I sent three poems about places to a contest for poems about places. Two were Bad Poetry (TM); one was Free Verse. The poems didn't win so the Bad Poetry (TM) has been scheduled for publication on my Substack, while the Free Verse is here.
Assateague and Chincoteague islands are off the Maryland/Virginia coast. Assateague is the wildlife preserve where visitors camp in tents and observe wildlife; Chincoteague is the town where visitors stay in hotels or B&B's and shop. My ideal three-day weekend would include the Friday or Monday afternoon on Chincoteague, weekend alternating between woods and beach. The islands are best known for the "ponies" (horse people say they're small feral horses), who run wild on Assateague for most of the year, then are herded over to Chincoteague (they have to swim) where people buy enough of them to manage the population in July. The ponies are accustomed to humans, though not tame; in 1986 people weren't afraid enough of lawsuits to keep them from walking right up to tourists, but signs did warn that they might just accidentally nip or step on you. But that didn't happen. For wild horses they're incredibly calm, patient, and friendly. (Intelligent enough to live in an apartment with a human? That's known to have happened once. Misty of Chincoteague was a once-in-a-lifetime pet.)
(Photo from Google. The ponies can be any color including palomino, but brown and white spots ("skewbald") are more common than in most breeds.)
The sign said
campsites six dollars for a weekend in July
mosquitoes and sand fleas, free
and they weren't joking.
(Photo from Google. Sand fleas are small, young mole crabs. They jump when startled and can bite when handled; some bites are harmless and some raise an itchy rash, probably depending on what disgusting thing the animal has been eating. People rake them up and use them as fish bait.)
The eight-person tents
were pitched only when
a voice interrupted the slapping and scratching
to remind everyone that tents
gave some protection from the mosquitoes at
night.
We thought of mosquitoes as small, black,
smooth;
saltmarsh mosquitoes, a different genus,
are yellow and hairy, and eat tourists
even and perhaps especially
the ones inland mosquitoes leave alone.
(Aedes sollicitans in the attitude in which she is most often seen. (Males bite plants.) People who don't know the story about the deformed, outcast human boy have nicknamed these things "Jersey Devils." If you ever feel like killing something, this is a good species to pick--nothing seems to make a dent in the population and people wish something would. Just don't try poison sprays, which are what have raised the mosquito population to the appalling heights it reaches on these islands. Photo from Keithpetrosky for INaturalist.)
Peace was found only waist-deep in
the shallow inlets and tidepools
where we wound up, dancing the sun down
to our own unaccompanied voices.
(Photo from Google, which seems to have been warned not to show pictures of people enjoying the island beaches in the only way they can be enjoyed in July. It was this octette or the Beatles. Searches for things like "people waist deep in water" or "humans wading in water" yielded pictures of people walking on wet sand, standing in indoor pools, or--oddly, given that boats drift out further and are more dangerous than simply wading at the beach--paddling in boats and on rafts, always below warnings about sharks here and jellyfish there. Surprise--if you take a boat or raft into the water off Assateague in July, you will have mosquitoes on board. Determined campers will get their clothes wet. We do not live in a safe world.)
We stayed in the tents as long as possible
growling and snarling when anyone went out
and let mosquitoes in.
The smoke from the grill
discouraged humans; mosquitoes,
not noticeably.
(Assateague also has the only North American population of Japanese Sika deer. They are less human-friendly than the horses. They know they can be, and in season will be, hunted. Photo from Google.)
Everyone saw several little island deer,
clams, mussels, and horseshoe crabs
while wading waist-deep around the island's
edge.
There were said to be birds and butterflies.
No one saw any of those.
(Horseshoe crab from Ocean City. Horseshoe crabs are not true crabs and, despite having a shape that reminds people of sting rays, they're harmless; at worst the shells might be sharp and rough. Desperate people have eaten certain parts of them and survived but they're not generally considered edible.)
The second night, the moon rose full and clear.
We swam in the sea under the moon.
The mosquitoes waited till the moon went down
and we straggled back to the eight-person
tents.
The second day, we went into town.
No one had brought money or wanted to shop
but mosquitoes didn't go inside the stores.
We thought that's how the island economy works.
Back then the island's peculiar ponies,
feral horses actually, walked the streets
and helped themselves to tourists' food, if
they saw any.
Shaggy, gentle, mostly spotted beasts,
some three-colored.
Would I go back? I have; many times
but never again in July.
The island landscapes are less colorful
but easier to enjoy in winter.
(Assateague attracts thousands of birds. Some people have wanted to maintain it as a bird sanctuary and get rid of the horses and deer! Visitors can expect to see big showy waterfowl like herons, egrets, and sometimes pelicans, and lots of different kinds of gulls, terns, and sandpipers, and some songbirds. I've always liked these buffleheads--little wild ducks that bob in and out of the water. Some call them popcorn ducks because a family will pop in and out of view, raising that "buffalo mane" of white feathers, like popping corn. Buffleheads are most often seen in Maryland, and on Assateague, in winter, sometimes staying only for the midwinter thaw. Photo from Google.)
October, even November, are the optimal time for camping on Assateague. Very "easy" camping--you can drive right up to the camp site, sleep in the car if something's wrong with the tent, get drinking water and probably showers by now, drive into town for meals if you don't feel like "camp cooking," shop and watch movies if it rains. The heat is milder; the urge to wade out neck-deep into the ocean, or actually swim, is more resistible. Many trails were already wheelchair-friendly, though not yet advertised as such, in 1986 because small islands tend to be flat and smooth. Chincoteague's little tourist shops have that post-tourist-season quiet atmosphere that makes shopping more tempting for introverts, too. The February and March thaws are also lovely, but often rainier.
There are now actually places to trade regular wheelchairs for beach wheelchairs, temporarily--free of charge. There are dog-friendly beaches, too. The whole island is child-friendly, after the mosquitoes subside. Photo from Google.
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