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Letter from the Editor

From Honor Flights … to Rocking the Dock … to Shark Week, Bay Weekly puts you in the know

Have your travels taken you to BWI, National or Dulles airports as a plane full of old veterans made their slow way through the concourse? If so, you’ll know the eruptions of appreciation described by writer Selene San Felice in this week’s feature story, The Men Who Saved the World: Honoring the Greatest Generation of Veterans Starts at BWI.

On the Fourth of July, we celebrate reason and high ideals

There are places that seem to be magic. Who knows what forces might be at work? Perhaps magnetic fields? Certainly I’m not claiming any science here. Yet over history, places like England’s Stonehenge have drawn human creatures ­hither, often for sacred rites.     Another of those forces seems to me to rise along the Mississippi River between Fort de Chartres and Fort Kaskaskia, the first capital of Illinois. Nearby in the cliffs of the river, humans sheltered as long ago as 10,000 years at the Modoc Rock Shelter.

And thanks for keeping the dialogue going

Who wants to talk — or write — when nobody’s listening? Not me, regardless of what my husband might say. (He accuses me of happily talking to a void. Sometimes, that void is he.)     So I’m thrilled when you make Bay Weekly a dialogue. On that score, this has been a very good week.

Modern fathering is new to me. But I like what I see

As it’s time once more to talk about fathers, let me ask you a question.     Did you grow up in a patriarchy? Or a matriarchy?     Matriarchy for me. Like elephant calves, I grew up surrounded by women. From the center out: my dominant, buzz-saw mother, Elsa; my doting paternal grandmother, Florence Martin; my godmothers Virginia Dalton and Kay King; the waitresses at our family restaurant and the cook, Lovie.

We can’t eat salad forever. Now we won’t have to.

These are our salad days.         Billowy red leaf, upright sheaves of Romaine, tender baby lettuces, tart sorrel with its lovely red edges, verdant deep green spinach, peppery arugula that takes off like its English name, rocket. They, like my herbs, loved our cool, rainy May and are determined to fill our bowls and bellies before heat makes them bolt into bitterness.

In Chesapeake Country we are not alone

A twist of current? A floating isle of seagrass?

With Bay Weekly’s Last-Minute Camp Guide

What to do with the kids this summer takes on new urgency as summer advances from someday to next month. So for parents, Bay Weekly’s Last-Minute Camp Guide offers solutions.     Giving them direction is an important goal, but it’s by no means the only goal of this issue. There’s value here for each of us.

It’s complicated

Except for Eve (and Adam) — as former Maryland poet laureate Michael Glaser points out in this week’s paper — every one of us has a mother. remembering to Eve, try to imagine … how she never knew a mother or the fruit of a kind and nurturing hand.

With this issue, we enter Chesapeake Country’s favorite season

How lucky are we?         Having lived the first half of my life landlocked in America’s great Midwest, I look at the Chesapeake each day with gratitude and awe.     Now comes the time when fair days invite all of us children of the Chesapeake to do more than look.

A Chesapeake original, hand-crafted by artisans each week

Bay Weekly turns 23 this week.     That’s old enough to have graduated college and be looking for a job.     By my 23rd birthday, I was a wife and mother of a three-month-old baby, working my way through grad school by teaching freshman composition and English as a Second Language at St. Louis University. I thought I was smart, though I’ve since proven myself largely wrong.