BY JACK GREER
Chesapeake Quarterly
August 2009

DARALD LOFGREN, RECENTLY TURNED 70, leans over and points to a shelf of tan-colored clay sticking out from the eroding banks of Mayo Beach. The air is humid. Perspiration dots his gray T-shirt. "Look at that," he says. "All these layers are getting exposed."

Small waves break against a few knuckles of clay that punch out of the crumbling bank, but otherwise it's all white sand here, stretching left and right, a prime stretch of swimmable beach right where the South River meets the Chesapeake. After all the creeks, rivers, and backwaters that have made the Bay so hospitable to human habitation, this strand feels more like ocean.

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