Now and Then

So it's the year for my 50th high school reunion and I remain ambivalent about whether I'll attend

High School Senior Lee

or not.  My lack of commitment comes not from bad feelings about the people I might see there or the way we might judge one another's changes over these 50 years. What I'm uncertain about is whether I want to relive those days of teen angst again.  Now so much more comfortable with myself than I was then, I have no desire to attempt a recreation of those days as if they were happier than I remember.  I find myself resisting, pushing away a commitment.

            In these five decades since graduation, I have kept in touch with the few who have  remained friends through all the changes that life has brought.  We have found love and have had our hearts broken.  Through it all, we few have been compelled by our affection for each other to make contact in some fashion, at least from time to time.           

            On any given day as I think about the gathering of those of us who dressed in robes and mortarboards to say goodbye to high school in 1964, I think about someone specific that I would like to see again, someone's story of the past 50 years that I want to hear.  The very next day I find myself returning to those years when we were alternately trying just to fit in and trying to be our own independent personages and I am reluctant to revisit the past at all.

            It was a frightening time.  We were grown, but not grown-up.  We were coming of age, leaving behind the innocence of childhood and its relative lack of judgment by our peers to face the paranoia of the teenage years.  Even as we sought to prove ourselves as burgeoning adults, the vulnerability of our dependence on friends, parents, teachers and others for approval and protection was still with us.           

            It was an exciting time, fueled by growing in stature so that we were as tall as our parents and beginning to believe that we were as capable as they to make decisions about our lives.  Our hormones raged, drawing our bodies toward physical intimacy with our peers while those same hormones perversely attacked our complexions with the humiliation of acne.  We sought to attract, but found ourselves repellent, faces marred by zits.

            We were, of course, our own worst enemies.  We stared into our bathroom mirrors, attempting to get our hair into just the right style.  If we had straight hair, curls were in.  If we were blessed with curls, we ironed our hair to emulate someone deemed more popular, the pretty girls with straight hair.  If nobody asked us to the dance, we agonized about ourselves, playing morose LP's until we fell asleep, grateful that the event would be over when we awoke.

            Our male classmates had their own similar struggles.  Only so many could make the football team; the others had to find a different way to demonstrate their manhood.  Like the girls, most kept any long-term dreams to themselves rather than risk the derision of their peers.  They tried so many ways to make themselves attractive.  I can almost smell still the overabundance of Old Spice that a classmate splashed on, probably cadged from his  father's dresser.  Some found being cool in learning to play guitar or drums to join a band.  [Brad Paisley and Keith Urban released a duet in 2004 called "Start a Band" that speaks to this.]

            There were, thank goodness, those who followed their own paths even then.  Some had musical talent and enough passion to play in the school band even if that did not improve their "cool" ratings.  Some simply couldn't quell their passion for debate, taking unpopular positions not because they wanted to be different, but simply because they were different.

            We had limited appreciation for different.  It was okay to a degree, but the herd mentality of adolescence sought common ground in behavior and in attire.  Our tendency was to mock differences, rather than embrace them.  Only in retrospect do I see the hurt we must have caused and I wonder what we missed when we chose to avoid those who were different rather than get to know them.

            In a public school where there was no dress code, we created one of our own.  Girls who were "in" wore Villager dresses in that time when pants were not the norm for girls.  Boys wore slacks, but not jeans to school except on the rare "jeans" days that were allowed.  A look through our high school annuals tells a fashion tale of another time, that time before today's "anything goes" styles.

            Now reconnected to some of these people via Facebook, I see them as they are now and I am drawn to their life stories after high school.  We've had careers, some more than one.  Some of us have married, had children, divorced and remarried.  Some of us have grandchildren and, I suppose,  some have great-grandchildren.  We have gained and lost weight, gained wrinkles and lost hair.  Some have battled serious illness.  We mourn some who lost that battle.

            And so I continue to waffle.  Will I go to this 50th reunion and learn where lives have taken us?  Even as I write this, leaning toward the decision to go, there is still ambivalence.  It remains a choice for another day, one that will continue to provoke reflection on a time that seems long ago and far away.  

A Form of Grace is Seeking and Finding Your Joy

      

           

           (Written Thursday, January 9, 2014)  --  On any given day there are those moments that touch us.  We respond to various events with a variety of emotions: from happiness to sorrow, from the purest joy to the most heart-rending sadness, from the serenity of peace achieved to the fire of anger erupting.  These feelings tell us we are alive, that we are sentient beings whose time is measured in a myriad of sensations.

            My day today has caused me to think (and babble in print) about how we often say that something "made my day." Some days, like today for me, it's hard to choose which of the day's happenings might have been the "one."  The truth is that there have been many and the day isn't over yet.  As I reflect on these moments, I realize that a big part of finding the joy is acknowledging it when it is felt.

           Many of us can relate to the joy and magic we feel when we watch a perfect sunrise.  Though I didn't see a spectacular sunrise this morning like thos, I did begin my day today with a view of the sunrise through the window in our front door in Charlotte.  Our house is positioned to see the sun come up through that little half circle that perfectly frames it.  On many days, like this one, I have that early morning joy of seeing the sun's early light there.

            Then there was the phone call with a longtime colleague and friend that I've not spoken to in a few years.  He is brilliant and eloquent and shared his newest venture with me.  He has found new challenges in his life, living in a new city, reaching new goals.  His voice was filled with all the positive spirit I've always found there and enjoyed.  Our chat was thought-provoking and nurturing, inspiring and engaging.  I've missed our talks and relished the minutes we spent catching up and moving our thoughts forward together.

           

There was our puppy, Sassy, happy to see me when I picked her up from her grooming appointment, wriggling madly to get into my arms.  She bounced into the house when we got home, showing off her new "do" with zest, prancing and unwilling to stay still to have her picture taken, though Mike persisted and finally captured her new look.  That done, she has spent every waking moment since in pursuit of her toys from one end of the house to the other.  She supplies so  many reasons every day for joy and laughter.

            Then we went to see the movie "Nebraska," a marvel in black-and-white.  A moving story and a great cast make this one not to miss.  The bleakness of the landscapes and the almost bitter reality of the circumstances might be grim if it were not for a script lavishly laced with humor, directed and acted with sensitivity and authenticity.  It's a winner.

            Drifting throughout the house this day is the smell of a roast in the Crockpot, a mouthwatering aroma that's part of a favorite dinner to be shared with our son and daughter-in-law this evening.  Some sensations, like the smell of good food, bring an almost primal joy.

            Now the sun is down and I missed the gorgeous red glow that I often see through the trees on the back of the property.  I was reliving the joys of my day at the laptop, so missed that one.  Those sunset memories are clear from many days past, so I have no regrets.

            I've been lucky enough to travel all around the world.  Those are sweet memories that I cherish.  What I appreciate more each day are the everyday joys and a contentment--feeling all the feelings, knowing that I'm capable of all these emotions because I am fully alive.  While I have the aches and pains that come with age and the inconvenience of psoriasis, I am experiencing the grace of retaining and even increasing my joy in living.  That is, indeed, an amazing grace.  My goal in this new year is to seek and find the joy and be grateful for the gift of its awareness in all the days to come.

All photos by Mike Lumpkin

           

             

Outer Banks Wednesday - Sunshine and Wild Horses

          After days of rain and fog, the day began with a beautiful sunrise and the promise of a sunny day.  Though we've actually enjoyed the view of clouds and rough surf outside our windows, we welcomed a different experience of this barrier island.

         

We headed out to the office of the Corolla Wild Horse Fund (CWHF) for a trip north to see the wild horses in their habitat.  There was a bit of excitement earlier today when one of the mares jumped the fence at the southern end of their enclosed area and had to be herded back to safer ground.  These horses were fenced north of Corolla years ago to protect them.  Too many were lost to drivers who refused to adhere to speed limits, crashing into and killing the horses who had become too complacent about the humans that came in increasing numbers each season.

          Our guide was April, now the assistant herd manager for this non-profit group that monitors and manages the herd of just over 100 Colonial mustangs that live here.  She is very knowledgeable and shared lots of information with us as we drove the sandy roads that lie in "4-wheel drive country." The 100 or so year-round residents and the vacation renters who come to this area have no paved-road access.  They come and go via vehicles on the beach or boats on Currituck Sound.

          We saw quite a few horses, peacefully grazing among the houses that are scattered along the roads there.  These roads are one-lane routes over and around the dunes and through the maritime forest.  Some skill is required, as well as the right vehicle and tires that won't get stuck in the deep sand.

          This time of year, April told us, the animals find relatively little forage, thus they have learned to eat well in the warmer months to store up fat for the winter.  They are also smart enough not to pull the grass out, but rather to chew it off to allow new growth to occur when they move on.  It's amazing how they survive and the CWHF works

hard to give them every chance, treating injured and sick animals as needed in a rehab facility on the mainland.  When horses are found to be unfit to return to the wild, homes are found for them where they can enjoy a less challenging life.

          As with many wildlife issues, there are disagreements about the best ways to manage and maintain the herd.  The staff of the Corolla Wild Horse Fund, who depend primarily on donations, attempt to negotiate through these differences.  For those who have come to appreciate the horses and want them to remain as free and wild as possible, this is a labor of love. 

          After a lunch break at one of the few restaurants open this time of year, we drove around the area with our friends, Zee and Bob, catching glimpses of birds along our way.  Mike stopped here and there to take photographs.

          We ended our day at the Currituck Heritage Park where we watched a spectacular sunset that seemed to set the sky on fire as it lowered over the mainland across Currituck Sound.  It was another good day, one that began and ended with the beauty of the sun to warm us.

 

 

 

 All photos by Mike Lumpkin

OBX Monday - The Day Begins in a Fog

 

            No, it's not "the morning after" when I say our day began in a fog.  A thick fog hung over the ocean so that the waves were visible only as far as the second line of breakers.  Though we stayed up later than usual, I awoke well before dawn and got up to enjoy the quiet.  Only as the day began did I realize that the sun could not penetrate the fog all around us.

           

There is an ethereal quality to fog that can be both moody and magical.  It creates a sense of mystery as it blankets the world around us, softening edges, changing our perspectives as it cloaks dunes, houses, streets and vegetation in its gray shroud.  One of the first things I looked to see when I woke was the lighthouse, but the fog was too thick, so the lighthouse I saw just before bedtime last night had disappeared from view this morning.

            Before venturing out in the car, we went up the boardwalk adjacent to our house to the gazebo on the dunes above the shore.  There were pelicans in the misty air, but very few birds on the beach where the tracks left by a vehicle, probably someone going to a construction site, marked the sand.  The gazebo itself, as well as the vegetation on the dunes, create opportunities for pictures that will remind us of this experience.

           

Corolla is on a barrier island that lies between the Atlanta Ocean and Currituck Sound.  Our house is on the oceanfront, so we wanted to explore the other side of the area, searching for one of the piers that extends out into the sound.  This is the time of year when swans and other migratory birds settle there after their long trip south. 

            We found a pier, but the fog was so thick that visibility was too limited to allow much of a view.  The trees along the water were shrouded in the cloud of fog, appearing almost ghostly, their shapes outlined against the gray mist.

            As we wandered further afield, we found a small street that parallels the shore of the sound and Mike saw a egret fishing there, so went down the path to attempt to photograph it.  Though it took off before he could get a shot,  he saw swans swimming near the shore, yet more ghostly images.  Their muted calls were barely audible in the foggy atmosphere that not only occludes vision but dampens sound.

 

           

We drove south to the village of Duck to find lunch at a little cafe where we first ate in the early 80s, the Duck Deli.  It's still there and we enjoyed the welcome warmth that a dry and heated space provides on such a damp day.

            After lunch we ventured into the few shops open in the picturesque shopping area named Scarborough Faire.  The wooden buildings are connected by boardwalk under the trees.  We found fun gifts that will find their way into stockings in a couple of weeks and enjoyed, as always, the wonderful book store there.

            As we drove back north, we stopped to take more pictures, some of Christmas decorations and some of wildlife, both in nature and on cleverly designed signs.  In the process we explored the Kellogg Hardware Store with its amazing blend of products one would normally expect to find in a hardware plus an array of home goods, toys, decorations, etc.  As we've found in most places here, the people there were friendly and helpful, happy to see customers  coming through their doors in this quiet time of year.

            Home again, we nestled in to enjoy the fire inside and the occasional glimpses of birds along the shore outside.  The early arrival of old friends from Atlanta was an unexpected pleasure just after supper, a day ahead of schedule.  The day ended with our continuing the laughter and  conversation that has gone on as long as we've been friends, interrupted by our absences from each other, but as comfortable and pleasurable as always.

            So another day began and ended with weather conditions not necessarily conducive to full enjoyment of this beautiful place, but special just because we love being here under any circumstances.  Rain is forecast for Tuesday, but we anticipate another opportunity  to make memories, this time with friends.

All photos by Mike Lumpkin, adventure companion and lenient editor

Corolla in Winter

           

To paraphrase that renowned storyteller Snoopy, "it was a dark and stormy day" here in Corolla, North Carolina.  We fell asleep last night to the sound of the waves crashing against the beach below us and awoke to the same sound, accompanied by rain slashing against the windows and the wind swirling around the house.

           

Whalehead at Christmas

We came to this beach in early September when days were sunny and hot and came back yesterday to experience this place we have visited many times over three decades, knowing that it would be cold and even stormy now, but happy to have the time to be here.  The lure of the ocean and migratory birds drew us, as did the knowledge that we would, for the most part, have this northeastern edge of the state to ourselves.  We looked forward to seeing the way OBX folks show their holiday spirit, too.

            Though it can be challenging to find restaurants open this time of year, especially after six p.m., the search can be fun and the reward sufficient.  The restaurateurs are happy to have customers and they have the time to chat and share their experience of the Outer Banks with us.  Last night's yummy crab cakes were served in very generous portions, thus we'll enjoy the leftovers tonight.  Today's tasty pizza and buffalo chicken bites, also served too generously, will be tomorrow's lunch.

Currituck Beach Light

 

              We've ventured out into the rainy day to see who's here besides us and to see what has changed since September.We found holiday lights, including those shining at the top of Currituck Beach Light.  On such an overcast day, lights were visible in a few homes and a few businesses, primarily the two grocery stores and gas stations which were open.  Though most businesses are closed for the season or at least until the two weeks at year end when a mini-season occurs here, some few had open signs shining in windows.  We'll check tomorrow to see whether they are actually open or perhaps just forgot to turn off their signs.
 

           

Raindrops on Roses

Along the way, we found roses still blooming, raindrops sparkling on the blossoms.  I got excited at nightfall as we passed by the wonderful Northern Lights Bakery.  Though the shop was closed, lights were on in the kitchen and we could see bakers in aprons working there.  Tomorrow morning we'll check again and maybe grab a bite of one of their delicious pastries.  My mouth waters at the thought.

            Throughout the day we enjoyed the view of those huge waves, violently thrusting up foamy crests as they crashed toward the shore.  They seemed to be calling to hardy surfers, but only those in well-insulated wetsuits could have possibly enjoyed the chill.  We saw none.  We did see the occasional gull overhead and a long line of pelicans in flight above the dune.  The birds need no wetsuits and instinctively fit their behavior to whatever conditions arise.

           

The house we've taken is homey and comfortable, so we can enjoy the fire inside while winter howls outside.  On the deck just outside our windows, a rocking chair was  kept busy, moving back and forth in the wind before a gust turned it over.  The flags and banners in view whipped back and forth as the wind blew the rain sideways at times.

            Cozy now as we snuggle in for the evening, we look toward another glorious day tomorrow, whatever the weather.  There are books to read, adventures to attempt, time to share and enjoy this place that calls us back again and again.

All photos by Mike Lumpkin, travel companion and patient editor

Time Again with Daddy and Mama

 

               They have been gone for far too long--Daddy for 26 years, Mama for 12 years.  All too often, it seems longer, but sometimes it is as if they were just speaking to me moments ago.  I hear their voices in my own words, feel their genes and their nurture in the way I experience life.  Every day when I think of them, I think of all the things I want to talk with them about.

               As the youngest of three children, I remember them only as adults, grown people with busy lives.   With the egocentricity of a child I was primarily concerned with the attention they paid to my needs.  I had little consideration then for the responsibilities they carried not just for our immediate family, but for their own parents, as well as their jobs.  Somehow they managed all of that without giving the appearance of being burdened.  Now I realize it must have been wearing, but they were stoic in the face of what must be done.

               For a time in my childhood, my father's father lived with us.  A quiet, rather withdrawn man, Grandpa nonetheless made time to teach me to play checkers.  We would set up the board on an old cedar chest in his room and while away the hours as he challenged me to be good enough to win without him having to let me, he said.  I think the lesson he intended was not just about the rules of checkers, but rather about learning patience and strategy.  It also lengthened those times we shared and I like to think that he wanted my company for longer than my normally short attention span.

               I don't remember Grandpa telling stories about his life or my father's early years.  I can't recall him ever mentioning his wife, either. He became a widower before my parents were married.  Though I was a curious child, I don't remember asking him about either of those subjects.  I wish I had.

               When I look at the photographs of my parents, Billy and Frances as young people without the responsibilities of children and aging parents, they look back at me with an energy that makes me feel happy.  I know they met in Albany, Georgia, when they were in their 30's, both working there and part of a group of young people who had a good time together, they said.  Two of their friends ran a funeral parlor and hosted parties in the back room that sounded like high-spirited fun when my parents referred to those events.

        

Once we did get my father to talk about an even earlier time when he worked for the Columbus Enquirer newspaper in what was then a small town in western Georgia.  It was just across the river from Phenix City, Alabama, which was, Daddy said, "as wild and gangster-ridden as Chicago in Prohibition." Daddy didn't go into as much detail about those days as I wish now that he had.  He also worked a number of other jobs during those tough Depression years, including what he described as "running a chain gang" that was repairing the highways.

 

               Now I am hungry to know more about Daddy and Mama than I ever thought to ask when they were alive.  I am curious about what brought them together, those two strong-minded people who bickered as continuously as Archie and Edith Bunker, but who loved each other as long as they were together.

 

         Daddy lost much of his hair early in life, but his big personality more than compensated.  He made jokes about being bald, rather than being shy about it.  He had the most amazing blue eyes that showed the dazzling intellect that lay within him.  They both could be stubborn to a fault and insisted that we children behave according to their rules.  There was always a soft heart behind Daddy's bluster.  Mama's sharp tongue was offset  by the way she would spend hours after work sewing so that we would have the clothes they couldn't afford to buy in stores.  They both worked long hours at their jobs, then spent time teaching us to read or taking part in school and scouting activities. 

Mama was a really striking young woman and full of fire.  What were their dreams as young people?  Neither of them had more than minimal education post-high school.  Daddy might have been a doctor, perhaps, because he always had a remedy for our minor hurts and illnesses.  He seemed to get by on very little sleep when any of us needed attention, though he rose early each morning to go to his job.  Mama could have the boss almost anywhere, but had limited patience for whiny, sick children.  She still always found time to make the standard curative tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich.

 

               I can't recall that they ever bemoaned their lot in life, whatever the dreams might have been.  Daddy, when told that he had a cancer that would take his life within a year or so, took the news in stride, saying "I've had a good life and a good family."  Mama, too, professed herself "ready to meet her Maker" in her last months before first senility, then death, took her from us.

               Sometimes people ask "if you could have a conversation with anyone in history, who would it be?" I'm sure that I could make choices that would be more sophisticated, but my choice would be to have a couple of hours with Billy and Frances.  It would be a real joy to learn more about the people who made me who I am and to let them know how much they will always mean to me.

 

A Bridge Becomes a Moving Force

      Sometimes a word is more than a word, a structure more than a structure.  When it comes to the word bridge, I've witnessed the truth of this concept.  Most bridges don't visibly move, though there are exceptions -- floating bridges, drawbridges, for example.  Most seem to be just solid structures designed to allow movement from one place to another.  But when a bridge captures the imagination, it can become a moving force. 

           
Such is the bridge that occupies much of my time and

thought these days.  We call it the Lake Lure Flowering Bridge.  It is a marvel of community bridging, taking an aging concrete structure that carried vehicle traffic for more than eight decades and transforming it into a garden space hanging above the Rocky Broad River in western North Carolina.

 

            Once just a notion based on a childhood memory, the Lake Lure Flowering Bridge is now home to tall spiky red and yellow cannas reaching above the structure's graceful balustrades into the mountain air.  Across a span of 155 feet, a myriad of plants and flowers flourishes in raised stone-walled beds, competing for attention along a winding pathway.  The sights and scents of roses and other fragrant plants invite bees and birds and butterflies as well as people.  One bed features medicinal, fragrant, ornamental and culinary herbs.

            On the bridge's east end, a pathway from the Town Hall leads visitors through a garden space of plants and trees, then under an iron archway above open gates, then onto the bridge itself.  A nearby bench invites a restful stop to look out over the river where ducks and geese and even kayakers might be paddling by in the cool water that tumbles down from the mountains above.

           

How has all this come to be in just three short years?  One man's memory of trips to the Bridge of Flowers in Massachusetts became the vision of a group of dreamers.  These community volunteers believed the decommissioned Rocky Broad Bridge Number 7 could also become a garden that might itself create memories to inspire another generation.

      
Their belief has drawn an entire community together.  Individuals and local businesses donated seed money to explore the possibilities.  An architectural firm was engaged to draw up a plan.  A state fund to preserve the bridge itself, managed by the Town of Lake Lure, provided further support for the gardens that have given new life to the bridge. 

            Throughout the process, the bridge has proved itself a connection among the various communities in the Hickory Nut Gorge where it is located.  As needs arose, volunteers stepped forward to donate time, talent, money and expertise.  Creative collaboration found solutions to problems,  keeping momentum building through the preparation of the bridge for its new purpose.   Then, in April 2013, shovels turned the earth and enthusiastic volunteers nestled plants into their new homes. 

          
     Now the flowers are blooming, visitors are strolling through the gardens.  Having come together to create this garden connection, residents are devising complementary concepts.  A coffee shop has opened on one end of the gardens and plans are being discussed for other development in conjunction with the gardens planned for the west end of the bridge.  This is a place of ideas and imagination.

     In the case of the Lake Lure Flowering Bridge, it is clearly much more than just a structure that allows passage across a river.  It is now a beautiful catalyst for collaboration and creativity, for unity and innovation.  It is that moving force that a bridge can become.

 

Thanks to Bill Miller for leading the effort to turn his childhood memory into a dream that has become a reality.

Photos by Mike Lumpkin