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The Maryland Caucus with Foxwell and Mitchell: Jake Day vs. Andy Harris, Grading Wes Moore and Easton Election Results

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Every Wednesday, Maryland political analysts Len Foxwell and Clayton Mitchell discuss the politics and personalities of the state and region.

This week, Len and Clay take turns evaluating the chances of former Salisbury mayor and now Wes Moore’s cabinet secretary, Jake Day, taking on incumbent Congressman Andy Harris in the 1st District next year. They also discuss the challenging legislative session for Governor Moore and end with some closing thoughts on Easton Town Council election results that saw a decisive victory by challenger Don Abbatiello over incumbent, and Republican-party endorsed, Frank Gunsallus.

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This series brings together two of the most experienced and respected voices in Maryland public life—Len Foxwell and Clayton A. Mitchell, Sr. Their mission: to explore the evolving political terrain of Maryland, from the State House in Annapolis to the communities of the Eastern Shore.

Foxwell and Mitchell may come from different corners of the public square—one a strategist and public communicator, the other a jurist and administrative law expert—but they share a lifelong commitment to the mechanics and meaning of public service. Together, they offer something increasingly rare in American discourse: thoughtful, informed, and good-humored conversation grounded in facts, history, and lived experience.

Len Foxwell, founder of Tred Avon Strategies, is widely regarded as one of Maryland’s most influential political strategists. A veteran of nearly three decades in public life, he served as chief of staff to the Comptroller of Maryland from 2008 to 2020, where he was credited with helping build one of the nation’s most effective and forward-looking tax enforcement offices.

During that time, the Comptroller’s office recaptured more than $6 billion in unpaid taxes and won national praise for combating tax fraud and unethical financial practices. But Foxwell’s public impact wasn’t limited to budgetary stewardship. He also played a pivotal role in modernizing Maryland’s craft alcohol industry, working to ease outdated regulations and encourage growth for breweries, wineries, and distilleries across the state.

A writer and educator at heart, Foxwell also teaches professional writing and crisis communication at Johns Hopkins University. As one veteran journalist once wrote, “There are plenty of operatives who are talented and indispensable to their bosses. But only Foxwell has actually changed the trajectory of Maryland politics.”

Clayton A. Mitchell, Sr., brings an equally deep and distinguished record of public service. A native of the Eastern Shore, Mitchell served on the Maryland Department of Labor’s Board of Appeals for nearly 30 years, including four years as its Chairman. Appointed in 1994 by Governor William Donald Schaefer and reappointed by four successive governors from both parties, Mitchell presided over the state’s highest appellate authority for unemployment insurance disputes, helping shape how fairness and due process are applied to tens of thousands of Maryland workers.

A magna cum laude graduate of the University of Baltimore School of Law, Mitchell has also worked to expand legal access through education. He founded the Student Attorney Advocacy Program at his law school alma mater to ensure indigent claimants could receive representation in appeals proceedings. In addition to his public duties, he has maintained a part-time legal practice focused on administrative, land use, and environmental law.

Mitchell is equally respected for his civic leadership. He has served on the Selective Service Board and the Maryland Attorney General’s Environmental Advisory Council, authored legal reference works, and endowed a scholarship to help Maryland students pursue legal careers. As he said in a recent reflection, “Public service isn’t just about policy. It’s about people—about making sure the system works for everyone, especially those who don’t have a lobbyist or a lawyer.”

Together, Foxwell and Mitchell represent two sides of the same democratic coin—strategy and structure, politics and process, insight and institution. With the Maryland Caucus, they’ll shine a spotlight on the issues shaping Maryland today: education funding, judicial reform, land use, regional economics, environmental priorities, campaign strategy, and more.

Expect each episode to be as frank as it is thoughtful. Or as Foxwell recently quipped, “It may be called The Maryland Caucus, but we’re not handing out talking points.”

This video is approximately 15 minutes in length.

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

Making the Case for Nursing: A Chat with Shore Regional’s Danielle Wilson

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In this month’s installment of our ongoing series on healthcare on the Eastern Shore, The Spy sat down with Danelle Wilson, Chief Nursing Officer at Shore Regional Health, last week to discuss her path from military service to nursing leadership—and the urgent need to rebuild the nursing workforce as the region prepares for a major healthcare transformation.

With ground broken on a new $500 million regional medical center across from Easton Airport, Shore Regional Health is focused on attracting and retaining qualified nurses to meet the demands of a growing and aging population. As Wilson notes, “The new facility is more than just a building—it’s a commitment to innovation, excellence, and the future of healthcare on the Mid-Shore.”

Maryland is facing a significant nursing shortage. In 2022, nearly 25% of hospital nursing positions were vacant statewide, with a projected shortfall of 15,000 registered nurses by 2036. The challenge is even greater on the Eastern Shore, designated as a medically underserved area.

Wilson sees promise in new partnerships—with Chesapeake College, Salisbury University, and the University of Maryland School of Nursing—as well as programs like UMB’s R-HEALE (Rural Health Equity and Access Longitudinal Elective), which help train healthcare professionals committed to rural service.

“People want meaningful, flexible careers,” Wilson says. “And nursing offers that. At Shore, we’re building not just a hospital, but a pipeline—from classroom to bedside.”

As Nurses Week approaches, Wilson emphasizes the importance of recognizing frontline caregivers, supporting their well-being, and creating career pathways that last a lifetime.

“Whether you’re just starting out or looking for a new chapter, there’s a place for you in healthcare,” she says. “And we want you to find it here.”

This video is approximately ten minutes in length. For more information about nursing at Shore Regional Health please go here.

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

Sleepless in Annapolis By Laura J. Oliver

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Can you feel me staring at you as you sleep? You are as still as my pink robe tossed at the foot of the bed. You are not even dreaming by the look of it.

I’m gazing at you with more intrigue than resentment, although that may be a lie. Not only are you sound asleep, oblivious to my scrutiny, but you were unconscious 30 seconds after your (stupid) head hit the pillow.

Sorry. That was immature.

I’m tired, and I’m envious. And I’m ascribing to you all kinds of virtues that may be unwarranted. It just seems as if you should have at least a few things to worry about, be mentally replaying at least a few cringeworthy moments.

I love the warmth of your shoulder near mine, but let’s face it. That head doesn’t contain much except “come,” “treat,” and “squirrel,” in reverse order. I’ll take you for a walk in the morning and try not to disturb you as I turn over.

The primary reason I can’t sleep is this persistent ache in my left glute, for which I’m trying various remedies. A spinal injection and a month of intense acupuncture haven’t helped enough, so I’m thinking about massage, which I’m afraid I will love too much.

In search of additional sleep remedies, I’ve been asking friends what they do to fall asleep. My friend Joe doesn’t monkey around with the mind monkeys—he goes straight for the drugs. Unisom is his friend.

A guy in the waiting room at acupuncture swears the key is counting backward from 498. I like that he has a specific starting point that clearly is no one else’s.

Till now.

I want to ask him why we are using 498, but he already has his shoes on and is heading out as I’m heading in.

My friend Haley has recently discovered a sure-fire method: seeing how many words she can make from a single word. She is way too excited about this.

Like monkey-mind. There’s key, monk, on, oink, din, mind, in, dim. Are you sleeping? Like  gratitude. There’s read, it, are, rate, great, dear, due, rag…still awake.

So, I’ve come up with my own method. It’s making a list of what if’s?

If I’d been the first-born girl instead of the last in my family, I would have no girl skills and standards at all.

If I had not gone on a blind date when I was 19, I would not have my three children. I’d have other children, no doubt, but who wants those?

If I had married my sophomore-year boyfriend, Will, I’d have been a widow at 55.

If Sue D. hadn’t majored in drama the year I majored in drama, I would not have changed majors.

If I had not had an offer to work for a magazine the same day I was accepted to graduate school in pastoral counseling, I’d have been a therapist, not a writer. And yes…I do question whether there’s much of a difference, you memoirists.

If I had not volunteered at the SPCA, my solitary heart would not have been rescued by the warm body sleeping belly up in my bed.

But backing the camera up, if my 10th great-grandfather had not transferred passage from the leaking Speedwell to the Mayflower in September 1620, I might not have been born in America.

If the planet Theia had not hit proto-Earth with a glancing blow 4.5 billion years ago, we would not have seasons and a moon.

If we didn’t have a moon to slow us, an Earth day would still be 19.5 hours as it was a billion years ago.

No full moons, Harvest Moons, Wolf Moons.

No moon rivers.

If I had gone to visit my mother more when she was in assisted living, perhaps I’d sleep better at night.

How many words can I make from regret?

How many from love?

Some words are indivisible.

Like me, beloveds. Like you.

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.

Note: On June 5 Laura Oliver and Andrew Oliver will be reading stories as part of the Spy Night Series at the Avalon Theatre. Doors open at 6:00 pm

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

Food Friday: Fiesta

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Cinco de Mayo is coming already. There will be tacos, and maybe some good Mexican beer. I have to confess that I came to the taco party late. When I was growing up our cooking spices were limited to Christmas egg nog nutmeg, cinnamon for cinnamon toast, black pepper and baking powder. Garlic was an exotic commodity. Red pepper was on the tables at Italian restaurants. I doubt if my mother was acquainted with cumin. We never had Mexican food. My mother’s idea of adventurous ethnic cooking was preparing corned beef for St. Patrick’s Day. And so my indoctrination came from my peers, as do so many seminal youthful experiences.

The first tacos I ever had were at my friend Sheila’s older sister’s house, down near the beach. Margo was sophisticated and modern. We adored her and the string of characters who wandered through her tiny house. She made tacos with regularity, and we mooched often. From her I learned how to shred the cheese and the lettuce and chop the onions that went on top of the taco meat, which we browned in a frying pan and then covered with a packet of Old El Paso Taco Seasoning Mix and a cup of water. I thought it couldn’t get any better than that.

Like Tim Walz, my introduction to Mexican cuisine came via “white guy tacos” which are “pretty much ground beef and cheese.” We must have had similar upbringings: “Here’s the deal… black pepper is the top spice level in Minnesota.”

Sheila and I graduated to platters of nachos and tacos at the Viva Zapata restaurant. (I think we were actually more attracted to the cheap pitchers of sangria, which we drank, sitting outside in dappled shade under leafy trees, enjoying languid summer vacations.) And then we wandered into Mama Vicky’s Old El Acapulco Restaurant, with its dodgy sanitation, but exquisitely flaming jalapeños on the lard-infused refried beans. Ah, youth.

True confession: my children were raised on tacos made with Old El Paso Taco Seasoning, but they always had vegetarian or fat-free refried beans. None of that deelish, heart-health-threatening lard.

Beef Tacos
45 minutes, serves 4

½ cup vegetable oil
12 small 5-inch corn tortillas
1 pound ground beef
Salt & pepper
1 medium onion, chopped
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 fresh hot chile (like jalapeño) seeded & minced, optional
1 tablespoon ground cumin
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 cup roughly chopped radishes for garnish
2 limes, quartered, for serving

Crumble the ground beef into a frying pan, sprinkle with salt and pepper, breaking up the meat as it cooks, until it starts to brown – about 5 or 10 minutes. Add the onion and cook, until it softens and begins to color. 5 or 10 minutes more.

Add the garlic and the chile (be sure to wash your hands thoroughly after handling the chile – I didn’t and rubbed my eye and wept for a good while afterward) and cook about 3 minutes, until they soften. Add the cumin and tomato paste and cook and stir until fragrant. I added a little water, perhaps a throw back from my Old El Paso training, but the mixture just seemed too dry. Experiment for yourself.

Warm the oil in another frying pan over a medium-high heat. Lay a tortilla shell in the oil, and let it bubble for about 15 seconds before turning it over, carefully, with tongs. Let that side bubble away for another 15 seconds or so and then fold the shell in half. Turn it back and forth until it is as crisp as you want. Mr. Sanders likes a softer shell, I like explosively brittle.

Divide the meat into the lovely, crunchy shells and top with cilantro and radishes. Squeeze some lime on top. Good-bye to grated cheese. Good-bye to too much sodium. (There are 370mg of sodium in a 1 ounce packet of Old El Paso. [I still have a packet in the spice cabinet, obviously.] Plus it costs about $2.59, so just imagine how much better this recipe is for you, sodium-wise and financially.)

Open beer, pour beer, drink beer.
Other topping suggestions:
 guacamole, chopped tomatoes, shredded cabbage, chopped scallions, black beans, salsa, shredded lettuce, chopped peppers, sliced radishes, sour cream.

When my children were little, I used spinach for their tacos instead of lettuce. I don’t think they have forgiven me yet. To keep up with current trends, you could try using kale for your healthy tacos.
But don’t trust my word for it, try these excellent healthy taco recipes: Celebrate Cinco de Mayo

How to turn leftover roast lamb into mouthwatering tacos – recipe

Happy Cinco de Mayo!
“On the subject of spinach: divide into little piles. Rearrange again into new piles. After five of six maneuvers, sit back and say you are full.”
—Delia Ephron


 

Jean Dixon Sanders has been a painter and graphic designer for the past thirty years. A graduate of Washington College, where she majored in fine art, Jean started her work in design with the Literary House lecture program. The illustrations she contributes to the Spies are done with watercolor, colored pencil and ink.

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

Sailing into History: Selina II’s Final Season with Captain Iris Robertson

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Part history, part relaxation, part entertainment, part exhilaration—but 100% fun. That’s how guests describe their time aboard the Selina II, a lovingly preserved 1926 Crosby catboat docked in St. Michaels. And for Captain Iris Robertson, who’s spent 25 years at the helm, it’s all of that and more.

“I grew up on Selina,” Captain Iris said. “She was built in 1926. I wasn’t built until 1958, but I spent my childhood on the boat. It was my destiny.”

That destiny has seen her take thousands of guests out on the water, sharing the boat’s story, the Bay’s ecology, and the joy of a good sail. From champagne sunset cruises to history-rich day sails, Captain Iris has made it her mission to turn each outing into something special.

The boat itself is worth the trip — gaff-rigged, 44 feet from stem to stern with the boom out, and 16 feet wide. “Cat-rigged,” Captain Iris explains, “means the mast is all the way forward. Boats like this were traditionally half as wide as they were long. That makes them really stable.” Which, it turns out, was the whole point.

Her grandparents’ first boat, a narrow powerboat, had given the family a real scare when it rolled so badly during a trip that water came over the sides. “My grandmother was holding a baby,” she said. “That was it. She said, ‘Get rid of the boat.’”

Soon after, they were invited sailing on a friend’s catboat. The wide, steady feel won her grandmother over. Robertson’s grandfather commissioned a similar boat, named it after his mother – Selina — and when he built a second one, he honored her again.

“My grandfather was her first master, then my parents, and then me,” she says. “I promised my dad I’d take care of her for 25 years. This season is the 25th.”

Robertson first took over the boat in 2001 and spent a year restoring her. After an abbreviated first season in Cambridge, she moved operations to Tilghman Island, and by 2004 had found a slip in St. Michaels. “I’d been trying to get into St. Michaels from the beginning,” she says. “It just made sense.”

And clearly, it worked. In peak season, Selina II goes out as many as five times a day—day sails, sunset cruises, moonlight rides. Robertson estimates she’s taken more than 11,000 trips over the years and around 60,000 guests. “You can do the math,” she said. “It’s a lot.”

One recent guest called the experience “1% terror, 99% flavor,”. “I didn’t actually feel terrified,” she added, “but it was exciting in the best way.”


Another couple, Brittany and Brian Flynn, said they loved the boat’s deep family history. “She told us about the town, the Bay, the boat, her family — it was like a floating museum and lounge all in one,” Brittany said. Added Brian, “We learned so much. She’s just incredibly knowledgeable. And the boat is beautiful.

The guests Robertson sailed with that day—who got to learn local history, sip craft beer, and watch an interview unfold — declared it “the best ride ever.” When told that, Captain Iris smiled. “That’s what I aim for,” she said. “Making each trip the best ever.”

To make sure that happens, she aims to make each trip is a little different. “I always ask, ‘What are you interested in?’ Some people want to know about the Bay, others want the story of the boat, or the town, or conservation. We go with the flow.”

She’s seen the Bay change over the years. “When I first started here, the watermen came in with 25 bushels. Now it’s three,” she says. “The water quality may be a tad better than the worst years, but it’s still a long way from healthy. I used to see more fish jumping, more birds. It’s not just what you read—it’s what you see when you’re out here every day.”

Still, Captain Iris keeps it hopeful. “If I can get someone to ask, ‘What can I do to help?’– then I’ve done my job.”

That balance of beauty and meaning is part of what’s made Selina II an icon. “She’s part of my family,” she said, “but she’s become part of St. Michaels too.” The boat has appeared in countless paintings, on magazine covers, and even in state tourism campaigns. “People tell me I can’t leave,” she said. 

In her comment was a touch of nostalgia because the end of this season will mark a turning point. The boat will return to Greenport, New York — the town where she was built — just in time for her 100th birthday. And she’ll stay in the family.

“My niece Salina — yes, with an ‘a’ — is taking her over,” Robertson says. “She lives in Greenport, which is kind of amazing. It’s come full circle.”

Whether her niece and nephew will run it as a charter is still being worked out. “She said she doesn’t want to run a boat business. He said maybe they can find someone who does but can’t afford a boat. It’s a lot of work. This boat is like a horse — you’ve got to feed it every day.”

Robertson has made sure they feel no pressure. “I’ve had three offers to buy the boat and business,” she says. “I told them, ‘You don’t have to take her. But if you do, I’ll love the story.’”

Just recently, on April 24, a ribbon cutting ceremony was held at the Harbour Inn Marina in St. Michaels to welcome Sail Selina II into the Chesapeake Gateways Network for its final season. The event included remarks from National Park Service Chesapeake Gateways Superintendent Wendy O’Sullivan.

As for her own next chapter, the Captain has  a few ideas. “I haven’t been to a festival, or a concert, or even an event in 25 years,” she says. “I’m looking forward to gardening, traveling, spending time with my husband. I might still captain someone else’s boat from time to time — just to keep my hand in.”

And the guests will keep coming through this final season, many of them drawn by word of mouth or the chance to be part of something with history and heart.

“Being on the water with the wind in the sail, osprey overhead, and guests who are really present– that’s the sweet spot,” she says. “That’s when you know it was all worth it.”

 

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

When the Thing that You Long for is Not What You Want By Laura J. Oliver

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I leave at 3:20, having not yet taught myself to check the traffic on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge hours before any intention to cross it, and so, already marginally late to my college reunion—and this is a big year for my class—I am stopped bumper to bumper. It takes me an hour to creep along the next six miles to the bridge for no reason other than rain and rush hour on a Friday. I have another hour to drive beyond that.

I’m good at immediately accepting the things I can’t change without handwringing or complaint, which is true tonight. I ease forward a few feet to escape the Barker Paint Company van and turn up the music. The smell of weed emanates so virulently through closed windows I’ll be high before Centreville if we remain in these lanes neck and neck. I glance over, and the driver smiles, raises his eyebrows, and nods laconically. The minutes I could be reuniting with my class are evaporating. I put a book on Audible and wait it out.

When I arrive an hour and a half late, in the pouring rain, the building is locked. I can see my classmates inside, sitting at round tables, wine and appetizers before them, listening to a speaker, but the door won’t budge. This is starting to feel dangerously like metaphor, and my equanimity is cracking. I mutter, “Maybe I just wasn’t supposed to be here tonight,” but I say it with a self-pitying pout. Aware of this, I circle the building looking for another way in, knowing that, too, is metaphor for my college experience; only my exclusion then was self-imposed.

Eventually, I find an open door and there is someone to greet me with my nametag on a lariat. I slip into the nearest seat, gazing longingly at the bar and caterer’s spread behind the speaker. The shrimp cocktail looks fresh, and a glass of Pinot Noir wouldn’t hurt. I look around the room and can identify no one. The only person I might recognize, my boyfriend from freshman year, I know immediately, isn’t here. He is six foot 4. He’d stand out even sitting down.

When the speaker concludes, everyone rises and mingles and that’s when I start to recognize classmates. Debbie’s kind eyes, Paula’s megawatt-Midwestern smile. I’m casually looking for my friend, and anyone I ask says, “Oh, he was just here!” As late as I was, perhaps he thought I wasn’t coming. I keep looking.

The greatest thrill is to look up and see my freshman-year roommate for the first time since graduation. She was a better friend to me than I to her and that has grieved me. I was a loner and had never shared a room in my life. I don’t know if I literally drew a line down the middle when we moved in, but I may have.

She looks exactly as I would imagine and has the same ready laugh. She got married at 39 and had a baby at 45, she reports. We do the math to see if we should introduce him to my youngest daughter.

“I hear you became a writer,” someone says. “I remember you wanted to be one,” and I say, “I have been lucky. That’s a dream that came true.” At the expense of other dreams, but I don’t add that.

I continue to ask for my friend. “He was here a second ago,” I hear again. “He’s wearing black.” A minute later, I hear, “He was over there by the doors. He’s wearing gray.” See how fast our witnessing becomes perspective, not fact? Was he here at all?

Everyone else has come for the entire weekend, so they are going to reconvene at a bar on High Street to get the party really started. I am driving home—back across the rainy bridge. I won’t be back for the game tomorrow. I have seen what I wanted to see, experienced, and discovered what I longed to know. We are okay. We turned out all right.

And as I drive back, I realize I’m not at the bar tonight because I’m still a non-joiner—a writer who observes as she participates–whose picture was somehow omitted from our yearbook, so there’s no record of me having been here though one of my professors attended my wedding. Why didn’t I drive to Florida with Paula on Spring Break? Go to more parties? Cheer at lacrosse games?

We are who we were, I think, as I hit the bridge. But shouldn’t life have changed us? Are you now who you were then?

My missing friend calls me the next day. “Where are you?” I ask, not “Where were you,” because that doesn’t matter now. Once again, I’m quick to let go of unchangeable loss. “I was late,” I explain, “I drove for hours, but I came, and I looked for you.”

“I’m in Connecticut,” he says, “I had to get outta there. Too many old people.”

We laugh. Exchange updates on our families. I ask about his wife, their kids, and how they spend their days. We plan to meet next year though we may not. Anything could happen between now and then.

Reencountering the past leaves me wistful. You never know when you see someone, whether you will ever see them again. Only our future selves recognize last times as last times.

But I am smiling as I write this, and I know what I would have said had I joined my classmates at that High Street bar. Had I been someone I’m not.

I would have raised a glass and hugged the person closest to me. I’d have said,” I’m so glad that I came tonight, I’m so happy to see everyone!”

And I would be thinking: because in spite of myself, you feel like my family.

And I wish that I’d known you.

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:Tender Spring Veggies

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May Day is upon us— that should put a spring in your step. I want to retire the crockpot, stash the Dutch oven, put the lasagna pan out to pasture and start digging into light, healthy, crispy fresh green salads. With crusty French bread and sweet butter and a glass or two of cool Chardonnay. In my bare feet. In shorts.
Now is a good time to get outside – whether in your own garden, or wandering around the farmers’ market. Lots of fruits and vegetables are in season again – and we should be supporting our local farmers!
In Season

We have bought four humble tomato plants, and have planted them in the raised garden bed in our side yard. There are a couple of blossoms already, which is nature’s clever way of encouraging us to believe that we will have a bountiful harvest of tomato sandwiches later this summer.

That is always the best part of gardening, seeing everything in my mind’s eye in the gauzy Technicolor future. Somehow there I am always wearing a float-y white outfit as I drop my bountiful harvest into my antique English garden trug, clipping merrily (and with surgical precision) with the vintage secateurs sourced from an obscure French flea market. Reality won’t elbow that fantasy out of my malleable brain for a couple of months…

But back to the matter at hand – salad: as usual, we are hoping that the basil container farm will be busy and bushy this summer, as well as the annual tomato exercise, which I hope won’t wither on their burgeoning vines. We are also considered trying to make our own fresh mozzarella cheese. Maybe it would be easier to just move to Italy. But that depends on the lottery officials, and I am sad to say that we don’t know anyone at the Texas Lottery Commission. Texas Lottery Scandal https://www.cnn.com/2025/04/23/us/texas-lottery-ryan-mindell-resignation/index.html We are just homegrowns.
Tender Green Salad ideas!

This will be perfect for the Friday nights when Chef Tomasso doesn’t want to fire up the oven for our weekly pizza night:

Pizza Salad
Exactly the same way you would choose your pizza toppings, free to add in your favorite toppings INTO the salad to recreate the classic flavors. Use all the extra toppings you love: olives, tuna, capers, meatballs, Nduja, onions, peppers: whatever your go-to pizza order is.

Single serving — you can do the math for more

1/2 small eggplant, diced
Handful of cherry tomatoes
1/2 red pepper
1/2 teaspoon oregano and 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
Sliced pepperoni – your call
2 slices sourdough bread or day-old French bread, cut into cubes
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan
Handful of torn basil leaves
1/4 cup shredded mozzarella
3 ounces shredded chicken breast (if you are concerned about protein)

Garlic herb dressing
2 tablespoons Greek yogurt
Pinch oregano
Pinch garlic powder
Salt and pepper
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar
Preheat your oven to 400°F.
Toss the diced eggplant, cherry tomatoes, red pepper and pepperoni with oregano, garlic powder and salt. Spread on a baking tray. Roast for 12–15 minutes, until softened, sticky and slightly caramelized.

Scatter the diced bread cubes and a little grating of parmesan over the top, then return to roast for another 4–5 minutes until the croutons are crisp and golden.

While that’s roasting, stir together the yogurt, garlic powder, oregano, vinegar, salt and pepper for the garlic and herb dressing. Add a splash of water if you want a looser consistency.

Once everything is out of the oven, toss with the basil, shredded mozzarella and cooked chicken so the warmth starts to melt everything together. Serve warm with a generous drizzle of dressing. Take a plate, with your glass of Chardonnay, out onto the back porch, and plant yourself in the plastic Adirondack chair. Enjoy a cool Friday night, eating your veggies, smelling the breeze, and enjoying a tasty al fresco meal. Have fun streaking on May Day!

Here is an air fryer version: Pizza Salad with Garlic Herb Dressing

Fancier Salad

“A salad is not a meal. It is a style.”
—Fran Lebowitz


 

Jean Dixon Sanders has been a painter and graphic designer for the past thirty years. A graduate of Washington College, where she majored in fine art, Jean started her work in design with the Literary House lecture program. The illustrations she contributes to the Spies are done with watercolor, colored pencil and ink.

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

Chesapeake Histories: A talk with Sultana Education Foundation VP Chris Cerino

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In a innovative collaboration aimed at deepening students’ understanding of the Chesapeake region’s rich but often underrepresented history, the Sultana Education Foundation has launched a compelling educational program focused on the African American experience in the region.

The presentation, piloted during Black History Month for local fifth-grade students, pairs digital storytelling with a real-world exploration of historic Chestertown. The results are dramatic: room-sized images slide smoothly across a painted map of the Bay region on the Sultana building floor during a narration of the image’s historical relevance.

“This is something we’ve wanted to do for a long time,” said Vice President of Sultana Education Foundation Chris Cerino. “The story of African Americans in the Chesapeake is deeply intertwined with the story of the region itself—some of the nation’s most influential abolitionists and civil rights leaders came from the Eastern Shore, including Kent County.”

The presentation was created in partnership with the C.V. Starr Center for the Study of the American Experience with assistance from Deputy Director of the Starr Center Jaelon Moaney, Chesapeake Heartland’s Project Director Darius Johnson, and community historian Airleee Johnson along with contributions from Starr Center Director and historian Adam Goodheart.

“We didn’t just want to tell history—we wanted to tell it right,” Cerino said. “That meant inviting African American community members to help shape and share the narrative.”

Anchored in Sultana’s interactive digital map of the Chesapeake Bay, the slides connect key historical moments to specific geographic locations. From the arrival of enslaved Africans to the era of Jim Crow, and ultimately to the election of Barack Obama, the program aims to acknowledge historical pain, celebrate resilience, and recognize the ongoing journey toward equality.

“The impact of crafting this dynamic experience becomes clearer, and compounds, each time I bear witness to pivotal sparks of discovery in local students and educators alike. Retracing my childhood footsteps, as well as those of the change agents who came before, through innovative tools that usher collective, nuanced strides forward is both grounding and cathartic,” writes Jaelon Moaney, whose family

In a recent exhibit, students were shown landmarks like Jane’s Church, Bethel Church, the Garfield Center (a formerly segregated space), and Sumner Hall—once a meeting place for free African Americans. After the digital component, students toured the streets of Chestertown, learning that many local buildings hold extraordinary stories.

“This isn’t just about the past,” said Cerino. “It’s about seeing how the legacy of struggle and strength shapes where we live today.”

The program also highlights lesser-known but significant elements of African American history in the region—such as the legacy of Black watermen who worked the Bay. “The waterways offered rare opportunities for Black entrepreneurship,” said the presenter. “These were men who owned boats, hired crews, and ran their own businesses at a time when such autonomy was rare for African Americans.”

In addition to this new presentation, Sultana continues to offer a digital map and lecture series on Native American history in the region—another vital narrative often overshadowed in conventional histories.

The Foundation hopes to expand the audience beyond local classrooms. Plans are underway to present the program during community events like Downrigging Weekend and Legacy Day, with groups like Sumner Hall identified as ideal partners for future showings.

“We want the full, honest story of this region told,” said the presenter. “Not just for students, but for everyone.”

The Spy recently spoke with Chris Cerino about the ongoing presentation.

For more about Sultana Education Foundation, go here.

This video is approximately seven minutes in length.

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

In the beginning was the word By Laura J. Oliver

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Here’s what old people do. They talk about their aches and pains and what they had to eat at their most recent meal.

Grilled cheese, and my hip hurts. Ha ha.

I know you’re reviewing your last conversation with furrowed brow, so I’m trying to make you feel better.

To make myself feel better, I’m engaged in an experiment. I have a pain that only manifests when I lie down on my left side, but it’s really interfering with my lack of sleep. That’s another joke. Read it again.

An MRI has identified what could be the cause, but according to the pain management specialist, the source of my pain could be this, could be that. A spinal injection has helped a bit, but to avoid doing another, the doctor has suggested a month of acupuncture three times a week.

Acupuncture is not covered by my insurance, so I have been agonizing about what to do because the intense, accelerated schedule of appointments will, by necessity, be expensive, but I discover there is a practice called “community acupuncture,” which is very affordable because it is done en masse. Picture a South Korean wedding where 5,000 engaged couples gather in a stadium. Like that.

I walk in the first day and see 10 mesh lounge chairs of sorts, lined up five to a side in a moderately-sized, dimly-lit room. Almost every recliner has a person lying on it with needles in various places, I assume, but can’t verify because I don’t look as I make my way down the center aisle to an empty chair. One of the things I will come to learn is that privacy does not require the usual physical barriers. There are ephemeral, spiritual boundaries that make it feel as if every person is in a room of their own.

White sound from a fan and faint music masks any conversation between the acupuncturist and patient so you are barely aware when one person’s session is complete, their needles removed, and they silently slip from the room.

I roll up my pants to my knees, I’m barefoot in a sleeveless top, and I offer up my extremities to my practitioner. How can you do this? I whisper, curious. How can you minister to what hurts when you only have access to 40 percent of my body? And not the part that hurts? She just smiles and says, Because I’ve been doing this 18 years.

Okay.

I am quick to enter other people’s realities when they seem better than my own.

And success speaks for itself. No matter what time of day or what day of the week I go, the room is nearly full. People love coming here. And they skew young although I see middle-aged people as well, and as many men as women.

Not that I’m looking.

She puts the needles in my hands and feet and the top of my head and leaves me there to cook. Within a few minutes, I feel my body reject several of the needles. I swear I’m not moving—they just fly out and hit the floor. Is that a good thing, I wonder?

I gently place Air Pods in my ears to listen to music. But the music makes me weep and think of things to tell you that I can’t write down and won’t remember, then I can’t wipe away my tears because my hands are full of needles.

So. This is awkward

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a playlist prepared, and the selection I picked on Spotify changes genres and is suddenly too loud and not continuous. Now I feel like I’m trapped at a rock concert too close to the stage.

I take a cautious glance at the wall clock and inadvertently see that all the bodies around me look like we are in suspended animation for a journey to Mars. I’m waking up first.

That makes me remember the YouTube video of the Rhodesian Ridgeback in the kennel who figured out how to nose open the latch of his cage, then raced down the run setting all his delighted fellow inmates free.

The next time I come, I vow to just lie there and let go of my thoughts like my friend Ned does six hours a day, trying not to have to incarnate again. He is in a big hurry to be done with Earthly existence in a spiritual way. But every thought that might flit past my consciousness like a cloud (the analogy meditators all use), I chase, knock down and rope like a calf in a steer-roping contest. Gotcha! Then I spring up, get back on my pony, and mentally look around for the next thought to lasso coming out of the shoot.

Got one! I am failing acupuncture. I’m doomed to get another spinal injection…

But our brains are phenomenal expectation machines. False flattery affects us even when we know it is untrue. (Looking good, you!) And when part of an object or word is missing, our brains fill it in. And when given a placebo we believe is medicine, we get well. But even better, when given a placebo and TOLD it’s a placebo, we still get well!

The implications are so huge I get lost in them. So, I lie there wanting to heal my hip and my heart and in love with my acupuncture points. Yes, there is Mound of Ruins and Tears Container, but there is also Spirit Gate, Shining Sea, and Grasping the Wind.

I try a mantra. “I’m healing,” I tell myself and any spiritual beings that might want to make me not a liar. “I am healed,” I try—going for broke.

“Not just my hip, but everything in my life.” That’s possible, right? That healing is like love? Nonselective, boundaryless? Did you know there is an acupuncture point called Soul Door?

You can’t change your feelings until you change the words in your head. Say them now, because if you say them, in some small part of your brain, you’ll believe them.

I am healing, I am healing,

I am healed.

 

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.