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November 1, 2025

Centreville Spy

Nonpartisan and Education-based News for Centreville

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Food Friday: Dipping into Summer

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Happy Summer! It looks like it is going to be a long and hot one judging by the past couple of weeks. The cicadas have been warning us, with their constant whine, while drowning out the leaf blowers. The days have been real stinkers, with dangerously high temperatures. Luke the wonder dog is happy to trot off on his morning walk when it is still in the sixties, but he is less ebullient about his late afternoon walkabout once the temperature climbs above 85°. Post-afternoon-walk, you can find Luke stretched out on the wood floor, cooling off by cozying up to an air conditioning vent. A brilliant dog.

The following is a cautionary tale. You know how brilliant some ideas feel, when you first have the “Eureka!” moment, and latch onto an pantry-friendly idea for dinner? I had one of those epiphanies yesterday – Chef’s Salad for dinner. Easy peasy, right? Everything should be there in the fridge. The reality was that it took two trips to the grocery store — once to buy chicken. The second visit to buy bacon, lettuce, green onions, Swiss cheese, Sugar Pop tomatoes, and another pepper. Both trips meant climbing into the compact VW furnace that had been sitting in the driveway, absorbing the heat from the afternoon sun. If you have ever owned a Volkswagen, you will be familiar with the efficiency of the VW heating and cooling system, which never achieves peak operation until you have arrived at your destination. But that was fine; I had an NPR driveway moment, while sweating my brains out.

Back at home, with all my ingredients spread out on the counter, I started preparing our easy, peasy, No-Recipe-Needed dinner: a summery Chef’s Salad, with barely any cooking. First I baked the bacon on a parchment paper—lined cookie sheet at 425°F for 12 minutes. I should have stopped at 11 minutes. Sigh.

Then I halved a wriggly boneless chicken breast, so I would have 2 pieces of chicken to pound thin and flat. I got out some aggressions whacking the pink chicken between two plastic bags, using my fancy French rolling pin. Luke, ever watchful, retreated to a safe observation post under the kitchen table. Then I dredged the tissue-thin chicken in flour, egg and plain Panko bread crumbs, and fried it in olive oil with a pat of butter, for about 3 minutes a side, draining the cooked chicken on paper towels. (This to-ing and fro-ing resulted in about 500 more steps on my pedometer.)

Then I cubed up some day-old Focaccia and fried it in a heart-stopping combo of bacon fat and olive oil. After draining the croutons on more paper towels, I sprinkled them lightly with Lawry’s seasoning salt, garlic powder, onion powder and a cloud of herbs de Provence. Yumsters.

Luckily, Mr. Sanders had been beetling away on the other end of the kitchen island, julienning Swiss cheese, green onions, and uniform strips of red peppers. He was quartering small, sweet tomatoes, and spinning the torn Romaine dry. He plated that Chef’s Salad with artistic care and precision. Then he threw in a magical handful of healthy, anti-oxidant-rich blueberries. Genius.

What should have been the easiest of meals took us more than an hour, during which I walked close to 1000 steps. We then wandered out for a glass of wine during the golden sunset moment on the back porch. We watched for early fireflies, and the bunny who leapt through the fence the moment Luke poked his head outside. The birds were coming home, and the family of new wrens in the hydrangeas was eager to chatter away. There were some bats and swallows swooping by, and high above us a pair of turkey vultures swirled balletically in the currents of summery air. Blessedly, the temperature had dropped by 10 degrees. There was a cool breeze. We wandered back in for dinner, and it was good.

Trust me – don’t spend all your time in the kitchen. There is supposed to be a memorable Strawberry Moon this weekend. Take a dip. Read a book. Loll picturesquely in a hammock. Trail your fingers in some water. Turn on the sprinklers, and listen to the hissing summer lawns. Crank up the A/C in your VW and stock up on chips and popsicles.

Instead of eating chips straight out of a bag, be classy and add some celery stalks and Ritz crackers, and make a bowl of Crab Dip.

There is a reason why this is a popular dip – it tastes so good! Classic Lipton’s Onion Soup Dip: I always add a good couple of shakes of garlic powder and some red pepper flakes. Deelish.

Our friends at Food52 always know how to dress us up: Summer Dips

“Summer’s here, I’m for that
I got my rubber sandals, got my straw hat
Drinking cold beer, man, I’m glad that I’m here
It’s my favorite time of the year and I’m glad that it’s here”
—James Taylor

The Spy Newspapers may periodically employ the assistance of artificial intelligence (AI) to enhance the clarity and accuracy of our content.

Mid-Shore History: The Tale of Handsell

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The historic House at Handsell, near Vienna, sits on land inhabited by the Nanticoke tribe of Native Americans for at least 2,500 years. In the mid-1600s, the Englishman Thomas Taylor claimed ownership of the territory, and the natives ended up collected on reservations. Eventually, they were forced by the British government to move north, away from their ancestral home. At that point, the land became the property of Henry Steele, who built the first real house at Handsell.

Steele was a revolutionary patriot, and British privateers burned his house, leaving only part of the structure. In the 1830s, the land, with the remains of the house, came into the hands of John Shehee. It was he who rebuilt the structure into its smaller, present form. All during this time, Black slaves and freemen worked the land.

The Webb family won Handsell in a card game in 1892, and they continue to farm most of the land to this day. By the 1930s, no one lived in the boarded-up house, but the descendants of freemen and enslaved people continued to live on and near the property into the fifties.

In 2004, David and Carol Lewis bought the house at Handsell, along with two acres around it, with the intention of preserving it. Toward that end, they sold it to the Nanticoke Historic Preservation Alliance in 2009, and that group began the great task of fixing up the place. The NHPA emphasizes the three cultures who called Handsell home—the Native Americans, English, and Black people—and they plan to expand the tourism and educational opportunities on the property with a Three Cultures Center.

The Spy Newspapers may periodically employ the assistance of artificial intelligence (AI) to enhance the clarity and accuracy of our content.

Father’s Day by Laura J. Oliver

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Once, my father said, a little girl was watching her father mow the lawn. It was an early evening in June, and the air was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle and the fresh cucumber smell of damp grass clippings. Fireflies drifted at knee level, blinking on and off beneath the magnolia branches. The little girl wore navy shorts, a striped tee shirt, and had a brown ponytail. “Just like yours!” my father said, giving mine a tug.

The man was just starting the last pass across the yard when he looked back and saw the little girl had dropped face down in the grass. He shouted her name and ran to her side. She lay still as death. As he carefully turned her over, ten bloody stitch marks bloomed across her chest.

The lawnmower had hit a croquet wicket someone had left in the yard. Shrapnel had shot like bullets from its blades, dropping the girl where she stood. 

My father often told me stories to keep me safe. Never play near a lawnmower in use, he said. His voice was deep and rich, like a radio announcer.

Stories to keep me safe studded my childhood with the dramatic indelibility of fairytales. (And they didn’t call them the Brothers Grimm for nothing.) Like once, my sister told me, a girl caught snooping in her older sister’s room without permission just exploded into flames. “Spontaneous combustion,” my sister said, eyeing me over her cereal bowl. “It happens.”

And one afternoon, when I got bored digging a hole to China in the wet sand on the beach and buried my leg in it from the knee down, a neighbor boy told me that was a torture method the pirates used. They’d bury you in the sand at low tide with just your head sticking out so you would drown when the tide came in. 

I imagined timing my breaths so I’d live. 

Vowed I’d never invade someone’s privacy. 

Or walk in front of a lawnmower in use.

It was my mother who told me my father was leaving. We were sitting on the pier, our legs dangling over the hot, splintery planks, our bare toes swinging above the green water, when she said, “I have something to tell you.”  We were facing west, towards Pumphreys Point, where the summer day had already surrendered to dusk. “Your father is moving to Baltimore.” He worked in Baltimore. And she said, moving. This didn’t seem like too big of a deal. 

But the next day, in the murmur of conversations about the house, I overheard the word “divorce,” and that new information morphed to become the unsolvable conundrum of my existence to date. “If someone loves you, how can they leave you?” This is an equation my heart still can’t reconcile even though I understand intellectually that love sometimes means you must go. 

A brilliant writer and war correspondent, you might remember Sebastian Junger as the author of “The Perfect Storm.” In his new book, titled, “In My Time of Dying: How I Came Face to Face with the Idea of an Afterlife,” he describes confronting his own death in the middle of a medical emergency. At that moment, his father, a physicist with no belief in an afterlife and dead many years, appeared to him as a benign, loving presence, conveying the message, “You do not need to keep fighting; it’s okay to let go.” But Junger had a wife he loved and two little girls he adored and found the invitation more appalling than appealing. He chose to fight, to return, to live.  

Once he has recovered, Junger tells his little girl that he loves her, but she is so very young he is uncertain that she understands what love means, so he asks her. Without hesitation, she answers, “Love means ‘stay here.’”

Twenty-seven years after my father left, I learned he had died. That, too, was hard to emotionally compute. That, too, didn’t seem possible. My grief was primarily for lost opportunity. With death, the door of possibility had closed. There would never be more between us. Or so I thought.

I reviewed our last phone conversation and felt good; I felt lucky because my last words had been I love you. Not so much an expression of tenderness as an acknowledgment of commitment. I knew I would stand by him as he aged and give him whatever help I could to the end of his days. If that wasn’t love, it was close enough. Love isn’t always a feeling. As he had requested, we scattered his ashes at sunset, where the bay meets the ocean. 

A decade or more later, having thought very little about him, I went to see an Intuitive, out of curiosity more than anything. I’m always open to what we don’t know about life, death, consciousness, and spirit. I hope to discover there is more to life than it appears, but I have no need to discover anything. 

The woman’s name was Allyson—heavy set, blunt cut brown hair, a sweet smile. She welcomed me into her home, and we sat on opposite sides of her desk. She knew nothing about me, not even my name, so to give herself time to get her bearings, she began talking in somewhat general terms about the current state of the world in astrological terms. I nodded, a little impatient. This was nothing I cared about. 

Then she abruptly stopped, looked up and to my left, and said, “Your father has passed, hasn’t he?” I nodded. “Well, he’s right here, and he’s making my heart hurt. I don’t know what he did, but he says you didn’t have his attention in some way. He says he’s still no saint but that he has learned, on the other side, what this has cost you. He is so sorry. He wants to make this up to you now.”

We talked for an hour as Allyson told me things about my life no one could possibly know. At one point, she said, “Your father is showing me a train station. He says you are about to begin a new age of discovery. Like you’re a train leaving the station.”

My car was hot from being locked in the sunny parking lot of Allyson’s townhouse. I lowered myself onto the leather seat and checked my phone to see that it had successfully recorded our conversation. Do you think you choose your parents? On the drive down Route 50 I thought I could make a case that you do, in order to become who you are. It’s a way of saying the things that have happened to you have happened for you.

Maybe my father leaving happened for me. Maybe every loss you have ever endured happened for you. What do you think? Help me figure this out. 

Because here’s what else happened. I make no claims about this experience. No proselytizing that this is reality with a capital “R” or truth with a capital “T.” Make of it what you will. 

My grandson had a Melissa and Doug Sound Puzzle he had left at my house. It is a wooden puzzle the size of a small placemat. The painted picture of a train leaving the station had been cut up into 8 shapes that make the sound of a train whistle when the child correctly places each piece back into the picture. There is a battery housed in the back. The sound is triggered by movement when the pieces are removed or replaced, or more accurately, the sound is triggered by the change in exposure to light. I had put the puzzle in the toy box, all the pieces snuggly in place, enclosed in the dark. 

But when I got home that day, as I entered the front door, the sound of a train whistle filled the room. I opened the toy box and took out the completed puzzle, all pieces in place, puzzled myself, at how that could have happened with no movement in the dark. 

Ten years later, whether the puzzle is in a drawer without the pieces, lying on a bookcase with the shapes all in place, upside down in a dark closet, or buried in a suitcase on vacation in England, the sound of the train whistle goes off when I think of my father, I am in need of reassurance, or asking for help. It makes me smile. If it’s not Dad, we’re going to have a good laugh about this someday. 

I always say hi, and I always add thanks. Because if someone loves you, they don’t leave you, even if their ashes are scattered at dusk on an outgoing tide, and the prevailing theory is they have died. 

My father didn’t need to tell me stories to keep me safe because there is nothing to fear.  

Love is the only story and love has no end.

Happy Father’s Day.

Laura J. Oliver is an award-winning developmental book editor and writing coach, who has taught writing at the University of Maryland and St. John’s College. She is the author of The Story Within (Penguin Random House). Co-creator of The Writing Intensive at St. John’s College, she is the recipient of a Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Award in Fiction, an Anne Arundel County Arts Council Literary Arts Award winner, a two-time Glimmer Train Short Fiction finalist, and her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her website can be found here.

The Spy Newspapers may periodically employ the assistance of artificial intelligence (AI) to enhance the clarity and accuracy of our content.

Food Friday: Jubilation!

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Juneteenth will be celebrated all around the country this weekend. Juneteenth, which is also known as Freedom Day or Emancipation Day, is the important holiday that commemorates the emancipation of enslaved African Americans in the United States. Traditionally, red is one of the main colors of the holiday. Red symbolizes strength, perseverance, and spirituality. It symbolizes the struggle of those who came before us. We are getting ready with bright red, celebratory strawberries and lots of whipped cream – because what is more festive than strawberry pie?

Juneteenth celebrates the official end of slavery. This June 19th marks 159 years since Union troops arrived in Galveston to ensure that all of the 250,000 enslaved people were freed. News of the Emancipation Proclamation had been suppressed by slave owners in Texas. While the enslaved were technically freed on January 1, 1863, it took two years for the news to finally reach Texas. Jubilation ensued.

That inaugural Juneteenth celebration was in Texas, where they believe in doing things bigger and better. Texas barbecue and all its fixings are fitting for Juneteenth. In 2021 President Biden signed the Juneteenth National Independence Day Act into law, establishing Juneteenth as our newest federal holiday. The White House celebrated Juneteenth with a concert on the South Lawn the other night. The President said,“Folks, Black history is American history.” He called Juneteenth, “a day of profound weight and power, a day to remember the original sin of slavery and the extraordinary capacity to merge the most powerful moments and painful moments with a better vision for ourselves.”

Some traditional Juneteenth foods are: cornbread, fried catfish, shrimp and grits, ribs, pulled pork, fried chicken, collard greens, Cajun gumbo, jambalayla, and potato salad. Make the kinds of foods you would have at a cookout, but be sure to have lots of traditional, celebratory red foods: watermelon, tomato salad, red beans and rice, red velvet cake and strawberry pie.“Watermelon and red soda water are the oldest traditional foods on Juneteenth,” said Dr. Ronald Myers, head of the National Juneteenth Observance Foundation.

This Juneteenth I will be doing some home cooking to honor the legacy of the Black Texans on the anniversary of Emancipation Day. I will remember the enslaved cooks who brought African cooking to America, by cooking some of their traditional recipes which still enliven our cooking. I will even crack open a bottle or two of strawberry soda.

Skillet Strawberry Cobbler

Fussy French Strawberry Pie

Juneteenth Strawberry Pie

Strawberry Lemonade Sparkler

No Bake Strawberry Pie

Matthew Raiford’s Juneteenth Recipes

If you are in Chestertown during the next couple of days, The Bayside H.O.Y.A.S. will be celebrating Juneteenth in style.“Heroes of the Chesapeake” theme on Friday, June 14, from 5–7 PM, and on Saturday, June 15, from 12– 6 PM., in Fountain Park.
For more info, visit their website: Bayside H.O.Y.A.S.

“Juneteenth has never been a celebration of victory or an acceptance of the way things are. It’s a celebration of progress. It’s an affirmation that despite the most painful parts of our history, change is possible—and there is still so much work to do.”

— Barack Obama

“We are not makers of history. We are made by history.”
-Martin Luther King, Jr.

The Spy Newspapers may periodically employ the assistance of artificial intelligence (AI) to enhance the clarity and accuracy of our content.

Mid-Shore Food: Uno Más Comes to Centreville

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Centreville’s newest addition to the local culinary scene, a Mexican restaurant called Uno Más, has opened to an enthusiastic reception and strong reviews, and co-owners Billy and Brittany Gordon, along with partners Nelson Araujo and Araceli Reyes Ventura, are excited to establish their latest venture as one of the area’s favorite options for dining out.

All four of the partners have years of experience in the hospitality industry and have worked in various styles of cuisine and food service. In March 2020, at the beginning of the Covid pandemic, the Gordons had just taken over the operations at Mama Mia’s Italian Bistro on Centreville’s Water Street. Despite the challenges of the timing, Mama Mia’s has survived and expanded and continues to serve happy customers in both the dining room and sports bar where they serve Italian dishes and American pub fare.

Battered rockfish. Cilantro lime cream sauce. Mango pineapple salsa.

When the businesses across the street from Mama Mia’s closed last year, the partners saw opportunity but were practical and strategic in their decision making. Billy Gordon says they “looked at Centreville and really thought about what might best serve the town, what was needed. We wanted to provide people with something different than what was already here, to provide an alternative.”

They landed on “authentic Mexican cuisine served in a contemporary style,” but before a single enchilada could be plated or chimichanga chewed there was work to be done. “We basically took over two existing restaurants,” Billy says, “and blended them into one. We knocked down a wall, made a hallway, reconfigured the layout; made better use of the space and created some outdoor seating and lounging area on our patio.” Graphic designers helped with the Uno Más décor.

Nelson Araujo, Billy Gordan, Araceli Reyes Ventura,Brittany Gordon

The four principals created the menu together and in doing so have tried to stay true to their self-imposed mandate to provide diners with food that is fresh, flavorful, and true to tradition. The kitchen staff aims to cook with the freshest and most authentic ingredients possible and as an example, the jalapenos they use are sourced from Mexico. Most of the recipes that the chefs, Araujo and Reyes, utilize have been in their families for generations.

Appetizers include handmade birria eggrolls, crispy corn on the cob curls, and Mexican Rockets – jalapeños halves stuffed with cheese and wrapped in jalapeño bacon.  Popular entrees include classic fajitas, burritos, and street-style tacos, all of which are offered in variations of proteins and accompaniments, but there are also such unconventional offerings as huevos rancheros ribeye and a grilled salmon with a house-made chimichurri sauce.

The torta sandwiches are another big hit on the Uno Más menu and represent the management’s commitment to authenticity and freshness. The two offerings, the Torta Mexicana – filled with chorizo, carne asada, sliced ham, lettuce, tomato, avocado, Oaxaca cheese, chipotle aioli, and pickled jalapeños – and the Torta Milanesa, which features a hand-breaded fried chicken breast and refried beans with the avocado, cheese, aioli, and jalapeños are made on telera bread that is baked exclusively for Uno Más by Modern Stone Age Kitchen (@modernstoneagekitchen), the unique from-scratch restaurant and bakery located in Chestertown.

Holly Rhodes, a longtime patron of the Gordons who works in finance, says Uno Más rates “ten out of ten.” She says the food and drinks were among the very best Mexican fare she’s ever had and she can’t wait to return. Realtor Scott Saunders raves about the guacamole and the corn ribs and says the chicken enchiladas with mole were delicious, too. A lifelong Eastern Shore resident and no stranger to the food service business herself, Nicole Potter Jordan thinks the new restaurant was just what Centreville needed. She says that she and her husband ordered tacos and they “love, love, loved” everything about their meal including the margaritas that she says are “the best around by far.”

Soon after Centreville’s newest restaurant opened, Katie Harris Manley, a retail manager, went to Uno Más with friends for a Girls Night Out. Her review? “Outstanding.”

Katie says: “We had the ahi tuna tostada’s, birria egg rolls, and homemade guacamole for starters. I got the fajita-tacos for dinner. We each got the pineapple coconut margarita and I also got the El Diablo. We tried every dessert: the fried ice cream, churro ice cream sandwich, and the caramel mascarpone cheesecake. Everything was seriously amazing. The staff was awesome and so was the atmosphere.”

Katie recently returned. She says, “I made a reservation for eleven people for my daughter and husband’s birthdays and everything was still wonderful. Food and drinks were stellar and the service was great. My family had not eaten there yet and by the time we left they were asking whose birthday we were going to return for.”

Uno Más is open for lunch and dinner seven days a week. There are lunch specials and weekday Happy Hours, live music in the bar from 6-9 p.m. on Tuesdays and Fridays, and the kitchen is open until nine except for Friday and Saturday when they serve until ten. The regular weekly calendar includes discount opportunities for Margarita Mondays, Tacos Tuesday, Wednesday’s Fajita Night and Ladies Night in the bar on Thursdays.   

Uno Más is located at 420 Pennsylvania Avenue in Centreville and can be contacted at [email protected] or 443-262-8777. Their website is https://www.unomascentreville.com/

Brent Lewis is a native Chesapeake Bay Eastern Shoreman. He has published two nonfiction books about the region, “Remembering Kent Island: Stories from the Chesapeake” and a “History of the Kent Island Volunteer Fire Department.” His most recent book, “Stardust By The Bushel: Hollywood On The Chesapeake Bay’s Eastern Shore”won a 2023 Independent Publishers award. His first novel, Bloody Point 1976, won an Honorable Mention Award at the 2015 Hollywood Book Festival. He and his wife Peggy live in Centreville, Maryland.

The Spy Newspapers may periodically employ the assistance of artificial intelligence (AI) to enhance the clarity and accuracy of our content.

Andy Harris Talks Inflation, Russians, Section 230 and Freedom with the Spy

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Maryland First District Congressman Andy Harris

In a recent interview at his office two blocks from the capitol in Washington D.C., Congressman Andy Harris touched on a wide variety of topics ranging from Russian activity in Ukraine and Queen Anne’s County to the threat of blue catfish proliferation in Chesapeake Bay.

As elected representative for Maryland’s First Congressional District, which includes all of the Eastern Shore, Harris serves as the first level of access to the federal government for his constituents.

Here’s an abbreviated take on some of his viewpoints. Then more extensive detail on his support for the repeal of a federal law protecting interactive internet providers from liability for information posted on their sites by third parties.

As for the blue catfish problem, that will be the subject of a subsequent column.

  • Regarding his recent no vote on US aid to Ukraine, Israel and other foreign entities: “I fully support Ukraine and its military efforts against the Russian invasion. We develop great weaponry. It’s what we do best.  That’s what the bill should have been about, but it went way beyond military aid with billions and billions for humanitarian aspects there and in many other parts of the world. Every penny of that has to be borrowed. I could not vote in favor of a foreign aid package that contained non-military assistance for Ukraine and money for Gaza that could easily be stolen by Hamas—a radical, terrorist organization. Let Europe handle the humanitarian aspects.  Right now we’re borrowing at the rate of $3 trillion per year. The current US debt load is more than $34 trillion and our Gross Domestic Product is around $25 trillion so our debt load is more than our GDP. That’s unsustainable. Our budget deficit and debt are this nation’s biggest problem but there’s no political will to address it. It has to be tackled at the presidential level.  My hope is that whether Biden or Trump are elected in November, that lame duck president will use the opportunity to tackle the issue.”

  • Regarding the Russian embassy retreat property at the Corsica and Chester rivers junction in Queen Anne’s County:  The property and its extensive improvements – owned by the Russian government – have been vacant since late 2016 when the Obama administration evicted the Russians citing election interference and espionage activity.  Responding to a request from this constituent, Harris said his staff is working on getting a response from the US Department of State regarding current status of that property.  “An investigation found no election interference by the Russians in the 2016 election so that should no longer be a reason for keeping the Russians off the property,” said Harris. “But if there is a security issue related to espionage or something else, that argument certainly can be made. Of course the Russians have an embassy in Washington D.C. so they don’t need to go to the Eastern Shore for espionage.”

  • Top three issues he’s hearing about from constituents: “First and definitely inflation.  That’s at the macro level, across this district and the nation. The cost of everything from gas to groceries and everything else. Second would be crime, particularly in the more urban areas.  And third, particularly in the more northern counties of the district, development.  But people recognize that as more of a local, land-use issue.” In addition to all nine Eastern Shore counties, the First District includes Harford County and parts of Baltimore County.

  • The roots of his political leanings: “I’m the son of immigrant parents from European countries that eventually became Communist. Places where freedoms and liberties were lost and are still gone.  I want to see our liberties and freedoms preserved. Too often they’re taken for granted.”

Politics Makes Strange Bedfellows

“Section 230 is a section of Title 47 of the United States Code that was enacted as part of the Communications Decency Act of 1996 . . and generally provides immunity for online computer services with respect to third-party content generated by its users.” – Wikipedia.

As mentioned in the above quotation, federal law dictates that interactive internet sites managed by hundreds of companies great and small cannot currently be held liable for items – true, false or otherwise – posted on their sites by real or fake third parties.

“The companies claim they are not publishers but simply billboards where people can post whatever they want. But we know these companies are monitoring and limiting access to these digital billboards and as such are acting as publishers.  They’re making editorial and publishing decisions and they should be subject to the same liability that every other publisher is liable to,” said Harris. “They shouldn’t be hiding behind the cloak of Section 230. Just as newspapers are responsible, they should be responsible too. I support removing Section 230 altogether or at least carefully specifying that you really can’t interfere with what’s being posted on your sites if you want to be exempted from the liability that publishers would normally be subjected to.”

This old advertising message, just a few blocks from the Capitol and offices for the federal House of Representatives, offers its own subtle form of lobbying. Dennis Forney photo.

Harris said companies such as Google – now called Alphabet – and other providers are spending millions and millions of dollars on Capitol Hill to fight efforts to sunset Section 230. “It’s astounding what they’re spending. They know the implication of removing Section 230.  It will cost them . . . they will have to stop limiting access or be subject to huge liability issues.  For them this is an economic argument: ‘We’re going to spend tens of millions of dollars lobbying Capitol Hill to save billions of dollars in legal liability.’”

Harris provided what he termed an insider’s viewpoint. “This is one of those instances that truly lives out the saying that politics makes for strange bedfellows.  You have very progressive Democrats combining with very conservative Republicans saying we have to eliminate Section 230 protections.  It’s taking longer but in the end I think we will be limiting those protections.  It will be arduous.”

Representatives Frank Pallone, a Democrat from New Jersey, and Cathy McMorris Rogers, a Republican from Washington, are currently among the leaders of the effort.

Harris, a conservative Republican, said he personally isn’t feeling the lobbying pressure. “I think they know where I stand on this. This isn’t fertile territory for them.”

Dennis Forney has been a publisher, journalist and columnist on the Delmarva Peninsula since 1972. He writes from his home on Grace Creek in Bozman.

The Spy Newspapers may periodically employ the assistance of artificial intelligence (AI) to enhance the clarity and accuracy of our content.

Send/Receive by Laura J. Oliver

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My upstairs office, where I write to you and review client manuscripts, has three huge windows overlooking the street. I often pause what I’m doing to gaze out over the sidewalk, which, I swear, makes passersby instinctively turn and look up. The energy of observation appears palpable, but it causes some pretty weird behavior.

Like quantum particles, these people live in a world of infinite possibility of being normal until they suspect they are being observed. Then, they freeze up in contrived configurations. Couples suddenly stare straight ahead: “That woman up there is watching us! Don’t look! Keep walking!”

Dog walkers get stuck at the boxwood hedge along the sidewalk, feel the vibe, and after studiously staring at the pavement, glance up apologetically and wave their bags. I wave cheerfully back. 

In fact, I’ve begun to know people by their dogs—Mary has twin dachshunds, for instance, who can’t really be walked (short legs, high curbs), so she puts them in a stroller in sunbonnets, just their little brown snouts poking out, which has caused at least one baby-loving tourist from Delaware to recoil.  

There are power walkers, “No! Who said you look silly?” and those squadrons of tourists who, until last year, sped by on Segways, always in groups, as if to say, “Don’t judge. This is not weird! Lots of us are doing it.”

But it was weird. Not enough of us were doing it. 

It just seems that anyone going that fast should be making an effort. This is now true of the city’s newest offering: electric scooters. I’ve been thinking about this. Does “scooter” refer to the vehicle or the person riding it? I mean, if I say, “Do you bike?” would I also say, “Do you scoot?” And if I say, “Are you a biker?” would I also say, “Are you a scooter?”

But when the traffic beneath my window is nonvehicular, I try to transmit fleeting goodwill. We are all born with a sixth sense—our most exquisite means of perception– allowing you to receive and send flashes of intuitive insight. It’s that awareness that someone is looking at you or about to call. That you should turn left at the next intersection when you’re lost. Thoughts, and their accompanying feelings, are a form of energy and I am endlessly curious about the possibilities. 

There are young mothers in groups of two and three pushing plump babies in red strollers, and I beam them the message, “Pay attention, pretty mamas. These are the best days of your life– you will not pass this way again.” The mothers are often followed in the afternoon by grandmothers pushing the same strollers, who clearly do know the transitory nature of our days.

I admire the platinum shine of a middle schooler’s ponytail, the gray-blue of my neighbor’s new running shoes, the stoic efforts of the parent lugging the 30-pound toddler who has had a meltdown. “You are all so beautiful,” I think to myself. “Live long and prosper! Wheels up! Carry on!!”

 I imagine the man with the long beard who walks by leaning on his cane every morning at 10:00, tossing it aside unneeded, the runners from the local high school getting a second wind, running in unison until they are running to the same beat of their hearts. And you know what? With every good wish deployed through the air, I’m the one who is transported without effort. I am the one who is blessed.

We are a people, a nation, a tribe, a collective, a family of man intricately connected on energy waves you can’t see. Here’s the magic. If you think it, they sense it. If you feel it, they know it. We are all sender/receivers, but love is a ricochet. 

Can you feel it? 

Can you feel it now?

Laura J. Oliver is an award-winning developmental book editor and writing coach, who has taught writing at the University of Maryland and St. John’s College. She is the author of The Story Within (Penguin Random House). Co-creator of The Writing Intensive at St. John’s College, she is the recipient of a Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Award in Fiction, an Anne Arundel County Arts Council Literary Arts Award winner, a two-time Glimmer Train Short Fiction finalist, and her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her website can be found here.

 

The Spy Newspapers may periodically employ the assistance of artificial intelligence (AI) to enhance the clarity and accuracy of our content.

Mid-Shore Food: Kicking Back at Casa Carmen by Dylan Wayne

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Locals and visitors alike need look no further than the corners of Cannon and Cross streets in downtown Chestertown to discover Casa Carmen’s inviting traditional bodega-style atmosphere, unique tapas selection, and specialty products.

Since its inception in 2017, Casa Carmen has been a coveted hidden gem in Chestertown’s culinary scene, offering a wide variety of Mediterranean and Latin-inspired tapas and a selection of wines crafted at its very own winery. In addition to the wines and menu, Casa Carmen offers its specialty product – vermouth. Unlike the common martini or Manhattan mixer, Casa Carmen offers a sipping vermouth of Spanish influence infused with various botanicals harvested at the Casa Carmen farm in nearby Pennsylvania (PA).

Brothers Enrique and Felipe Palleres, creators of Casa Carmen, spent much of their young adulthood traveling the world and competing in polo. Amidst their travels, the importance of family became their driving force and Casa Carmen was fashioned with that inspiration. The business is a family affair, with all of the employees having a hands-on role in bringing the brand to life. Erika Reynolds and Tyler Hartman are the enthusiastic hosts greeting and serving visitors at the Chestertown “Bodega,” and yet, one may not recognize the duo skillfully operates all details of the Chestertown location including staffing, special event management, and marketing. With the Palleres family managing and operating the second location, “The Farm,” in West Grove, PA, the Casa Carmen team has become one big family.

The Casa Carmen family extends on Thursday nights, when it features lessons with dance instructor Diego Guzman, who covers a variety of styles such as salsa and rumba, and teaches all skill levels, which includes no skill level.

It is plain to see that whether one is dining or dancing, Casa Carmen is a treasure worth a visit. For more about casa Carmen, go here.

This video by Dylan Wayne is approximately five minutes in length.

The Spy Newspapers may periodically employ the assistance of artificial intelligence (AI) to enhance the clarity and accuracy of our content.

Food Friday: Rites of Summer

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Grilling | Illustration by Jean Sanders

Here we are in the first week of June and already it has been so stinking hot that I can barely think about eating, let alone cooking. When start to think about food, I am already daydreaming about nice cool, summertime foods that do not require a lick of cooking: watermelon, strawberries, icy bowls of bobbing crimson radishes, Good Humor Bars, freshly shelled peas. I have no yen for meatloaf, or spaghetti, or beef stew.

It is grilling season again. We have celebrated Memorial Day, and are anticipating summer and the Fourth of July. There is so much to look forward to: we need to be sure that at least once this summer we eat coleslaw, potato salad, and strawberry shortcake, and that we shell some peas out on the back steps. Let’s shuck corn. And oysters. Last year we didn’t make any ice cream. Not once! That is just shocking. Start writing a list of what you need to do this year! Did you grill enough hamburgers last year? How about corn on the cob? There is nothing like melting your fingerprints on a steaming-hot ear of corn, with a glossy trail of butter cascading down your chin. It is a rite of summer.

I am thrilled that most of our summer cooking is done outside and by someone else. I enjoy meals that do not involve any of my time spent in a hot kitchen. Our outdoor grilling isn’t fancy. Most weekends see us cooking something from our usual rotation: burgers, sausages, hot dogs, chicken, fish, kebabs, Big Love Pizza, or corn on the cob. I remember fondly my father’s gritty, incinerated hockey-puck-hamburgers that he cooked on the tiny, wobbly charcoal hibachi in our suburban Connecticut backyard, but I am equally fond of Mr. Sanders’s slightly less well-done cheeseburgers. They are presented with flair; multi-layered towers of meat, cheese, pickles, tomatoes, lettuce and spicy brown mustard. Yumsters.

This weekend we will gather on the back porch, where we have a few Adirondack chairs (which are never as comfortable as they are picturesque). I love the al fresco nights, when we manage to elude the mosquitoes and enjoy candles and strings of white lights, and dancing fireflies. We can watch the last of the sun’s rays gilding the tops of the pecan trees, and listen to the mockingbirds squabbling in the hedge. It will be time to slow down and enjoy the lengthening purple shadows. There is no television news on in the background. It is a pleasantly warm, and humid soon-to-be-summer evening.

Mr. Sanders loves to cook, thank heavens. Everything he touches becomes a carefully designed and choreographed production number. On the weekends “The Girl from Ipanema” typically streams from speakers as Mr. Sanders rummages through the fridge, taking out jars and bottles and containers of wine, making potions and unguents, muttering incantations and spells worthy of Hogwarts. He rubs and bastes, bathes with miso, barbecue sauce, mustard, horseradish, capers, lemon juice and olive oil. From the spice cabinet he selects allspice, cumin, paprika and cilantro. He snatches up hefty cloves of garlic, too. Sometimes he pours everything into a glass bowl, while testing the evening’s wine. That’s it – no recipes. Just instinct. (Disclaimer: once I had to stop him from using olive oil for cooking pancakes, so sometimes these impromptu food experiments do go awry.) This freedom from recipe structure leaves us time to wander into the back yard and toss the ball for Luke the wonder dog, testing more of the Chardonnay. I applaud his excellent ideas.

Drifting back into the kitchen, Mr. Friday flattens room temp meat patties. He also prepared a frying pan with some butter for frying onions. Outside he tosses the meat, and then the frying pan, onto the hot grill. The rites have begun. It is another moment of cooking triumph.

Old Bay Corn on the Cob on the Grill

Heat the grill to 350° F.

Wrap each ear of corn in aluminum foil.

Generously butter the corn and sprinkle with Old Bay seasoning.

Roll the corn in the foil and twist the ends tight.

Grill for 5-8 minutes on each side.

Carefully unwrap the corn and place back on the grill for a quick 1-2 minute char on each side, if desired. The grilled ears will be Instagram-able.

For added flavor, sprinkle with more Old Bay after serving.

“I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay

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A Changing of the Guard: A Chat with Washington College Outgoing Board Chair Steve Golding and Incoming Rick Wheeler

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Six years ago, Steve Golding took up the mantle of chair of the Washington College Board of Visitors and Governors. With impeccable credentials as a chief financial officer of some of the country’s most prestigious schools, including the University of Pennsylvania, Cornell, the University of Colorado, and Ohio University, he stepped into a leadership role at Washington at a time when liberal arts colleges in the country faced unprecedented financial challenges. The school’s leadership saw the significant benefit of having someone with Golding’s skills and temperament to serve as a mature and steady hand supporting a college president. And it didn’t hurt that he was proud member of the class of 1972.

During his tenure as Chair, the College has survived not only those financial minefields but also the unprecedented economic impact of a health pandemic. And under the leadership of new college president Mike Sosulski, student enrollment has increased, faculty co-governance relations have improved, and the school’s endowment has moved from $200 million to approximately $325 million. More recently, the College received a $15 million donation this spring from a young alum to seed a new undergraduate business school.

Not bad.

However, after two decades of service to Washington College, Steve Golding is stepping down to make room for a new generation to take over the critical role of stewardship of this 242-year-old Eastern Shore institution. Now, the torch will be passed to Rick Wheeler, class of 1986, the CFO of Oakland Consulting Group based in Lanham, MD.

In their Spy interview from a few weeks ago, Steve and Rick traded thoughts on where Washington College has been and where the country’s 10th oldest liberal arts college is going in the 21st century.

This video is approximately 12 minutes in length. For more information about Washington College please go here.

 

 

The Spy Newspapers may periodically employ the assistance of artificial intelligence (AI) to enhance the clarity and accuracy of our content.