Post-enslavement, the Downings stayed in Accomack County on the Virginia shore and eventually acquired a small plot of land. Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, New York Public Libraryĭowning was born on Virginia’s Eastern Shore in 1791 to a Black family whose freedom had been granted after a traveling preacher convinced the Downing’s slaveholder that it was bad faith to be both a member of the Methodist Church and hold enslaved people. Thomas Downing, born on Virginia’s Eastern Shore in 1791, took his knowledge of oysters to New York City, where he opened what would become a famous oyster cellar on Broad Street.
I wanted to know more about this difference in attitude toward the shellfish and the kinds of experiences they conjured. In New York and other cities to the north, the lifestyle surrounding oysters seemed altogether different, from the well-attired shuckers at fancy restaurants, down to the serving plates and wine pairings. They reminded me of my uncles at our family seafood boil, who shared stories as they stood around an 80-quart pot. Years ago, growing up on Louisiana’s Gulf Coast, I’d watch oyster shuckers, usually Black men, popping open shell after shell, joking with guests on the opposite side of the bar while they worked. As an African-American and native Southerner, I also wanted to explore how Black culture figured in - to see if the world of oysters reflected something larger about the American experience across racial lines. I was curious about the difference between the tradition, here, along the eastern Virginia coast, and in places like New York City and New Orleans, where I’m from. On my journey through the region, I wanted to delve into something that had been a part of my childhood: the culture surrounding oysters. Mary’s County Oyster Festival and National Shucking Competition. A few weeks after that trip, I would head to the opposite side of the Chesapeake, to Leonardtown, Md. My visit to Chincoteague last September was part of an exploration of an American tradition rich in history and lore.
Back then, before fish-farming became popular, the land itself functioned as a sort of natural pier for its residents who wrangled clams and oysters and terrapin, as thick as treasure, from beds in the brackish water.
As I made my way across, I thought of how, in centuries past, skiffs drifted through the region’s bays, channels and coves in search of shellfish. On the marsh-bound causeway to Chincoteague Island on Virginia’s Eastern Shore, cars and their drivers seemed to float across the still waters of Queens Sound.
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