Pass the Old Bay

I wonder if I could live at the water.

In theory, I feel like I could. Every time I visit people who live at the river or when I spend time at the ocean, I seem to come away just a wee bit green with envy of their proximity, not just to water, but to a more relaxed sort of lifestyle.

I'm a person who can sit contently in front of a body of water and wile away whole parts of the day. There is no more enjoyable walking than along the water's edge. It's tough to be stressed or unhappy listening to the sound of lapping water.

This is very much on my mind at the moment because of today's visit to a favorite couple's new digs in Ocean View. Back story: Two surfing types found a fantastic house, both loved it, but he still felt the need to ask of her, "Are you serious about moving?" Unequivocal yes.

The two-story house sits back on a big shady lot, tucked into a neighborhood where many of the older, smaller houses have been bonged down and replaced with much larger, showier houses. Not this one.

Theirs is compact and charming, with blue trim on both porches, seashells instead of handles on the screen doors and entire walls of windows. The downstairs floor plan is completely open, much like my favorite beach cottage, for easy interacting no matter what room you're in. The radio plays music for the entire floor.

Step out in the verdant backyard and you see a patio and a lattice storage unit for their many surfboards. The upstairs porch off the bedroom is the dog's favorite place to nap. Photographs of trips to Nicaragua and California fill the walls.

They're one block from the Chesapeake Bay, up some wooden steps and down a few more to the beach. That's where we spent most of the day, beach-clad, under an umbrella, in chairs. Because of the proximity to the ocean - the Bay bridge tunnel is easily visible to the east and the eastern shore beyond that- there were plenty of waves.

I'd brought my book but never got to it. A pod of dolphins entertained us with tail splashing and high diving. Tumblers of wine kept the conversation flowing, a walk to Little Creek for a view of the Joint Expeditionary Base (I heard my first hovercraft) took us as far east as we were able to go and the bath water-warm bay provided the setting for a solid hour in the waves.

Because they've only been Ocean View residents for two weeks, they're still learning the 'hood. Fair enough. But when they told me there was a waterfront restaurant within spitting distance, I was amazed they hadn't yet checked it out. You've got  a bayside bar you can walk on the beach to?

That was the point at which my plans to leave before dinner changed. We were all three showered and strolling down there within 20 minutes.

Although they'd never been, they'd heard some scuttlebutt about the place - rowdy tales of pool games, an unlikely piano and, most  intriguing, a tree growing in the men's room. Inquiring minds wanted to know.

Despite arriving at the bay-front patio, we dutifully walked to the front of the restaurant to enter. The place turned out to be huge, very deep and definitely a little long in the tooth. We spotted a shuffleboard table, but no pool table, an upright piano and several private dining rooms. Not a soul was eating inside.

The crowd was out on the patio, of course, where half the tables sat in full sun and the other half under an awning. I'd have been willing to bet that I was the sole non-local. A band was setting up. Our tentative server told us it was happy hour and encouraged us to drink up, so we did.

Trying to decide on what to eat, we spotted some sumptuous looking sandwiches at the table next to us. Turning in our seats, we inquired, only to learn that they were lobster rolls, which both couples at this table were having.

"It's so good," the one guy said, explaining that it was a special and not on the menu. "But hurry up and order before they run out." Tragically, they already had.

But our new friends were there to do more than tease us, offering up the full scoop. Fridays are lobster roll special days. Mondays, everything is half-priced, food and drink. For decades, the place had been a high end restaurant that attracted people for miles around. After the owners sold, the place went through a succession of owners.

The current incarnation, Mac's Place, has only been open for "four or five weeks," they said. And they should know. The handsome guy told us he'd come to Ocean View in 1959 and watched it grow. The other guy, hearing I was from Richmond, shared that he'd graduated from RPI. "Not VCU, RPI," he said, as if we'd never heard of the school's predecessor.

They'd discovered the lobster rolls last week. "There were 15 people here last week at 5:00 for them. This week, there were 30 people here by 5. You need to show up at 4 when happy hour starts," they advised. Duly noted.

After thanking them for their assistance, we turned back to our table, every few minutes hearing one of them say loudly for our benefit, "Boy, this lobster roll is so good!" to rub it in.

Nothing we ordered wowed us like the lobster rolls had the locals, but as my host reminded us, "We didn't come for the food."

That much was true. The drinks were cheap, the early evening light made the water and sky a brilliant blue and the view of sailboats, powerboats and a Navy ship (the one we'd heard firing earlier) created a picture postcard view.

"I am so happy to be here," my host said, beaming. "You started something, Karen. We're going to have to bring all our guests here." I told him if my neighborhood bar was a quarter mile walk down a beach, they'd have a stool with my name on it.

By the time I left, I'd seen an "I LV OV" license plate, met three beagles on one leash and been invited to return for an overnight visit, an offer I will undoubtedly take them up on. If nothing else, I need to return and verify that tree in the men's room story. It was occupied when I went to check.

But could I live there? Could I give up city life like they did and move to a place absent so many of the things I like to do? Would I miss being able to walk to venues and theaters, the grocery store and restaurants?

Being a block away from such a lovely beach is powerfully appealing. The ocean is within sight or a 15-minute drive. Everyone I met - on the street, at the beach, in the restaurant - was incredibly friendly and all of them very much sending out "I love my life and where I live" vibes. Small, old, affordable cottages still sit between McMansions. Tempting, all of it.

According to the happy couple, it just depends on how serious you are about moving.