A Quick Trip to the Eastern Shore

April 4th, 2026

    My grandmother is getting quite old, and lives alone in a house she can’t maintain by herself. Her fierce independence means she refuses to move within a 20 hour drive of a family member, and therefore it becomes necessary to make frequent and expensive flights out to visit her in small town Virginia. This year, my sister and I joined my mom on the pilgrimage back to the zip code where I grew up. It’s a pleasant little burg, with a bank and a grocery store and an Applebees, but not much more than that.

    Given the state of my upbringing, I’ve seen almost all of the lighthouses in Virginia, save for a few offshore ones that are incredibly difficult to access, and also those on the Eastern Shore. People tend to forget about the Eastern Shore. It’s a Shore, and it is also Eastern. It’s not an island, because it hangs onto Maryland in the north, but it’s also not part of Virginia’s mainland, as it’s separated by the Chesapeake Bay, so it falls off a lot of maps of the state, despite being quite large. It was collectively agreed that it would be a good thing to get Grandma out of the house, and what better activity is there than lighthouse hunting across the bay?

    With Grandma and Ally in the backseat, we left the house early and headed south for about six eternities into the Hampton Roads area, where we made a brief stop for Starbucks. Grandma’s coffee routine has disintegrated into microwaving instant coffee every morning, and try as I might I could not subject myself to that. My mom was elated by the ‘Old Dominion’ badge on the barista’s apron. “You went to ODU! So did I!” my mom exclaimed, not realizing that being in Norfolk, being a fellow ODU alumnus wasn’t too shocking. “Oh! That’s great!” The barista replied politely. Finally caffeinated, we pressed on. There are several bridge-tunnels in the region, one of which is the legendary Monitor-Merrimac bridge. From the Monitor-Merrimac bridge it is possible to see the handsome caisson lighthouse known as the Newport News Middle Ground Lighthouse. I remember seeing it growing up as we drove down to Norfolk to visit family, and to me it always meant we were ‘almost there’. On this trip, however, we took a different route, with a different bridge, and a different view of the lighthouse. I promise the lighthouse is in this picture. A trained eye can recognize the pixel.

    We hung a left before Fort Story and progressed onto the marvelous Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, a massive structure connecting Virginia Proper from its Eastern Shore. Much like the Newport News Middle Ground Light, our next lighthouse suffered from a sub-dramatic view. Cape Charles Lighthouse has all the makings of an attractive beacon– it’s the second tallest lighthouse in the United States at 191 feet, standing over all but Cape Hatteras, and consequentially the tallest Virginia has to offer. It’s a skeletal tower, which is admittedly less sexy than a patterned brick lighthouse, which slightly detracts from the tourism, and is on a remote island offshore with no public access, which sharply detracts from the tourism. A very distant view is possible from the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, but I wanted better so I could test out the zoom lens Andrew had lent me. After taking some quick iPhone shots from the road, I took us to our backup destination– Cushman’s Landing.

    Cushman’s Landing is, as you can probably guess, a boat landing related to a guy called Cushman. I did some post-trip Googling, and learned Cushman was a guy who retired to Mockhorn Island in the 1920s with his wife, one of Virginia’s many once-inhabited barrier islands that today house nothing but ruins. I suppose Cushman needed to get to his island, and I would continue to suppose that the place from which he launched his boat is the place now known as Cushman’s Landing. Furthermore, Cushman was supposedly obsessed with concrete, the primary building material used for the ruins on Mockhorn Island. The presence of concrete ruins at the landing doubles down on the name. After meandering down some rural unpaved roads through fields and past mobile homes, we arrived at Cushman’s Landing. There were no people nearby, and the only sound came from the gentle lapping of waves on the shore and some seabirds. A large boat lay on shore, abandoned, its windows broken. Near the water, some kind of concrete structure lay in ruins, with some shattered walls and the remains of a fireplace. Across the channel, one could see the faint shape of the Cape Charles Lighthouse pushing up the sky, flanked by a pair of World War II lookout towers. It was a rare day. Ally searched for shells and I tested out the zoom lens on the lighthouse and shot the ruins of the house and the ruins of the boat. The wind pushed over the grass and the air smelled like salt and fish and it was an entirely pleasant piece of afternoon. We left.

    Returning to the main road, we made for Chincoteague, a little beach town that every Virginian knows the name of. There’s a book from the 40s called Misty of Chincoteague. It details how a Spanish galleon crashed offshore and the horses swam ashore, becoming feral and starting a local population. The book quickly evolves into some story about a captured horse called Misty, but the important point here is that there are still feral horses in the area, most notably on the island of Assateague just east of the town. More on that later.

    We came into Chincoteague. It’s a small beach town, mostly consisting of expensive looking beach houses and quaint coffee shops, and many people traversed the sidewalks on bikes. Grandma considers herself vegetarian, so I offered her the choice between the two highest rated restaurants in Chincoteague with vegetarian options– a Vietnamese place and a pizza place. Grandma yelped when the word ‘Vietnamese’ left my lips. “I have never had Vietnamese food and never will! If I were hungry I’d eat anything, including meat, but never Vietnamese! Or fish.” She looked at Ally as if she expected her to agree. Instead Ally asked her if she wanted some pho. I recalled fondly the time she warned me in 5th grade my Vietnamese best friend was likely to be a communist, and prudently set the GPS for the pizza restaurant.

    The pizza was fine, and we supplemented with french fries coated in Old Bay. Grandma criticized the notion of ‘unnatural food’ like french fries quite heavily until she realized how delicious french fries coated in Old Bay could be, then quieted appropriately. As we ate the pizza, she casually mentioned that her doctor had assigned her a nutritionist who called every Monday to ask which vegetables she’d eaten that week, since she didn’t like vegetables, and then made a show of counting the vegetables on the pizza. Mom commented on the irony of a self-described vegetarian that didn’t eat enough vegetables. Ally stressed about the cleanliness of the bathroom. The pizza’s lifespan was short, and we departed.

    Our next destination was Assateague Island. As we passed over the bridge, I queued up my favorite Sadurn song, and really tried to immerse myself in the lyrics that have been rattling my brain for the past several years: I hope the waters, down in Assateague // Are clearing your head. We found the lighthouse, and Ally and I took the quarter-mile trail to its base. Assateague Lighthouse doesn’t open until Memorial Day, but I had a good time taking pictures of my 123rd lighthouse from around its base, framing it to the best of my ability with the massive pine trees surrounding it. It’s a genuinely beautiful lighthouse, and it’s tickled my imagination for my entire life, and I was delighted to see it in person. Ally searched the trees for birds. Eventually I became frustrated with the constant flood of mullet wearing, camo-clad tourists wandering the base, tossing stones at each other, and we moved deeper into the park.

    Assateague is a nature preserve, and is famous for its birding, but as alluded to earlier, also boasts an impressive population of feral horses. Today, a few ponies were grazing on the marsh some distance from the road, and I was awarded with another opportunity to test Andrew’s zoom lens. Further along, a host of snowy egrets enjoyed the afternoon with a handsome lighthouse backdrop. At the end of the park, a beach roared with all the excitement of a holiday weekend, the sand packed with people. The ocean was empty– at 65 degrees before wind chill, I was deeply impressed with the bikini-clad women withstanding the ocean breezes for the sake of a tan. I took some pictures of the laughing gulls, and we returned to Chincoteague.

    Chincoteague has a museum, unsurprisingly, and it was essential visiting for two reasons– first, it houses the first order Fresnel lens of the Assateague lighthouse. Second, it houses the sixth order ‘drum’ Fresnel lens of Fort Washington Lighthouse, the 80th lighthouse on the Potomac up north in Maryland. At $10 per head, it felt somewhat expensive, given that it was a single room, but the economy is in shambles, so it really can’t be helped. After seeing the lenses, my attention began to wander, and soon we left.

    Our final stop in Chincoteague was the Island Creamery, an ice cream parlor that was typically considered to offer the best ice cream in Virginia, but as of 2023, the best in the United States. I had orange cream flavored, and I can attest it was indeed delicious. As far as ice cream goes, I found it to be surprisingly thick, almost sticky– but delicious all the same. After ice cream, Ally and I wandered around town, and I shot a few pictures and tried to capture the vibe of Chincoteague. I don’t think I succeeded, but I tried.

    We drove home. As we crossed 64 bridge tunnel, this time on the eastern side, I got a distant view of Thimble Shoal, a little caisson off the coast of Fort Monroe I have not put eyes on since September 2011. Overall, four lighthouses seen, two of them new– an appropriately enjoyable day.