Snow Geese at Spaniard Neck Farm

It was early January on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. The bleak, dark-gray morning sky was well matched with a raw and profoundly penetrating cold. Locals would tell you more snow was coming, and their predictions often proved true. Here, the landscape is depressingly flat, with farmland for feed corn or soybean about as far as the eye can see. An occasional farmhouse breaks up the monotonous landscape often with one or more grain silos, jutting out from the ground like relics from the cold war, a missile launcher standing at the ready. Amidst this desolate tableau, only the sporadic rumble of an occasional solitary truck traversing a salt-weathered back road disrupted the stillness. It was January on the Eastern Shore.

High up in the sky, an entirely different spectacle unfolded. Ribbons of snow geese twirled and gyrated in a chaotic, unchoreographed frenzy, their movements erratic as they darted sideways and back and forth. This aerial ballet stood in stark contrast to the orderly formations of their larger, more robust cousins, the Canadian geese, who had already made their journey south. Amidst their swirling dance, the snow geese would abruptly break away, descending to the ground in a raucous flurry of honks. Beneath them, the wintry fields lay cloaked in a frosty, crunching blanket of snow, concealing the remnants of last year's corn or soybean crops. Suddenly, the tranquility of the early morning was shattered by the sharp crack of gunshots, echoing one after another in rapid succession. In response, the snow geese erupted into a collective frenzy, soaring high into the sky like twisting ribbons, veering first one way, then the next, their flight path seemingly aimless.

Jeremy Pimbroke had been gunning on these lands since he was a boy. The Eastern Shore was very much a part of him and with good reason as his ancestors once owned significant tracts of lands deeded to the Pimbroke family in 1650 by King Charles II. Over the span of many a generation, lands had been divided-up, many sold off to housing developers but there were still lands being worked to this day. Jeremy had inherited a sizable tract of land and with it, the family's elegant estate, Spaniard Neck Farm, built at the turn of the century. It was a beautiful home that overlooked the graceful Chester River. Managing the property took almost all of Jeremy's time and had put an undue financial strain on his pocketbook. His ex-wife, a socialite from Philadelphia, had never fully understood nor truly appreciated his attachment to, his relationship with, or his passion for the land.?Admittedly, there had been more than a few instances over the years when he'd been tempted to sell the house and the lands that made up the estate. He'd received unsolicited and very tempting inquiries from well-heeled individuals who were familiar with the area. Not surprisingly, a number of them were avid hunters or sailors with an intimate knowledge and appreciation for this unique part of Maryland.

Goose hunting season in these parts has always been a serious and passionate business. This was hunt country. Make no bones about it; goose or deer hunting ranked high as a favorite pastime sport. Football was a close second. At the nearby small liberal arts college, dating back to the 1700's, local students were known to be absent on opening day of deer or goose hunting. Some things were just understood.

Visitors seeking accommodation during peak hunting season often found themselves at a loss, as local hotels were invariably booked well in advance to host eager hunting parties. Stepping into a hotel lobby at dawn, filled with camo-clad hunters of all ages, one might mistake it for the beginnings of a military coup. Such is the seriousness of hunting in this region—a cherished family tradition that binds generations together.

Jeremy hunkered down in his hunting blind situated along a hedgerow bordering the field where his decoys were set downwind from the hedgerow and the upwind edge of the spread about 30 yards from his blind. He carefully reloaded his Belgian-made Browning A-500 12 gauge semi-automatic shotgun and waited for Molson, his 8-year-old Golden Retriever, to return with his prize. Jeremy had trained Molson from a mere pup; by all accounts, he had proven to be an excellent gun dog. Jeremy could not imagine gunning without his best friend at his side. The two were?inseparable. It was not unusual to see Molson's golden reddish block head and grinning mouth as he peered out the passenger side window of Jeremy's mud-splattered green Ram 3500 V8 pickup truck. His other car was a silver?BMW M5, an over-the-top extreme machine priced at a cool ninety thousand and designed for super high-speed driving. It spent considerable time?safely under a tarp in the garage on the farm.?With the plump goose tucked away for the moment, he would field dress it soon enough. Jeremy blew his zinc goose call, shouldered his Browning, and waited patiently. In the late season, geese were extra cautious.?

The name Spaniard Neck is said to have come from the?Spanish explorers who 1526 sailed into the Chesapeake Bay and called it Santa Maria, a name that eventually appeared on a 1556 map. At one time, the Spanish, French, and English sailed on the Bay and into any one of its many rivers, the Chester, Corsica, and the Choptank to name just a few. Legends of pirates abound, including the Spanish galleons that sank off the Eastern Shore. It's a land that's deeply steeped in history with proud people who have lived off the land and hunted here for generations.?Spaniard Neck Farm was styled after an 18th-century English country retreat. It is undeniable. One entered a graceful hallway past a magnificent circular staircase. On the left, there is a formal dining room with seating for ten and an elegant living room on the right that leads to a comfortable den painted in deep green and red with an impressive mahogany glass encased gun rack and a fully loaded bar with just about anything to please any unusual request. Each room, including the bedrooms upstairs, all have working fireplaces. The?sunroom on the north side welcomed the occasional visitor to the farm. Brick walkways lead to a well-manicured lawn that slopes gently down to the Chester River. Sitting in the gazebo, one can wait and watch for merchant ships to appear over the horizon on the homeward leg of their journey from faraway lands. It is indeed a peaceful retreat at Spaniard Neck Farm. Perhaps even a little too peaceful.? On his return after a day of hunting, Jeremy handed the geese to the kitchen staff, who would obligingly take them and prep them for dinner. Molson would follow his master into the den, where he would place himself by the fireplace and lie down with a contented sigh, yet keeping an ever-watchful eye on Jeremy until he sat down with a cocktail in one hand, the other resting lightly on a very happy dog.?

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Snow Geese at Spaniard Neck Farm is one of two stories set on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. It is adapted from the author's upcoming fourth book, "Whispers of the Americas: Tales of Food, Culture, and Anecdotes Spanning Two Continents," which will be released in Fall 2024.