From the Edge of the Marsh
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If these walls could talk... Mush, wrinkled and tanned hide owner of 998 Scow Creek and legendary bayman, sat at the end of a Formica table. You know the ones. Green glittery flecks on an off-white background edged entirely in chrome. This one had seen better years and was probably a hand-me-down from someone's grandparents. After listening for a time to the colorful conversation in the bay house, he remarked in his gravelly voice, "Hey, maybe we could make a movie here." From the Edge of the Marsh recalls the heyday of the bay houses when hundreds stretched across the town, owned by baymen, "...
If these walls could talk... Mush, wrinkled and tanned hide owner of 998 Scow Creek and legendary bayman, sat at the end of a Formica table. You know the ones. Green glittery flecks on an off-white background edged entirely in chrome. This one had seen better years and was probably a hand-me-down from someone's grandparents. After listening for a time to the colorful conversation in the bay house, he remarked in his gravelly voice, "Hey, maybe we could make a movie here." From the Edge of the Marsh recalls the heyday of the bay houses when hundreds stretched across the town, owned by baymen, "water rats," and recreational fishermen and their families. Jeff Keene's personal memoir is a testament to the local knowledge bay house owners inherited from previous generations of baymen and bay house owners. In many ways, Keene introduces us to the cultural traditions of this unique group-stories and practices passed down from generation to generation.