A mess of crabs and a taste of summertime

CHESAPEAKE

The sun slides westward, casting a cooling shade across the back deck, and Gene White hauls out a family heirloom. A rite of summer begins.

He hoists his dad's custom-made pot onto the gas grill, splashes in some beer and vinegar - just like dad always did.

He turns up the heat, and when clouds of steam billow from beneath the lid, he lowers a tangle of live blue crabs into the 40-something-year-old pot, shakes in a shower of Old Bay seasoning, and puts the lid back on.

Two square boards cover the patio table, and newspapers cover those. Butter knives for cracking and picking are strewn across that. Minutes later, the scent of cooked crab mixes with Old Bay. The cobalt blue-and-white shells give way to bright orange.

At the table are friends, or maybe just family. Regardless, hours pass as they pick and jaw and pick and jaw, telling stories, remembering when, and laughing about the time that uncle so-and-so did this or that.

The White family has treasured this weekend summertime ritual for as long as Gene White Jr. can remember.

As a boy, he and his dad, Gene White Sr., and other neighborhood fathers and sons would dip fresh chicken necks into Paradise Creek in the Cradock section of Portsmouth where they lived.

Later, when the family moved to Churchland, they'd crab in Carney Creek or over in Smithfield or Rescue.

"Back in the day, we could catch a bushel of crabs in two hours," Gene White Jr., said. "Sometimes two at a time."

The custom-made crab pot arrived at the White house as something of a surprise sometime in the 1970s. Gene White Sr., now a retired Portsmouth Fire Department battal ion chief living in Suffolk with his wife Ellen, had put out a blaze; he can't recall just where or when.

The owners were so grateful that they asked the chief how they could repay him. At first, he assured them it was his job but finally said, I need a big crab pot.

Crafted in a machine shop, the heavy-gauge stainless steel pot weighs about 20 pounds. It's about 20 inches tall and deep enough to cook 1.5 bushels of crabs.

"Property of Gene White" is etched into the side of the pot in freehand lettering, and his Social Security number below that.

"So it couldn't be stolen," Gene White Jr. explained.

The pot was passed from father to son about a decade ago, and it's now used by Gene and his wife, Jennifer, and their son, Jackson, nearly every summer weekend.

Crabbers say this is a banner year for Chesapeake Bay blue crabs, but these days the Whites are more likely to procure bushels of big No. 1 jimmies at the market than on a string.

That's about the only change from the old days, Gene White Jr. said, sitting in his living room one day this month. He pulled an imaginary piece of meat from an imaginary crab and said, "When you pull that lump of backfin out, that's summertime."

He smiled wide, like he could taste it, too.

Lorraine Eaton, (757) 446-2697, lorraine.eaton@pilotonline.com