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The Low Country

The Low Country

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There was one point in yesterday’s drive when the GPS inexplicably sent us off on a 17-mile detour, presumably because of a traffic jam ahead.

Whether or not this was necessary — or a wild goose chase — may never be known. But though it had already been a long trip and I was more than ready to be done with it, I tried to take in the surroundings, to feel the flatness of the land and the nearness of the water.

It was only then, during that brief sojourn away from the buzz and roar of I-95, that I felt I was truly in the low country.

Cars in Clothes

Cars in Clothes

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The Jeep caught my eye, not because of its sleek lines or elegant design, but because of the perky bow on its spare tire. 

Why do people dress their cars, give them antlers in December and bunny ears in spring? Is it because they spend so much time in their vehicles that the autos are an extension of themselves? An attempt to humanize the vehicle so we act civilly around it? Or is it pure whimsy that drives this practice? 

I’m going with that last explanation because it makes me smile.  To celebrate this Jeep’s “attire,” I snapped a shot while stopped at a light. 

There’s a twist to this story, an amazing one too, given the number of cars I pass in this auto-dependent suburb. Four hours later, I spotted the same car, miles away from where I saw it the first time. 

Car clothes aren’t just fun then, they’re a powerful identifier. The moral of this story: Dress your car if you must, but be sure it behaves itself. 

An Adventure

An Adventure

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Today, to avoid traffic, I plan to drive 20 or 30 miles out of my way, to etch a trail up and over rather than down and across. To take a country road rather than an interstate. It sounds crazy, which is why I’m calling it an adventure.  

I wonder if anyone has studied the miles people drive to avoid sitting on highways. If not, I propose the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area as a prime location for research. With two states plus the District of Columbia, one river and too few bridges (once you’re out of the city), our neck of the woods is filled with idling cars and fuming motorists.  

Tell us, please, what we can do about it … apart from having “adventures,” of course.   

(Evening rush hour on I-66)                                                                                                                                               

A Sunset, An Intersection

A Sunset, An Intersection

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Asheville is a small city with big scenery,  including a road called Town Mountain Drive. I drove it by accident the other day on the way to see the sunset, which was stunning. 

The road was a different matter, winding up and up and up, mildly terrifying in spots, especially for the cars on the outside, but an adventure just the same.

I read later that Town Mountain Drive connects directly with the Blue Ridge Parkway, so this morning (back in Virginia) I looked up the two roads on a map. And sure enough, they intersect, at the exact same spot where we parked for our hike, Craven Gap.

Many Worlds

Many Worlds

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Yesterday there was a drive and some errands that reminded me how many worlds exist inside this one world we call home. 

There was a body shop with country music blaring and an American flag flying and a mechanic named JJ who pronounced the bill — “that will be nine thousand dollars” — before grinning and saying he was just kidding. 

There was a hole-in-the-wall eatery with goat meat and fou-fou and a woman wearing a colorful West African print in bright yellow. 

And in between these places were parkways of green, the home of our first president, and the Potomac River flashing bright outside the car window, its bridges arching gracefully over the waves.

It’s a big world out there. How good it is to be reminded of it. 

A Pedestrian at Heart

A Pedestrian at Heart

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I pulled up at the light, heart pounding. I’d missed the turn-off for Rock Creek Parkway and now was in some sort of endless correction loop, counting the one-two-three-four-five-six — sixth! — exit of the roundabout, which would take me, after more twists and turns, to the parkway entrance.

As I waited at the light, I stared longingly at the pedestrians. They were mostly young (this was a university area), bopping along with backpacks tossed carelessly across their shoulders, chatting as they crossed at the light. How I longed to be one of them! 

Instead, I waited for the light to turn green, then put the car in first and made my way (eventually, after a hair-raising U-turn) onto the parkway. Yes, I reached my destination … but at a price.

I’ll always be a pedestrian at heart. 

(Hoofing it through an urban center.)

Exposed

Exposed

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Walking early today because it will be too hot to tromp around later, I took a different route out my front door, turning right at the corner instead of left. Then, at the next corner, choosing a path that runs along a four-lane road. 

It’s one of my semi-regular walks, but I hadn’t taken it in a while, so I noticed how pine boughs crowd the sidewalk, how fast cars speed along beside the path, how close together are road and sidewalk. 

How exposed I suddenly felt! For after all, what is a mere walker when confronted with tons of speeding steel? 

(I realize I don’t take too many photos of cars on highways. I’m much more likely to snap bucolic shots like the one above.)

  

Back in the Bluegrass

Back in the Bluegrass

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By Winchester the land has changed, has taken on the open feel of the Bluegrass. It’s close in Mount Sterling, but not quite there. 

So I felt myself exhale a little when we got to that point on our drive yesterday, savoring that feeling of home.

It’s a feeling I’ve been enjoying all day. 

The Moon

The Moon

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The moon was with me this morning as I drove to the airport, so early and so long ago now that it seems like another week. 

And the moon was with me later, a pale disc as I zoomed down I-66 on my way to school.

The moon is with me still, in this photo (not a very good one, I’m sorry to say), growing ever brighter as I walked through a darkening campus on my way to class.

The moon will be full tomorrow … but it’s hard to see how it could be any fuller.

Flash Gratitude

Flash Gratitude

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I have in my temporary possession a book called The Best of Brevity. It’s a compilation of short essays from the journal Brevity, which features flash nonfiction. 

The genre of flash nonfiction is relatively new to me, although I write it everyday. It is the true-to-life equivalent of flash fiction. part of a trend — probably long since peaked if I’m catching onto it — toward the brief, the ephemeral, the transitory. 

Let me add to this canon with what I’ve come to think of as flash gratitude. 

Flash gratitude is the sudden, piercing awareness of life’s blessings. Stubbing one’s toe and thinking … at least I have a toe to stub. Or hearing the gentle purr of forced-air heat and giving thanks for the warm home I sit in as a result. 

I had a moment of flash gratitude yesterday when I heard about fellow Virginians trapped for 18 to 20 hours on an impassable I-95. They were cold, hungry, frightened and, most likely, angry. They were bearing the brunt of the snow storm in a real and all-too-personal way. 

Let this be a gratitude trigger, I told myself. Whenever life looks bleak and purposeless, I will conjure up those poor souls trapped in their Kias or Toyotas or Hondas or Fords, those poor shivering drivers and passengers, and my heart will nearly burst with joy that I am anywhere else but on a snow-packed, jack-knifed-tractor-filled I-95. 

(This snow has its beauteous moments, too.)