On the Ocean

The waves, big ones, roll in from northern Africa and Spain. It's cool, refreshingly cool on the coast of Delaware. We've arrived for our Workamper assignment after driving through Angola into Rehoboth (pronounced re-HO-both) Beach.
We'll have to take time to unravel the linkage between these names and the country that sits above Namibia in Africa (Angola) and Rehoboth, the city in the center of Namibia that's the home of a distinct and proud group of people called Basters. They are a group of coloreds (a mixture of blacks and whites, hence the bastardization of their name). Strange places to be in.

The campground/marina people welcomed us when we pulled in. Dick, the head guy showed us on his layout of the resort where he had located us. It seemed like the best lot in the resort to us: our motor home overlooks the marina, with a view of the Indian River and out into Rehoboth Bay.

Rodney and his son helped us get hooked up. He fixed the picnic table that sits outside our front door and arranged for a sewer hookup collar. I plugged in the cable TV cord and water and electric and we were in business.

We unloaded our bikes and toured the facilities. There's a huge swimming pool, a 300-slip marina, a fitness room, a clubhouse with an 84-inch TV screen and a fireplace. Cozy!

Most of the people who live here use Leisure Point as a second home. The houses are manufactured homes and many of them have "for sale" signs on them. The motor home and trailer guests haven't come into town yet because the resort doesn't come alive until mid-April.

Jo and I drove our car to the beach and walked the sand. The roar of the ocean was therapy for both of us. That endless whoosh as the rolling waves break and smash themselves onto the sandy shoreline. We linger in the breeze, loving the sound, the peace.

Our journey into Delaware (a tiny state) took us across flat and verdant farmland. Enormous irrigation robots spread their legs across the fields. There's no need for irrigation on this day because rain had deluged the area in the night and water stood along the side of the road.

The journey from the hustling, dynamic Washington, D.C., area, through Annapolis, the capitol of Maryland, changed in tone the moment we drove across the enormous Bay Bridge across the Chesapeake Bay. This took us to the Eastern Shore of Maryland. We'd sailed under this bridge many times, usually with a nasty chop on the water.

Now, we rolled along through the wetlands, past Kent Narrows, then the Choptank River. Tension drained away as the bucolic countryside whispered "relax" to us and we passed through tiny towns until we arrived on the Atlantic Coast.

Both of us look forward to the new work adventure that begins Monday morning. We still have no idea what our specific duties, though Rodney mentioned that the owner of the resort usually spends about $6,000 each year on plants and flowers, all of which must be planted. Jo is in her glory (at this moment) because she misses being able to garden. Rodney assured her she will get her fill of digging and planting and won't want to see another flower by the time she's through.