We celebrated Dan’s birthday at the beach, but for my birthday I wanted to do something special to me. Twenty-five being a symbolic age, I wanted to do something “grown up.” My idea was to rekindle my romance with the Eastern Shore and visit Washington College now that I’ve gained some distance from it. There was also supposed to be a music festival on campus (which never came to fruition). Little did I know when planning this trip, however, that Chestertown no longer felt like home to me. I’d felt it a bit on previous visits, like when I saw the new dorms for the first time. However, this visit was to a different campus. I recognized so few faces, and I’ve known for some time that the general make up of the student body has changed since I was there. Needless to say, after our 90 minute drive to town, I was nonplussed. After visiting a few friends and grabbing lunch at one of the restaurants I miss most, Procolino’s, Dan and I departed for Rock Hall, a town 20 minutes to the west and right on the bay. While debating where to stay when we originally planned this trip, we’d considered the hotels in Chestertown, but I ended up deciding on a whim that I wanted to stay at a bed and breakfast–one in particular. The Inn at Huntingfield Creek had a website that lured me in and promised relaxation and comfort, and I thought it would be close enough to Chestertown that we could go back and forth between the two with ease.
When we finally arrived at the bed and breakfast, I tried to shake the foul mood that Chestertown’s changes had caused. The long driveway led up to a beautiful house, and as we pulled into a parking space, the awkward kicked in. did we go in the front door? How do we announce ourselves? Questions even Google can’t answer always rush into my head at inopportune times; they make interacting in the real world difficult because while I’m really just petrified with fear over doing or saying the wrong thing, it often comes across as rudeness. Luckily, in this case, there were three dogs to announce our arrival and one of the innkeepers–Jim–was quick to intercept us and give us a tour. He greeted Dan as the “person who asked the most pre-stay questions ever.” In Dan’s defense, most of the questions were mine. I’d started having nerves about the trip as soon as I’d given my credit card information, and Dan swooped in to help ease my overactive imagination’s fears.
The property of the Inn at Huntingfield Creek was absolutely gorgeous even though our stay fell on the cusp of fall. The path to the dock was bordered by soybeans and sunflowers. The field of sunflowers–probably majestic in the summer–were going to seed. The leaves of the trees were threatening to change colors, and some crunched under our feet. Inside, our room looked just as it did online. We had a large bed an an antique bathtub. The blue was rich and gave the room a relaxing vibe. Since it was too early for dinner, we thought we’d take our books down to the bay to enjoy the sunset. We set out, Dan with his Nikon and me with Sedars and King in my purse. The walk took us through those fields and a wooded area before opening up to bay grasses. However, the Chesapeake was so happy to see us that it tried to come up to greet us; the water had cut off access to the dock, and mocked us by seeping up further as we stood there. We returned an hour later after settling for secluded chairs by the pond and the scene was worse. Fish swam in the path, and our shoes squished in the grass. The sunset was breathtaking, and it symbolized that we needed to grab food. At the advice of our innkeepers, we went to a local restaurant called Harbor Shack for dinner. My entrée was basic, but our appetizer was scrumptious. I wanted to give myself a facial with that crab dip! After dinner, we drove to the ice cream shop down town, debating its hours and where to park. A young girl scooped our Butterfinger cones and gave me a cup of water after overhearing me talking about needing to take a pill. she complimented the purse Kate bought me in New Zealand, prompting me to make awkward conversation.
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