stretched the act out, getting the thing painfully off the ground about an
inch, until he finally heaved it above his head, to great applause. As Ted took his bow, the smallest boy on the
stage crew ran out, picked up the bar-bell and carried it off. More applause.
I believe Jinx Tolman did a dance,
with flowing robes. And there had to
have been an act on the swing. And so the road was improved.
The next time the road needed help,
we had to be in Washington, so Mother appointed somebody to write a skit to put
on. Of course they set the date and told
everyone there would be a play. Then no
one could think of any idea. So we got
back just a few days before the date. Mother must have had an idea in
the back of her mind, because she got right to work. The doors to the bedrooms provided entrances
and exits. There was background music of
some sort. It was called “Freddy’s
Midsummer Night’s Dream”. Mother was the
narrator. The actors/actresses
represented characters in children’s’ stories.
Fred Fryer wandered in, relaxed on a (supposed) grassy bank and went to
sleep. All the kids had to do was enter, do some little thing, and exit. I was a maiden, or princess or something – I
don’t remember who, because I was quite upset that I had to
wear my nightgown (ready-made costume).
The parents thought it was great and it raised the money to fix the
road.
Mother’s painting talent made one
summer very special. She gave me and
Fred Fryer art lessons – drawing and watercolor. Fred became and architect and
Mother always gave herself full credit forgetting him started in the right
direction.
Thinking about roads, I should have
begun by telling about how bad the roads were back in the 20’s. I have one vivid scrap of memory of going by
boat to the cottage. The roads were so
muddy and full of holes and ruts that we went in to Galesville, when we had
finally gotten that far, and hired a waterman to take us in his workboat. The
reason I remember it is that I had a kitten with me - a grey tabby cat named
Tibby. I had her in a small cloth bag,
with only her head sticking out. With
paws and legs confined, I could control her.
But I had to be very careful not to pull the drawstring. We had Tibby for many years. She produced a vast number of kittens altogether
until, finally, instead of giving kittens away, we gave the cat away.
Another memory of roads was a
return trip to Washington at the end of a weekend. Everyone had had so much
trouble getting to the Cove that they decided we should all return together, so
we could help each other. Sure enough, I remember standing beside a very muddy
road while all the men used shovels, boards, burlap bags, etc. to get the three
or four cars through a “bad spot”.
Even at a much later date, Mother
decided that there should be an official complaint about the condition of the
Shady Side road. She appealed to the County Commissioners, stressing the fact
that there was a school in Shady Side and it was difficult for the children to
get to school. As a final political
strategy she said that if they fixed the road she would invite them to a
chicken dinner. They fixed the
road. She cooked a chicken dinner for
them. On County Commissioner said he
didn’t think she would really do it.
When I was in high school in the
middle 1930’s there was a record-breaking hurricane. It didn’t have a name but is remembered. Its flooding record was finally beaten by
Isabel in 203. At the Cove a lot of us
teen-agers went out in our bathing suits to “check on the boats and help people.” The water came over the front lawn at
Pocologan. I hear that Isabel far
exceeded that and I am certainly sorry for the people who suffered from
it. In the storms in the ‘30’s, I
happened to be standing in the road looking at the big public pier when a huge
wave lifted the twenty-foot-square platform at the end and carrier it off to Idlewild
(sic). I was very much impressed by the
power of the wind and the water.
The more I write, the more memories
flood back, so it is time to wind this down.
I think of those long, lazy summers that were somehow full of so many
things. Besides swimming, canoeing and
rowing we were in the water - and on it – every day), there were games to
play. The park behind our cottage had
stakes for horseshoe contests and plenty of room for croquet hoops. Also a swing. The 200-foot pier was an
evening gathering place for talking, singing and joking.
We sometimes walked up to Shady
Side. Occasionally a crowd walked up
part way on a moon-lit night. That was a
little spooky, but I remember once there was a little mist, as well as
moonlight, and as I stood looking over a field and some woods, It seemed really
magical. I’ve never forgotten it. It is good to catch moments like this, and
you can keep them forever. I’m glad that
I have those memories.
