(This is the short version. No, really, I swear. If you want the entire 8K-plus-word vacation log with all the nice details and whatever, you can find it here.)
This year, it was just Tim and me, off to the Outer Banks yet again. We left Natalie with my parents and headed out on our own. It’s been really nice, in past years, to have this family experience with the area, to be in a place we love with the people we love — but at the same time, this year it was really nice to be just the two of us. No one to show around; we could skip whatever we felt like skipping, or revisit whatever we felt like revisiting, without worrying about how it might affect someone else’s experience. We could do things on the spur of the moment without consulting with anyone but each other. And of course it was just nice to be there, alone, together.
The Drury Inn Greensboro may have been win, but the roads around Greensboro were fail. We had trouble finding our hotel Saturday night because they’d redone a portion of the road and in the process removed the exit that previously had led to the hotel. The GPS was unaware of this. When we left Sunday morning, we had trouble again because part of I-40 was closed. In and of itself, this was only mildly annoying, but the detour route was not at all clearly marked, and we probably wasted between fifteen minutes and half an hour just trying to get back on course.
We spent much of our time at Bodie Island Lighthouse trying to find photos to take that one or both of us hadn’t already taken ten bazillion times. This is my seventh trip to the Outer Banks and Tim’s fourth, and there are some attractions (Bodie included) that we’ve seen every time. Avoiding duplication becomes challenging.
The one thing I’d gone to the Elizabethan Gardens with the specific intention of photographing, outside of the Hornbeam Walk, was the Sunken Garden — more precisely, the four statues in its quadrants, representing four Roman gods. I always mean to photograph them and then realize too late that I’ve forgotten. I’m not entirely happy with the shots I got, but I’m not certain what else to do either. (I’ve always wanted to do one of the Apollo statue with the sun overhead, but the sun has risen too far by the time the gardens open and won’t fit in the frame. I’d have to be here at a different time of year, I suspect.) Perhaps by the next time we come I’ll have thought up something else.
And then I did it. I finally climbed Currituck Lighthouse. I did have a little bit of vertigo at the top and tried to stay as close to the building as possible. I wasn’t so much afraid of falling myself, I think, as I was afraid of dropping something. Probably an expensive, fragile something like, say, the EOS 10D or my iPhone.
After checking out Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, we moved on to its old site. Erosion of the shoreline forced the lighthouse to be relocated in 1999-2000, traveling 2,870 feet inland. The former site is now marked by a ring of stones bearing the names of the lighthouse keepers at Hatteras between 1803 and 1939. It is situated on a beach now used as public ocean access, complete with lifeguard. The beach itself teems with activity — scuba diving, surfing, bodyboarding, children and adults alike frolicking in the waves — while the memorial sits off to one side, slowly being swallowed by the shifting dunes, apparently forgotten by the majority of those who flock to see the lighthouse in its current location. The project of the move itself is mentioned often at the new site, but few seem to care about the old site anymore. The lighthouse is here now, not there; what does it signify? It’s a little bit sad, and the ring of stones on the beach seemed almost forlorn as I paced slowly around it, reading what names were not already buried in sand. And yet this is the way it goes. Great things happen, and time moves on, and the former state of things is forgotten as history swallows it up. That was then, this is now, and as interesting as “then” might have been, it’s not always possible or necessary to preserve the physical fact of it. At least the memory and the story live on, even if the site is slowly disappearing.
It was on the nature trail at Fort Raleighдивани that I really started to think that Nature could not, in fact, be made into a supermodel. She doesn’t take direction very well. The squirrels in particular are really blatant about setting up a perfect shot and then ruining it just as you get the camera in position. The breeze also likes to tease with good flag-billowing shots that don’t stay long enough to be captured.
Later that night, we walked out on the Hatteras Island Fishing Pier. In the darkness of the night, lit by the pier lights, the ocean surging beneath me and moonlight trailing over it into the distance, the wind in my face, somehow I felt at peace. It was a little bit of an odd, unexpected feeling. Although I love this area and I love the beach, the ocean and I have been on rather shaky terms since the 2006 trip; my connection is not so much to the moon at the moment as to her brother the sun; wind has never been my thing; and to top it all off, the pier itself moved slightly with the wind and the surf, which normally makes me a bit nervous. And yet it all combined to form that perfect moment. It’s funny how things happen sometimes.
I suppose I should have considered blogging “work”, but– Do you know, I just don’t. I was on vacation, I was vacation blogging, I was writing for the sheer sake of writing, and I was having fun with it.
And then we bought six cases of beer. Well, OK, four of beer and two of root beer. And some house-made salami and pepperoni. Um. But it wasn’t all for us! Really! The brewery kindly let us use their hand truck to cart the cases out to our car. Apparently, this is not unusual.
Just as we were entering the “open ocean” exhibit at the Aquarium in Manteo, a large tank with a replica shipwreck in it featuring large fish and sharks, we discovered that the aquarium was not quite as sparsely populated as we’d hoped. There, a tidal wave of late-elementary or possibly middle-school-aged children washed over us, trailed by a handful of rather apathetic adults wearing neon-yellow CHAPERON stickers. The kids rushed around, pushing past and screaming their excitement about the sharks in particular with little regard for anyone else. The chaperons seemed not to notice or care; they simply trudged along in the wake of their charges. In their own way, they were just as bad, standing listlessly in the direct path of traffic with no apparent comprehension of the idea that other patrons might want to pass by.
There is a point in every vacation where you don’t know whether to wish it would continue longer or that you were back home. Saturday morning was that point. I didn’t particularly want to leave the islands. I loved the sound of the waves just a few hundred feet away. I longed to experience more of the local seafood, fresh-caught the same day it was cooked. I wanted to forget about life for just a little while more. And yet… And yet, Friday night I’d dreamt of Natalie, of first seeing her when we got back. Dad had told us that she seemed to really be missing us, and I felt bad about that and missed her right back. I missed her, I missed my parents, I missed having our cats curled up around us as we fell asleep at night. I missed all the comforts of being not just in a home, but in our own home. I wanted to stay, and I wanted to be back.
Public Photos: Outer Banks 2009
Private Photos: Outer Banks 2009
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