ANNAPOLIS, Md. — In the Eastport neighborhood of Annapolis, the arrival of spring is celebrated with an unusual ritual: the Annapolis Oyster Roast & Sock Burning. Timed to the spring equinox, the annual festival draws hundreds for oysters, music and a communal bonfire where people toss old socks into the flames.
The tradition traces back to 1977, during one of the coldest winters on record. The Chesapeake Bay froze and a local boatyard worker, Bob Turner, grew so fed up with the cold—and with wearing socks—that he threw a pair into a bonfire and declared, “I’m not putting them on again until next winter,” organizers say. Kelly Swartout, vice president of development at the Annapolis Maritime Museum & Park, says that single act grew into the yearly event.
This year’s festival came on the heels of another brutal winter that even delayed the Annapolis Yacht Club’s long-running “Frostbite” race series because Spa Creek and the Severn River had too much ice to sail. So when the sun finally returned, people poured into the museum grounds to welcome warmer days.
Live music from the Eastport Oyster Boys and the Naptown Brass Band set the scene. Attendees brought socks they no longer needed—holey work socks, dress socks made obsolete by remote work, novelty pairs—and debated which ones were most worthy of the fire. “You’ve got the Egyptian cotton socks that your mom got you—those are going into the fire,” said longtime attendee Scot Labin, explaining his selection process.
Oysters, a Chesapeake Bay staple, were plentiful. Mike Dicus, who’s been shucking for 35 years, said he had already opened “a couple thousand” oysters for the crowd and demonstrated what he calls the “Eastern Shore stabbing style”: coming in from the front, giving it a wiggle, and cutting the two muscles.
As the event neared its climax, Annapolis poet laureate Jefferson Holland recited his “Ode to the Equinox,” whose final lines cue the burning: revelers “burn their socks at the equinox” so they can spend spring and summer “not wearin’ any socks at all—just stinky bare feet stuck in old deck shoes.” With that last line, the crowd erupted. Socks of every color arced through the air, some landing squarely in the flames, others nudged in by helpers. It’s less a ceremony than a raucous free-for-all.
For many, the ritual is part practical—disposing of worn-out socks—and part symbolic: marking the end of winter and the start of boating season. Mary Keller, a lifelong Annapolis resident, summed it up simply: “I like to watch the socks burn, something about that.”
And, as Labin admitted with a beer in hand, it’s also “really just an excuse to drink”—but one built around oysters, music and a communal letting-go that keeps people coming back each spring.