Looking for Signs

On the Eastern Shore, some people give names to their homes, as aristocrats once did in colonial days. The name is a part of the owner’s story. I noticed these signs one day while riding a bike along the Bozman-Neavitt Rd near St. Michaels. The names appear on signs in the front yard or by the mailbox. I believe the signs are a resident’s statement to the world about his personal sense of place.

The homes are modest and well kept. While names on some signs seem apt, others are cryptic.

Simple geography may determine names like Pond Point, Winterbottom Point, or Breezy Point, for example. I saw one sign, Swan Pointe. An  ‘e’ was added to the end of the word point. A suggestion of antiquity, perhaps, or was it a touch of class, like the ‘ou’ I may see in the word Harbour.  One homestead is called Daddy’s Folly Farm. Did the kids think Daddy was crazy to buy the place? In either case, Daddy got his way.  Another name, Up the Creek could have been inspired by its location but may also suggest a property mortgage that turned out to be a killer? One can only guess.

Some homes declare they are farms. They are not.  Calling your place a ‘farm’ evokes a romantic sense of place rather than identifying a function.  On one spread, Saddlers Cove Farm, for instance, a house stood and a small airport with a nearby hanger, it’s windsock streaming in the breeze. Better those owners are fibbing about farm rather than to have bought the farm.

Consistent with the rural ambience along the Bozman-Neavitt Road is a sign that reads Grandview. It’s located, as though divinely appointed, next to a cemetery. One day I saw an elderly man on a riding mower. The mower was stopped, engine off, parked just before a gravestone around which new flowers grew. The man sat there, still, eyes fixed on the stone and he appeared as though he were deep in thought. I was certain that he was visiting with someone he loved who had been interred not too long ago. He misses them. He dropped by to tell them so.

One sign read, Hidden Pleasure. It piqued my curiosity. I slowed down while looking carefully up the driveway to see more. There was nothing visible but trees.  What did these folks like doing, I wondered?  The sign also pictured a goose. But seeing no other hints, I moved on, still wondering.  Riding past Plenary, I felt chastened.   I recalled the phrase, ‘plenary indulgence,’ from my childhood catechism.  A plenary indulgence remits in full all the temporal punishments that one has incurred for their sins. Whether that’s to include thoughts as well as deeds, I’m not sure.

We’ve named our home. When we first looked at the house it was not love at first sight.  The house looked weird, like a bunkhouse. We dismissed the thought of buying it but then returned once more just for a second look. It still looked weird but we fell in love with it anyway and bought it.

Our sign out front reads, “Second Look.” That tells our story.