 |
|
 |
      |
 |
|
 |
Kent native was a true steward of the land The first time I met Walter Harris, on assignment to write about his Century Farm home, it took him less than three seconds to size me up. “You're not from here,” he stated in that special tone reserved for those who are. Then, looking down his rather aristocratic nose, he softened his evaluation adding, "But, that's all right. Everyone has to be from someplace. Here is just better." Then he invited me on a tour of Bloomingneck Farm to prove his point. As Kent County natives go, Walter was the real thing. Raised in the 16-room farmhouse where he and his wife, Dolly, began married life more than half a century ago, he spent all of his 84 years on the land he loved. It was that significant farmhouse and the stunning, waterfront acreage surrounding it that ignited Walter's lifelong interest in all things historical, and fueled his passion to preserve them for future generations. He grew up on that majestic swath of farmland, high atop a peninsula fronting the Chesapeake Bay , a childhood spent exploring the deep woods and soft meadows that swept down to the bay-washed cliffs, that have changed little in 300 years. Walter reveled in the lore of Bloomingneck Farm, steeped in history, and controversy, from its earliest owner, Lloyd Delaney, who lost the property during the Revolutionary War, to William Paca, Maryland 's third governor. Walter's grandfather purchased the property in the late 1800's, not for its large holdings or pristine shoreline, but because the property came with its own wharf, handy for shipping produce from 200 acres of fruit trees. In those early days of farming the family hired 80 workers each year to tend the crops, and Walter often spoke about the "sound of their beautiful voices echoing across the fields" as they sang while they planted and harvested. By 1928 the songs had ended. Ships no longer stopped at the wharf, and trucking the fruit to market became prohibitive. But, even as the arrival of the Great Depression deepened Bloomingneck's financial woes, Walter refused to heed the advice of others to “get rid of that rat hole,” instead investing his savings in a tomato crop, a move that saved the farm from foreclosure. His mother, a renowned horticulturist, threw her energies into raising a profitable flock of turkeys. "It wasn't an easy job, because by then we had no help. But we weren't about to let that farm go," Walter said. Dolly, city born and bred, met Walter while accompanying her mother and stepfather to look at the hunting dogs being raised at Bloomingneck. "I thought it was in the middle of the wilderness," she recalls. "That afternoon we caught some fish and decided to cook them up before we drove back home. I asked Walter if we could borrow a frying pan, and so we enjoyed our picnic before driving home. When we got back, we discovered we'd forgotten to return the pan." Dolly called to apologize, and Walter suggested she could bring the pan back and he could take her to dinner. She agreed. "We went to the Tidewater Inn, which had just opened in Easton . I couldn't believe how far it was to drive just to go out to eat, but it was a lovely place," Dolly recalled. During the course of their dinner, Walter took a tour of the new rooms at the Tidewater, and on their way home asked Dolly if she's like to stay there sometime. Shocked at his bold suggestion, she primly replied, "No, I think not!" "Oh," Walter quickly amended, "I meant after we're married." "And that was that," said Dolly, who traded big city life to wed and raise four children on the beautiful bayfront farm. On their 50th wedding anniversary celebration at Drayton Manor in 2000, Walter turned to his "bride," with a toast, announcing, "When I met Dolly, I thought she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. And I still do." When Walter died last week, we lost not only his presence, but a treasure trove of Eastern Shore folklore and a walking infomercial for Kent County . "I don't want people to forget what it was like," he said, and went to work assuring no one would. Over the years, Walter developed a Boy Scout retreat on Bloomingneck, then leased property for Echo Hill Camp, and later, Echo Hill Outdoor School, to encourage youngsters to appreciate the landscape. He devoted boundless energy to local affairs, becoming a founder of the Kent Museum, Inc., past president of the Kent County Heritage Trust and the Kent County Historical Society and a member of numerous Chesapeake Bay preservation organizations. A pioneer of no-till farming more than 30 years ago, Walter was also a Conservation District Supervisor, a member of the Forestry Board and a valuable supporter of the Eastern Shore Land Conservancy. When the beautiful old house at the Still Pond Coast Guard station was slated for demolition years ago, Walter was asked to go through it and see if he wanted to take anything home. He took the entire house, moving it to Bloomingneck on a bluff overlooking the Chesapeake and renaming it “Bay House.” But, earlier this year, suffering a myriad of problems, including a heart condition that had plagued him since childhood, Walter became increasingly frail. Yet he never lost interest in touring his beloved farm or traveling the back roads of Kent with his wife and daughter, Holly, who, with her husband, Mac, is busy restoring her father's childhood farmhouse. Recently, severe breathing problems further compromised Walter's health, requiring his permanent hookup to oxygen. "The truth is," Walter said, still smiling, "I'm just wearing out." In my heart, I believe Walter journeyed on to heaven. I just hope it looks a lot like Kent County . ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Cooky McGlung writes for the Kent County News.
"A footpath for those who seek fellowship with the wilderness."
|
Walter Harris, Kent County