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OBX

OBX

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The Outer Banks of North Carolina (known on sweatshirts and bumper stickers as OBX) is close enough that I should have visited long ago. But here I am now, which is all that really matters. It was a brisk welcome, sunny and cold, with wind that meant business and had busied itself burying the stairway to the beach.

Just a reminder of who’s in charge, as if we need it after Fiona and Ian. 

The dunes here are protected but diminished, and seeing them yesterday, proud seagrass waving, was to feel an ache for all the beautiful things that grace our lives … then disappear.

Remembering an Adventure

Remembering an Adventure

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Five years ago today, I said farewell to a country I never thought I’d visit but hated to leave once I did. Bangladesh may not be on everyone’s bucket list, but traveling through it in 2017 left such an impression that I think of it every year this time. 

I remember long drives beneath trees planted by the British … and a boat trip through the Sunderbans, where we met villagers who plant mangroves to stem the rising tides. 

I smile when I think of our earnest police escort and our escape from the crazy cattle market where I thought we’d all be trampled.  

The last evening, I swam in the rooftop pool as the sky and deck turned the same, otherworldly shade of pink. I didn’t realize it then but the campylobacter food poisoning bacteria was most likely already in my system, an unwelcome souvenir I would bring home from this marvelous country. But still, even with the unpleasant afterword, I’d take the trip all over again. In a heartbeat. 

Topology

Topology

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Last week’s get-together meant I focused more on family than landscape, but on walks and short drives to beaches and beauty spots I laid eyes once again on a landscape I love.

What is it that inclines us to a certain place? I think it has to do with what Annie Dillard calls “topology … the dreaming memory of land as it lies this way and that” — a quotation that serves as the frontispiece to this blog.

Dillard was describing her hometown of Pittsburgh in this passage from An American Childhood. But topology — the study of a region as defined by its topography — can apply to any place that strikes our fancy, that holds within it the balance of sky and meadow, shade and sun that makes our heart sing.

These are our places of memory, whether we’ve been to them hundreds of times … or only once.

Campfire After Dinner

Campfire After Dinner

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A requirement of any lake trip is a campfire after dinner and the promise of some sticky, sweet s’mores. The children had a chance to eat these treats, the rest of us, too — although I cheated this time and just nibbled on a few squares of chocolate, forgoing the graham crackers and marshmallows. 

But I found the greatest pleasure in staring at the fire. Watching the flames flicker and dance, marveling at the colors, savoring the warmth, too. (It’s chillier here than back home.) 

We sat by the fire until it burned to embers, an owl sounded behind us, and daylight faded to black. 

The Paddle

The Paddle

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The wind finally eased enough to make it possible to kayak around the lake, or at least our small portion of it. A brief rain squall engulfed us as we made our way to the dock, but it passed just as quickly. 

And then … I was on the water again, moving in that way that only water provides: bobbing and slicing. There are more motor boats in this location, and their wakes kept me on my toes. They also reminded me of how much I need to work on my upper body strength. 

All in a day’s work … or at least a vacation day’s work. 

(The lake in the distance, with a bucolic foreground.)

The Shortcut

The Shortcut

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When I reached the top of the hill, a rise barely perceptible when driving but all-too-noticeable on foot, I could go straight or go back. Turning left or right wasn’t possible, due to the high volume of traffic and distinct lack of shoulder. 

I wasn’t ready to go back, so I forged ahead, onto Toothpick Road. There were trees and homes tucked away in them. There was a steady descent. Most of all, there was the promise of the park at the end of it all. A small brown sign I hadn’t noticed before pointed me in that direction. 

And sure enough, two brief turns later, I was crossing the bridge that leads to the park. Water to the left of me, water to the right of me, all shining in the late-day sun. 

I thought about the route I had been taking, which was several miles longer. I couldn’t wait to get back to the house and tell everyone about the shortcut I’d found. 

But my news was greeted with confusion. Everyone else had already discovered Toothpick Road. Their GPS programs had routed them that way from the beginning, whereas I, well, I hadn’t been using an app to get to the lake, thinking I knew the way from last year. 

Still, a shortcut can be a glorious discovery, even when it’s old news.  

Lake’s End

Lake’s End

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An early-morning walk on an unfamiliar road, each turn a revelation, each house a mystery.

The tentative goal: to find the dock where we can park kayaks. But that’s just an excuse to explore. 

People wave and smile as they take out their trash or water their plants. I wonder if they’re native to this place or tourists here like us. 

Fifteen minutes down the way, I come to the lake’s end. Or at least the terminus of this inlet. It comes to a gentle stop, this water; it empties into a field of green.

Their Summer Vacation

Their Summer Vacation

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Alfie and Toby were not invited to Portugal or Florida or Virginia Beach. They are also not invited to Deep Creek Lake in Maryland, where the family is now gathered for a week of intergenerational fun. 

But they did have a couple of hours al fresco over the weekend, when brownies baking in a nonstick pan required their temporary removal from the hook in the kitchen they call home. (Nonstick coatings can be lethal to birds.)

The daring duo seemed to like it outside. They surveyed the backyard, reveled in the oppressive humidity, and sought each other’s company when the bluejays squawked. 

It was a brief change of scene, but sometimes that’s all you need!

(Alfie in blue on the left and Toby on the right, his green plumage almost camouflaging him.)

Of Egrets and Storage

Of Egrets and Storage

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It’s a new month and I’m starting it off by cleaning up my i-Phone. This is seldom a task I enter into willingly. Usually a storage crisis sends me into a tailspin and forces me to delete large attachments (often photos I already have but had sent others) or uninstall apps. 

A painful process, indeed. But I remind myself that it’s no more than editing: what I’ve done throughout my career — removing the extraneous. 

But deciding what’s extraneous … ah, that’s the rub! 

(What does an egret have to do with i-Phone storage? Not much. It just reminds me of elegant simplicity, something I strive for in my data storage!)

Quiet

Quiet

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As a walker in the suburbs, I thrive on the noises I hear along my route. On the beach, which I leave today, these may be the squawks of a gull or the pounding of the surf.  

But this week I’ve also spent much time in a pool, and I’m reminded what a silent world that can be, what a different form of exercise, floating or treading water, or doing the crawl or breaststroke, head submerged, ears closed to the sounds of the day. 

It’s a meditative space, the world of water. And above all, it is quiet.