Smith Island, MD

They call themselves watermen, and their lives depend on the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. They’re fishermen, and for 300 years they’ve gone down to the sea in boats.

Twelve miles off Maryland’s Eastern Shore, three small Islands—collectively known as Smith Island—pepper the middle of the Chesapeake Bay. Home to the fishing villages of Rhodes Point, Ewell, and Tylerton, the islands are eight miles long and four miles wide—and hold fewer than 300 residents.

Watermen and their families have called these slices of land home since the islands were settled in 1657. The first settlers attempted to farm, but marshy conditions and tidal erosion made agriculture difficult. So islanders turned to the water and ever since have made their living from the bay. In so doing, they’ve preserved a way of life that’s changed little in the last three centuries.

“We’re bay people,” explains Jennings Evans, an 11th-generation Smith Islander. In his 70s, Evans has retired but still adheres to a waterman’s lifestyle. “We go to bed early, we rise early. You have to make a living when the seafood is there. We’re at the whim of the waters,” Evans says.

Crabbing is the islanders’ main source of livelihood. Every summer, Marylanders crowd their local crab houses for succulent, sweet Maryland blue crab. During crabbing season, April through October, islanders take boats of all sizes into the bay from dusk till dawn to pull in the popular crustaceans. “Everybody on the islands is either a waterman or a waterman’s wife—except the preacher,” says Wendy Robertson, the local tourism assistant at the Somerset County Tourism Office on the mainland.

When crabbing slows, residents focus on church socials and fund raising for local services. Two churches serve as religious and cultural centers for the islands. “In the winter, crabbing doesn’t provide enough (work to keep them busy), so we have most of our fund raising, like bingo,” says Jennifer Dize a lifetime resident of Ewell. “We have plenty of church social activities.”

Dize’s favorite is the six-week stint in winter when the men on Ewell do the cooking. Once a week the community gathers at the church for dinner and games. The charge—$2 for all you can eat.

The Ewell church also serves as the government house. The island has no elected officials, so residents make decisions. “We take a vote on big issues,” Dize says. “Otherwise, members of the church board look into issues after church on Sunday.” For urgent matters, a poster appears in the window of the general store in Ewell calling for a gathering.

The only way to reach Smith Island is by boat, a 45-minute trip. Residents make forays to the mainland for supplies or to visit family, and two bed & breakfasts and a motel serve a brisk summer tourist trade. The island has an elementary school, but children attend high school on the mainland in Crisfield, the island’s chief mainland port. The island is so small almost everyone uses golf carts or bikes—including visitors—to get around.

Most residents are content to stay on the island and spend time with friends and neighbors. “We don’t get bored like a lot of people assume we do,” Dize says. “There’s always community activities, and everyone chips in to keep things going.”

The roots on Smith Island are so deep that even the modes of speech hearken to another era. Islanders have an accent—a slight English lilt warmed by a Southern drawl. “The popular thing to say is that its Elizabethan, but experts tell us it’s probably more correct to say it’s Tidewater English,” says Midge Patterson, director of the Crisfield-Smith Island Cultural Alliance. The alliance maintains a small historical and fishing museum on the island.

The distance from the mainland means residents have largely escaped the push of modern life—for instance, Smith Island has never had a murder, and crime is practically nonexistent. The shifting tides of the times affect Smith Island less than the literal tides—the islands are losing 8 to 10 feet of land to erosion each year.

But as with all problems that arise, islanders pull together to find solutions so they may continue working the waters—as they have for 300 years—together with friends and family.

Elizabeth Evitts writes from her home in Baltimore, Md.

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