Plum Point Folio

Christine HigginsPlum Point Folio

Plum Point Folio
Poetry by Christine Higgins
Photography by Kevin Higgins
Published by Shelden Studios ©2016
48 pages
ISBN 978-0-9975649-0-7
$22.00 available on Amazon
Website discount: $15.00


table with Plum Point Folio and items for sale

The book shows a deep concern for conservation and preservation of the estuary known as the Chesapeake Bay. For the couple, there's a desire to protect and respect the complex, fragile ecosystem of this unique waterway.

small enough to call them mermaid's tears


Creation of the Book

"Plum Point is an idyllic spot on the Chesapeake. The grove there, just 25 feet or so from the bay, is dotted with tiny cabins. They were built for vacationers to rent in the 1930's and are near falling down now. No matter, my husband and I love the beauty and calm of this secluded spot close to the famous Calvert Cliffs in Southern Maryland. We marvel at the sunrises and sunsets, ships on the water bathed in pink light, hay fields, and long cloud sweeps. Kevin took pictures and I wrote poems of celebration."

rarer, the cobalt blue


Bay Weekly Poem

Read the article in the Bay Weekly where one of the poems from Plum Point Folio appears




rarer, the cobalt blue

tumbled by the seaseaglass dish



Go to Home Page

Christine Higgins reads Plum Point Folio

Praise for the Book

In this lush book, Christine Higgins and Kevin Higgins weave an ecosystem of admiration for a loved place and a loved innerness inspired by that place. Their poems and photos exchange intimacies and move us effortlessly between huge skies and seas, and “brown bottle beer, the lesser greens and blues.”

—Jennifer Wallace, The Want Fire, It Can Be Solved by Walking

Not mined gems, like rubies or diamonds


An Excellent Walk

with Cooper,
my four legged companion.
Today, longer than usual,
almost down to the darker green
and the sandy brown cliffs.
Head down, looking for beach glass,
I'm fooled over and over
by bits of green
that turn out to be leaves.
I find three chunks,
larger than usual—
two white, one brown.

Down by the white cottages
we meet a black Lab.
And after a bout of tail wagging,
the Lab hops in the row boat
with his master, and adopts
a regal pose in the prow.
We watch them swing out into the bay
under a picture perfect sky.
On our way back home
we're careful not to step
on honey bees in the clover.

Sitting on the porch, I discover
the one brown glass shard
is a treasure
with raised letters that spell

rarer, the cobalt blue



Knobbed Whelk

peach satin color
my grandmother's bed jacket

faded colors of summer
bleached gray and white and tan

resting here
on the sand:
well defined spines and
knobs made by the turning
of the segmented snail

solitary work: creating
whorls on an axis
an ancient vessel
a world unto itself