Tabbies In Tow: Ponies, Boats, and Islands: Authentic Eastern Virginia

Nothing to me is more intriguing than exploring subcultures, the niche societies that actively maintain their history and traditional ways of life or livelihoods across generations, if not centuries. Those communities resisting the tidal surge of modern influence that drowns or dilutes to the brink of non-existence the original flavor and substance of culture. The more we homogenize our food, radio, media, music, and architecture, making each experience blandly predictable via franchises and "strip-mauled" towns, the more I find myself wanting to go back to the well spring, not the theme restaurant, but the authentic place.

Perhaps this appreciation for the genuine comes from spending the majority of my life in movement, with shallow roots that have let me untether from terra firma and roll somewhere else, to be someone else, to experience something new. Fortunately, not everyone is so chameleon or we would have already lost the regional dialects, art, craft and music traditions, professions, trades, and food and cooking styles that give texture and interest to our collective "American" patchwork culture. Thankfully, there are folks who do stick around, continuing to grow where planted, maintaining their local food, traditions, and funny names for things. Frankly, I want to experience them all.

So motivated, my husband and I have been exploring close to our current Northern Virginia base and have found a lot of local flavor. Some of these spots are certainly not secrets, but are still worthy of highlighting for unique aspects of their environment, culture, or customs. I'd like to highlight two:

Chincoteague and Assateague Islands

Those who know me will only be surprised that it took me many decades to finally visit the feral ponies of Assateague Island, MD/VA and the island town of Chincoteague, VA. Assateague Island National Seashore is a long, narrow barrier island spanning two states, Maryland to the north and Virginia to the south. Composed primarily of marshes and long stretches of sandy beaches with just enough altitude and dirt to support forests, the island is home to the horses and ponies made famous in the classic children's book "Misty of Chincoteague" and the follow-on books "Stormy, Misty's Foal," "Sea Star: Orphan of Chincoteague," and "Misty's Twilight" which I savored one birthday gift at a time as a girl. While the feral ponies aren't indigenous to the island and their exact provenance is somewhat debated, history puts them in the area for 350 years, which in my book is long enough to be considered "local" - even by Virginia standards.

We drove just over three hours from northern Virginia through DC, traversing Maryland and Delaware before popping back into Maryland and crossing the bridge onto the northern side of the national park. (Phew, that's a lot of state lines!) My husband proudly showed his lifetime senior national park pass at the entrance booth and under partly sunny but threatening skies, we headed down the paved road that is the northern spine on the Maryland side. Within minutes we came across a small band of ponies grazing on either side of the road. The horses have free range on the island reserve, so graphic caution signs abound, warning visitors to keep 40 feet away to avoid being charged, bitten, or kicked and that "a fed horse is a dead horse" - so no treats, no matter how amazing the photo could turn out. Keeping them feral (they're strictly speaking not "wild" or indigenous) is key to keeping them alive. We met this small band grazing on the marsh grasses as up-close-and-personal as my zoom lens would allow:

Given our early pony spotting success, we naively assumed this would be our experience the next day as well. But evening was closing in and with plans to stay in Chincoteague that night, nearly an hour away, we crossed back to the mainland and drove south to our hotel. Chincoteague is also an island, sitting just off a long peninsula of eastern Virginia attached only to Maryland at the top. We crossed a long, low bridge over Chincoteague Bay to reach the island, a horizon of tourism infrastructure dotting the cliffs in the distance. The historic town makes no secret of its famous equine residents, nor its long stretches of beaches and nature watching accessible by (yet another) bridge over to Assateague. The town feels like it can't make up its mind between being a nature lover's paradise or a beach destination for folks who might really rather be a bit further north in Ocean City, MD having shots and going "Wooooo!" Beach themed and color-schemed condos and motels lined the two main streets alongside taco trucks, seafood restaurants, and artsy collectibles shops. We pulled into our motel and scrounged for an open restaurant on a shoulder-season Tuesday night. We found a little Italian place with a sassy waitress, then called it a night.

The next day we awoke to a drip, drip, drip from the ceiling onto the bed from the overnight rain penetrating the motel's log cabin construction. We moved the ice bucket into place and peeked through the curtains to find the town utterly socked in and a steady rain falling. With an entire day planned to visit this side of Assateague Island for pony and bird spotting, we were disappointed but undeterred by the wet. As the saying goes, "There is no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing." With raincoats and umbrellas, we headed for the park again. Besides the rain, we also faced a fierce headwind blowing unobstructed off the open Atlantic. The clever ponies had clearly taken refuge deep out of sight in the island forest and we were left with the visitor center, watching the seagulls navigate in the driving rain on the long spit of beach, and walking out to the red-and-white striped lighthouse in a break between the showers. All of which were amusing - but they weren't ponies. We resisted visiting the Museum of Chincoteague Island in town, mostly because I understood that both the original Misty and her foal Stormy had been preserved via taxidermy and were on display. I just... couldn't, and so didn't. Later when my husband took advantage of the wet weather for a nap, I found a very cozy library and spent a few hours skimming books I would neither be able to buy nor check out.

I ducked into a colorful store featuring art, jewelry, home decor etc. from dozens of local artists. While exploring the collections, the chatty owner filled me in on local horse lore. Featured prominently in many photographs was a gorgeous liver chestnut stallion with Fabio-like long flaxen (blonde) mane, tail, and forelock hanging down over his eyes and his wide, white blaze. Looking like a central casting Hollywood hottie, I learned that "Surfer's Riptide" was the darling of Assateague and a direct descendent of the original Misty. So striking was Riptide's coloring and physique, that this year Breyer, the biggest name in model horses, created a model of the 17 year old stallion. His sire "Surfer Dude", perfectly named given his shaggy flaxen mane and forelock flirtatiously covering one blue eye, was an island legend that lived wild until his death at age 22. Coloring the story, the shopkeeper told me there was a nemesis stallion that picked fights with Riptide and had to be moved to a different herd on the Maryland side of the island (divided by a fence at the state line) to keep the two alpha males from injuring or killing each other. I can't verify this bit of gossip, but it makes for a great Sharks and Jets plotline.

This July, however, marks the 100th anniversary of the island's famous pony penning event, where designated mounted "saltwater cowboys" push the Virginia-side herd off Assateague to swim across the channel to Chincoteague and be herded through the streets to the town's auction grounds. The Virginia-side herd is managed very differently from the Maryland-side herd, and is under the care and control of the Chincoteague Volunteer Fire Company. The Maryland ponies, in contrast, are managed by the National Park Service and don't participate in the pony penning, swim, or auction event. The annual late-July auction acts to keep the herd at a manageable size for both the fire company's care and for the land resources the ponies occupy (with a herd maximum of 150 individuals). It is also a critical fund raiser for the volunteer fire company. The annual crop of foals, ready to be weaned at four to six months old, are identified for auction as either "buy-backs" or truly for sale to new ownership. The buy-backs, usually fewer than a dozen each year, are pure fund raisers with the high bidder getting naming rights and then re-donating the foal back to live on the Assateague reserve and perpetuate the herd. The pony swim event itself attracts tens of thousands of spectators from around the United States and internationally, lining the streets to watch the horses and foals swim from Assateague to Chincoteague and then work their way through the streets to the auction site at the town's carnival grounds.

The rain finally stopped by late afternoon and just before dinner we scooted back across to Assateague Island with the hopes of one final pony spotting. And just as the forest opened to the broad, marshy horizon, we encountered a mixed band of about 20 mares, foals, and at least one stallion. The foals tucked their tiny tails to their rumps, chilly in their dripping coats, while grazing besides their dams. Visiting in rainy late May, while missing the excitement of the pony swim, we also avoided the throngs and enjoyed the ponies and birds in their serene surroundings instead.

Doing what horses do best: grazing, swishing flies, and hanging with the herd

In From the Rain - Chincoteague Island Library

Tangier Island - Into the Chesapeake!

The next morning, we drove just under an hour southwest across the far eastern spit of Virginia to the unfortunately-named, but lovely nonetheless, Chesapeake Bay town of Onancock. Our sassy, potty-mouthed waitress from the Italian restaurant in Chincoteague seemed the right one to discretely ask, "Ummm, how do we pronounce this town?" She laughed and told us the correct pronunciation was O-NAN-cock, which we practiced saying so we would put the emphasis on the correct syllable. We wanted to get it right, as we'd be catching the Onancock-Tangier Island ferry at 10:00 the next morning and spending all day out in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay in what we'd understood was a VERY conservative, traditional community. We found the ferry, the Joyce Marie II with captain aboard, tied up at the small marina and paid him cash for two round-trip tickets back in time to his hometown, Tangier Island, VA.

First, let me adjust the definition of the word "ferry" for you a bit. It's just a nice little fishing boat. And captain, he's just the guy who owns the boat. But he was as authentic as I'd imagined since first hearing about the island community, its disappearing "waterman" way of life, and their distinct dialect, preserved over hundreds of years by isolation and pride. The juxtaposition of such a well-preserved culture with the literal degradation of the island itself is cruelly ironic. Both are hanging on against rising water levels that sweep away chunks of the flat, marshy island each year, and the diminishing crab stocks that threaten the economic lifeblood of the residents. But binding the community is a rock-solid Methodist faith buoyed by a history of hundreds of years of surviving just barely above the water's edge, an hour's boat ride in either direction from more solid ground. The population continues to dwindle as young people move away from the waterman's crabbing/oystering life, many taking jobs on barges and tugboats in other states and leaving behind the elders to keep the community together.

Onancock-Tangier Island Ferry, at your service.

Tangier skyline a watery mirage

Watermen's crab shacks

Crab pots

After about 50 minutes of heading west to the middle of Chesapeake Bay, our captain pointed out what seemed like a watery mirage on the horizon; it was Tangier Island coming into view. Civilization where it seemed civilization had no business being.

At the hour mark, we pulled into the marina lined on either side by long docks topped by crab shacks reaching into the Bay. Unlike arriving on other islands we've visited, whether volcanic, granite, or limestone, Tangier doesn't rise abruptly from deep water. Its ridges gently protrude up from the sandy Bay floor to just break the surface; the ferry's depth finder indicated only 10 feet of water beneath us. Our fellow passengers were two Verizon technicians making their weekly visit, a physical therapist doing the same, and an older woman returning home from visiting the mainland; we were the only tourists. We thanked the captain for a pleasant, smooth ride and agreed to see him at 3:30 for the return trip to Onancock.

Immediately after stepping off the dock and onto the island, we were greeted by a young man in full Tangier accent touting tours of the island from his 6-seater golf cart. Just $7 a pop, and while we appreciated his offer, we preferred the independence to walk through the lanes at our own pace. Maybe later, we promised.

The driest thing on the island seemed to be the alcohol sales prohibition, and after yesterday's heavy rain, the front yards of the houses lining the main street ranged from soggy to submerged. Cars were scarce, and those present were brought over years ago (the early 2000's Ford Ranger pickup a clear favorite for its rust-resistance, we were told) and sported Tangier Island resident stickers instead of state license plates. Like our would-be guide, everyone else zipped up and down the few roads in 4x4 buggies, golf carts, or bicycles. Many houses had raised wooden platforms with ramps to park their rides above the tideline, making me wonder how first floors of the houses fared.

After getting our bearings, our first stop was the Tangier History Museum where a welcoming and knowledgeable woman greeted us from the counter in front of a small gift corner. All the crafts and treats were locally made, she proudly pointed out. Although tempted by one of the handmade lap blankets, I settled for a pot of blueberry-strawberry jam and some postcards. The museum was small, but well-organized and the space packed with exhibits. We spent just about an hour there, but easily could have spent more. Mostly a collection of local artifacts and clippings, the themed exhibits illustrated the island's history since about 1608: The waterman's livelihood whose crabbing and oystering has supported this insular community; their unique dialect; the evolving role of Tangier women over time; and how islanders have adapted time and again to losing land to storms, hurricanes, rising water levels, and soil erosion, among many other themes. The images of local photographer Cameron Evans were on display and chronicled island life and wildlife throughout the seasons.

More than the words and phrases, it's also the accent that makes this dialect so unique.

From the museum, we headed south down the main "ridge" of higher ground that supports a long, paved road lined on both sides by lovely houses. Some clearly Victorian era, others more modern, some abandoned, some for sale, others impeccably maintained, and others overgrown - all stages of life and death of a community were on display. And I mean "death" literally as small cemeteries, their burial plots above ground in cement vaults, dotted many front yards. Memorialized on the headstones were the islanders' names showing little variation; the most prominent among them Crockett, Dise, Thomas, Pruitt, Parks, Charnock, and Shores. Seeing these names repeated across all aspects of the island, I was reminded of the Assateague Island ponies, the lineage of each herd member carefully recorded. The records showed sire and dam names repeating throughout the pedigrees. I saw the parallel between the ponies and the Tangier Island families, each successfully adapting to their austere, non-native islands over hundreds of years; growing deep roots from sturdy root stock in both cases.

The community was founded with a devout Methodist faith.

With the school year just ending, signs decorating the main street congratulated in name and photo the single Tangier Combined School (grades K-12) high school graduate. The school has six teachers handling all grades and although small, according to local press, the students in grades 8-12 still celebrated the end of the school year with a prom.

Island industry, historically reliant on crabbing and oystering, has diversified to support tourism, too. Many of the well-maintained Victorian homes are now inns and a quick AirBnB search showed no fewer than eight properties offering lodging and promoting a quiet stay of enjoying fresh crab, kayaking through marshes, birdwatching, or just sipping lemonade on porch swings at sunset.

Turning west off Main Ridge Rd, the primary commercial road with the marina, gift shops, museum, church, school, and restaurants, we crossed a small bridge over the marsh and creek that divided the island lengthwise and found the aptly-named West Ridge Road. We followed signs along a sandy track towards the public beach, a narrow stretch of soft sand and dune grasses. We sat a while and recognized just how small we were on this precarious slip of land in the middle of the Bay. We could have continued along the shoreline to the east on a long sandbar that ends in a hook like a miniature Cape Cod. Here is where the island gradually blends, like a watercolor, into Chesapeake Bay, finally disappearing under the water's surface.

Creek and marshes that perforate the island between its ridges of firmer land.

The public beach on what feels like an ocean shore.

Hungry by mid-day, we turned back to the main road and found Lorraine's Seafood Restaurant, recommended to us by both our ferry captain and the woman in the museum. She insisted we couldn't visit Tangier without eating something crabby for lunch, and Lorraine's would be the place to find it. Although we'd been the only tourists on the once-daily Onancock ferry run, we found the restaurant hopping busy at lunch, every table full and the restaurant staff running. Observing the other patrons, I didn't get the impression they were all locals and wondered where these folks had come from. We learned about a larger ferry making (seasonal) daily runs from Crisfield, MD and an even larger day-cruise boat from Reedville, VA. The day trippers would keep the restaurants, golf cart tours, and gift shops busy with a smaller percentage of tourists staying overnight. As we'd promised, my husband ordered their popular softshell crab sandwich and I tried the crabcake sandwich. I grabbed the hot sauce from another table to kick up the flavor a bit, but everyone else seemed to be raving about the local specialties.

By 3:15 we headed back to the dock to meet our return ferry. Onboard again were the Verizon technicians, the physical therapist, plus three women returning home to Richmond. They'd stayed a few nights at the Bella Vista Cottage and were delivered in a golf cart to the ferry dock by their host, hugging the women goodbye as if they were old friends. Their first trip to the island too, the three recounted exploring all the town offered by day and savoring quiet sunsets on the large rear porch of the cottage, overlooking the Chesapeake Bay by evening. We pulled away from the dock and motored east towards Onancock, watching the island fade against the horizon.

That day on Tangier Island, we entered an Americana time capsule built on a bedrock of Methodist faith, determination, and hard work. Drying laundry flapped in breezy backyards, cats lazed in sunny spots, coexisting with hens and chicks pecking in the grass of front yards, and American flags waved from porches. From this angle, it was all too easy to deny the ubiquitous modern world noise that assaults our senses and to retreat to a place and time that emphasizes a quiet, simple life. But running undeniably in the background is the existential threat facing the island. Residents are desperate for federal funding and Army Corps of Engineers efforts to construct living barriers and seawalls to protect it from further degradation; however, estimates put the projects into the $250-350 million range. Conservative to its core, I wondered about the future of the community where conservative values don't currently align with environmental preservation.