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Was it really a whole year ago? It still doesn't seem possible.
On June 19, 2009, after nearly two years of preparation and seemingly unending months of anxiety brought on by an unfriendly national economy, Steve and I closed on the sale of our signature house in hyper-urban Arlington, Va., the one we'd spent 27 years re-creating into something that was ours alone. We picked up the cats, the fish, and the plants, and drove six hours straight south into a completely new life in deeply rural North Carolina. All we knew was that we were headed for a rental house and that our landlord would be the builder in whose hands we'd decided to trust the plans for our dream home by the water. Would we feel dislocated? Would we be accepted? Would the Klan burn a cross on our lawn? All of those questions crossed our minds. But we had each other, and we had the knowledge that up to then we'd been able to fit in anywhere. Heck, I'd spent two years of my life in Ghana, West Africa, the equivalent of another planet. If that dislocation didn't do me in, a move to the sticks would be more like re-locating to another house in the same neighborhood. Never did we feel we were making an unwise move. And a year later, we are all the more confident in the wisdom of our decision, and happy about it.
Oh, there have been changes in attitude. In my urban life you wouldn't have caught me dead or alive in a Wal-Mart, unless there was some bargain that simply couldn't go unheeded. Here, the Wal-Mart is the only big-box store for 60 miles in any direction. (There is a Lowe's nearby, thank goodness!) It stands in lonely grandeur on the outskirts of Elizabeth City, awaiting the mixed-use housing planned for its surrounds. It stands shining in the distance along with the strip mall that came with it, which includes a good pet store. Since this is the only such store for miles around, it must be many things to many types of people. It succeeds more than it fails.
Also in my previous life, I used to shop for food à l'européenne, making a daily trip to my beloved Harris-Teeter to be inspired by its gorgeous produce and wonderful meat selection for the day's dinner. Here, you can't go around any corner without running into a Food Lion--truly the Starbucks of the rural North Carolina, making up in utter ubiquity for it's complete lack of corporate style. I admit to an irrational prejudice against the chain, probably because of its name, which I find just stupid, thinking of it as an overgrown country store. (Capers are in the foreign food section, when you can get them. Fresh thyme was an unknown in the produce aisle until I asked for it.) But I shop there because the prices of this most base of basic selection can't be beat. There's a very nice store, a Harris-Teeter ripoff, called Farm Fresh in E. City. I go there for things like copper polish, Swiss chard or fennel bulbs, great cheeses, and my beloved Batampte pickles. I can even pick up kimchee there when my tastebuds so dictate. (And when it comes to produce, in the summer we are abundantly blessed with several farm stands to choose from.)
We do sorely miss a few things about the big city. Bed, Bath and Beyond is a marvelous place that seems downright miraculous upon entering one after a long absence. The occasional foray into Target. A Thai restaurant. (Mexican and Chinese are well represented, and there's even a Caribbean chop bar in Elizabeth City.) A selection of first-run movie theaters--we have to go all the way to the Outer Banks for a multiplex. Netflix has never been so welcome or necessary.
And we miss the proximity of our friends in Washington, but we don't miss the city itself. (Our best friends tend to be scattered all over the country, anyway, so being here doesn't make such big difference.) We miss the funky diversity of our Arlington neighborhood, but little by little we are learning where the weird people are down here--which is most certainly not among our lovely, well-meaning but totally homogeneous neighbors--we are the diversity in this little enclave, and they actually seem grateful for our presence. We are on a search for fellow-travelers and know they are out there. Meanwhile, our pink flamingos and the rainbow flag speak for themselves. What they may say to the literal-minded, camp-challenged locals is another story entirely--("all those flamingos...you guys really like the tropics, huh?") but we are making our statement.
We love looking at "our" creek every day, through the forest of cattails and bog flowers whose lives we made possible through the sweat of our backs. We love the starry nights, where the spilled-milk inspiration for the name of our galaxy is still visible. We love that through the good offices of a couple of very modest but pivotal people in our life here--our real estate agent and our builder--we have access to a network of first-rate craftspeople whose word is so good they don't even require contracts. When they say they will do something, they do it. It's a very high moral standard to live up to, and one reason the recent troubles with the home equity loan (finally resolved) were so distressing--it's not fair to make these good people wait so long for their due, since they have shown you such good faith. Where else could we be honored with such a tender obligation?
Most of all, even though we have not said it in so many words, Steve and I love that we have each other. Each of us made this life-changing adventure possible for the other. Without me, Steve would still be sitting in Arlington, stressing impotently over lost property values. Without Steve, his genius for design and his hands-on skills, my life would be far poorer and less filled with beauty. When it comes right down to it, that might be the best thing of all about this new life. With each other, we've seen without any doubt that we can do just about anything we set our minds to. We're coming up to 31 years next month. May the next 31 be half as good.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Meanwhile
The rain that seemed to go on endlessly just a few days ago has indeed ended and given way to bright sunshine, cool morning breezes and a clear blue sky. And that cozy feeling you get when you can sit inside and do not very much because weather won't allow it gives way, in my present circumstances, to feelings of jealousy that Steve can be outside, carrying lumber around as he prepares to make railings for the deck, while I'm still inside relatively immobile. But I can marvel at what Steve has shown me from the outside, and told me about. And yesterday afternoon after the sun had gone behind the house I actually maneuvered myself out to the deck and enjoyed the fragrant air and the evening views up the creek.
We are in the middle of a natural wonderland. Henry the blue heron makes daily, swooping forays up and down he creek, often landing right at the end of our dock to stalk some delicacy he sees in the water. If Henry happens not to show up for a couple of days running, we ask each other where he is. "Where's Henry?" has become one of those comfortable private catch phrases that mean more than they actually say. (We had a "Henry" in Delaware, too. We imagine that he found out where we went and followed us here.)
Yesterday Steve saw two enormous turtles on the wetland fringes of the back yard. One of them left some scratch marks behind--is this egg-laying season for these turtles? What kind are they? We need to find out. A hummingbird hovered over us as we sat on the deck, attracted to the extravagant salmon pink of the kalanchoe I bought to brighten Steve's office over a year ago. The plant has thrived here, as if celebrating Steve's freedom, and the hummingbird's reaction to it suggested the sort of company we may have if we were to plant something with actual nectar, like a trumpet vine. A trumpet vine requires strict, brutal discipline or it will become invasive, but the potential for crowds of hummingbirds may convince us it would be worth the trouble.....
Busy little Carolina chickadees and bluebirds flit and fuss incessantly from tree to tree along the water, and a tiny Carolina wren perches on the railing of our front porch at 4 o'clock every afternoon, like clockwork. He "serenades" us with a teasing, single-note call that is way too big to emit from that afterthought of a body. (The tiniest creatures seem to have been given voices that compensate for their lack of physical stature.) On the other end of the size scale, there are at least a dozen osprey pairs nesting in the tallest of the cypress trees that grace the banks of the Little River, just beyond our creek. At least one of them does graceful reconnaisance over us every afternoon. And then there are the crows, their raucous conversation announcing their arrival like so many ladies who have over-enjoyed a liquid lunch.
There are more wildflowers growing in the wetland than we ever dared hope. I've shown you a picture of the wild iris. They have now been joined by spiky little water hyacinths and a buttercup yellow ground cover whose name we don't yet know. A wetland rose of sharon is growing almost within reach of the dock--we hope it is the scion of a plant whose seeds we collected along the river last fall. It's still sprouting leaves and growing towards its full-season height, too early for blossoms, but the leaves and growth habit are unmistakable.
When I am once again ambulatory I promise to take some pictures of all these wonders and show them to you. Until then, daydream a little....
We are in the middle of a natural wonderland. Henry the blue heron makes daily, swooping forays up and down he creek, often landing right at the end of our dock to stalk some delicacy he sees in the water. If Henry happens not to show up for a couple of days running, we ask each other where he is. "Where's Henry?" has become one of those comfortable private catch phrases that mean more than they actually say. (We had a "Henry" in Delaware, too. We imagine that he found out where we went and followed us here.)
Yesterday Steve saw two enormous turtles on the wetland fringes of the back yard. One of them left some scratch marks behind--is this egg-laying season for these turtles? What kind are they? We need to find out. A hummingbird hovered over us as we sat on the deck, attracted to the extravagant salmon pink of the kalanchoe I bought to brighten Steve's office over a year ago. The plant has thrived here, as if celebrating Steve's freedom, and the hummingbird's reaction to it suggested the sort of company we may have if we were to plant something with actual nectar, like a trumpet vine. A trumpet vine requires strict, brutal discipline or it will become invasive, but the potential for crowds of hummingbirds may convince us it would be worth the trouble.....
Busy little Carolina chickadees and bluebirds flit and fuss incessantly from tree to tree along the water, and a tiny Carolina wren perches on the railing of our front porch at 4 o'clock every afternoon, like clockwork. He "serenades" us with a teasing, single-note call that is way too big to emit from that afterthought of a body. (The tiniest creatures seem to have been given voices that compensate for their lack of physical stature.) On the other end of the size scale, there are at least a dozen osprey pairs nesting in the tallest of the cypress trees that grace the banks of the Little River, just beyond our creek. At least one of them does graceful reconnaisance over us every afternoon. And then there are the crows, their raucous conversation announcing their arrival like so many ladies who have over-enjoyed a liquid lunch.
There are more wildflowers growing in the wetland than we ever dared hope. I've shown you a picture of the wild iris. They have now been joined by spiky little water hyacinths and a buttercup yellow ground cover whose name we don't yet know. A wetland rose of sharon is growing almost within reach of the dock--we hope it is the scion of a plant whose seeds we collected along the river last fall. It's still sprouting leaves and growing towards its full-season height, too early for blossoms, but the leaves and growth habit are unmistakable.
When I am once again ambulatory I promise to take some pictures of all these wonders and show them to you. Until then, daydream a little....
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Laid Up
I was walking yesterday morning, minding my own business, when I tripped on a wire and inflicted more long-term pain upon myself than I have experienced in my life. There are some times when you know you've done something that is potentially serious and will require more intervention than mere first aid. The burning pain at the base of my pelvis was my clue. I had torn the hamstring in my left leg. I "knew" it before I knew it. I just lay there in the dirt for a good half-hour while I tried to figure out some way to drag myself into a chair, using my arms and one leg. I knew I had to get to a hospital, but had no idea how I'd propel myself into the car, much less survive the ride, sitting, due to the nature and location of the nature of the injury, on the tear itself. I felt like a big baby but had to face the fact I needed an ambulance. I called 911, grateful for the system but apologetic at having to bother them with my ridiculous problem.
"Life is what happens when you're making other plans." A rare day off when we were planning to take the boat out and set the first crab pots of the year, and when I had intended to buy a big pork shoulder to try out my never-used smoker, was instead taken up by an ambulance ride to the hospital in Elizabeth City (two firsts: the ambulance and the hospital visit for myself) and then seemingly endless waiting on a bed in the emergency room. At the end of it all I was given confirmation that it was indeed a tear, some pain meds (motrin and percocet, both of which, despite their splendid reputations, are taking their sweet time to kick in), a pair of crutches, and instructions to contact an orthopedist first thing Monday, there being none on duty at the time in the hospital.
Straightening my left leg from anything but a completely prone position is still excruciating, though slightly improved (maybe a 9 instead of a 10 on a 1 to 10 pain scale) over yesterday. The crutches are useless to me because they require me to keep my leg in the only relatively pain-free position I can find, bent at the knee. In a standing position, the remaining muscles in my thigh can't help with that under their own steam--they end up cramping from the strange position, adding to the pain. For locomotion, then, I've taken to crawling around the house like a crab, face up, pulling myself along with my legs, then pushing the rest of my body forward with my arms, dragging my butt on the floor. (The bamboo needed a good scrub anyway!) In this manner I managed to push myself into the shower this morning and cleanse myself for the first time in two hot and dirty days, sitting on the shower floor.
Dear Steve, meanwhile, has been living out the "in sickness and in health" part of the traditional marriage vows. It goes without saying this ordeal would have even more difficult without his patient assistance, waiting on me hand and foot. He's also getting a little insight into the myriad small but vital maintenance chores I carry out in our life together every day, making the engine run smoothly. Not that I needed reminding, but this experience drives home once again how grateful I am to have him in mt life.
Other news: the lien situation drags on. There was indeed a debt against this property, and it was our purchase of the property that erased it. Unfortunately, it's that debt satisfaction that was never recorded. Dealing with bank bureaucracies to get that done is taking forever. There is still light somewhere at the end of the tunnel, progress is being made. But it's glacial.
And now for a crawl to the great room, or maybe to the deck.
"Life is what happens when you're making other plans." A rare day off when we were planning to take the boat out and set the first crab pots of the year, and when I had intended to buy a big pork shoulder to try out my never-used smoker, was instead taken up by an ambulance ride to the hospital in Elizabeth City (two firsts: the ambulance and the hospital visit for myself) and then seemingly endless waiting on a bed in the emergency room. At the end of it all I was given confirmation that it was indeed a tear, some pain meds (motrin and percocet, both of which, despite their splendid reputations, are taking their sweet time to kick in), a pair of crutches, and instructions to contact an orthopedist first thing Monday, there being none on duty at the time in the hospital.
Straightening my left leg from anything but a completely prone position is still excruciating, though slightly improved (maybe a 9 instead of a 10 on a 1 to 10 pain scale) over yesterday. The crutches are useless to me because they require me to keep my leg in the only relatively pain-free position I can find, bent at the knee. In a standing position, the remaining muscles in my thigh can't help with that under their own steam--they end up cramping from the strange position, adding to the pain. For locomotion, then, I've taken to crawling around the house like a crab, face up, pulling myself along with my legs, then pushing the rest of my body forward with my arms, dragging my butt on the floor. (The bamboo needed a good scrub anyway!) In this manner I managed to push myself into the shower this morning and cleanse myself for the first time in two hot and dirty days, sitting on the shower floor.
Dear Steve, meanwhile, has been living out the "in sickness and in health" part of the traditional marriage vows. It goes without saying this ordeal would have even more difficult without his patient assistance, waiting on me hand and foot. He's also getting a little insight into the myriad small but vital maintenance chores I carry out in our life together every day, making the engine run smoothly. Not that I needed reminding, but this experience drives home once again how grateful I am to have him in mt life.
Other news: the lien situation drags on. There was indeed a debt against this property, and it was our purchase of the property that erased it. Unfortunately, it's that debt satisfaction that was never recorded. Dealing with bank bureaucracies to get that done is taking forever. There is still light somewhere at the end of the tunnel, progress is being made. But it's glacial.
And now for a crawl to the great room, or maybe to the deck.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Night Sounds
We recorded this last night on our deck. You don't know whether to laugh at the comical sounds, be amazed at their volume and variety, or curse the fact that they are keeping you awake. The creatures making these sounds are not 30 feet away from the recorder, and we have no idea what any of them look like, especially those making those "bubbling" noises.
Welcome to the woods!
MP3 File
Welcome to the woods!
MP3 File
Saturday, April 24, 2010
There But For Fortune
It's a cool, gray morning that promises to evolve into more of the same in the afternoon and evening. We find ourselves with the first day of "nothing to do" in the new house, between projects, or waiting for various stars to align to start some. A very dear friend, an old Peace Corps colleague now living with her partner in Australia, has offered to make us a quilt for the house and deliver it--in person--sometime in 2011. So one thing that has kept me busy this morning is this website which has dazzled me and taught me in one session more about quilts than I ever imagined existed. Steve and I have been tasked with choosing a pattern. Once our choice passes muster with our quilting friend, we will delve into details of color. This promises to be fascinating, an experience topped off with a visit from Roz and Lib, whom we have not seen since our once-in-a-lifetime visit to Australia and New Zealand in 2005. It's one more lovely thing to be grateful for.
I also read the online version of the Washington Post, something I try to do fairly regularly, if I can stand yet more reports of the ever deepening chasm between viewpoints in this country, and the lunatics who really do threaten to take over the asylum. I saw that the IMF has prescribed a remedy for our current international economic ills: somehow getting the "developed world" to scale back its consumption and, concomitantly, its relatively luxe way of life. The dollar must lower in value or the Chinese must raise the value of their currency. Either way, it would mean that Steve and I may no longer be able to go to Ollie's overstock outlet and pay cents on the dollar for a dining room rug, say, or buy cheap nuts and bolts for our new deck. Such prospects bring home for me one more time how incredibly lucky we have been in so many ways, for so many years. When I say "we" I speak specifically of Steve and me, but the good luck has applied to countless of our contemporaries who happened to find themselves making their lives in Washington, DC, and other big cities, during the past few decades, riding the gravy train of good salaries that higher education could command, and not really too long ago. In Steve's and my immediate case, we decided what had to come next, got out while the getting was good, and had the means to build, literally, our future. Yes, we were smart enough to make plans. But we were just plain lucky to be able to realize them.
There is one gift from my time on the planet that just keeps on giving, and that is my time spent in a poor country with the Peace Corps. It continues to remind me to take none of the good life I have for granted. I know that there are people elsewhere who are exactly like me except for the opportunities that are my birthright, and from that difference flow so many others. "There but for fortune go I" is an old saying I became familiar with when Phil Ochs worked it into a song in the 1960s. Never a day goes by that I don't remember it, especially now, during such personal good times. Steve and I may have been smart. But we had a huge, undeserved and completely accidental leg up along the way.
I also read the online version of the Washington Post, something I try to do fairly regularly, if I can stand yet more reports of the ever deepening chasm between viewpoints in this country, and the lunatics who really do threaten to take over the asylum. I saw that the IMF has prescribed a remedy for our current international economic ills: somehow getting the "developed world" to scale back its consumption and, concomitantly, its relatively luxe way of life. The dollar must lower in value or the Chinese must raise the value of their currency. Either way, it would mean that Steve and I may no longer be able to go to Ollie's overstock outlet and pay cents on the dollar for a dining room rug, say, or buy cheap nuts and bolts for our new deck. Such prospects bring home for me one more time how incredibly lucky we have been in so many ways, for so many years. When I say "we" I speak specifically of Steve and me, but the good luck has applied to countless of our contemporaries who happened to find themselves making their lives in Washington, DC, and other big cities, during the past few decades, riding the gravy train of good salaries that higher education could command, and not really too long ago. In Steve's and my immediate case, we decided what had to come next, got out while the getting was good, and had the means to build, literally, our future. Yes, we were smart enough to make plans. But we were just plain lucky to be able to realize them.
There is one gift from my time on the planet that just keeps on giving, and that is my time spent in a poor country with the Peace Corps. It continues to remind me to take none of the good life I have for granted. I know that there are people elsewhere who are exactly like me except for the opportunities that are my birthright, and from that difference flow so many others. "There but for fortune go I" is an old saying I became familiar with when Phil Ochs worked it into a song in the 1960s. Never a day goes by that I don't remember it, especially now, during such personal good times. Steve and I may have been smart. But we had a huge, undeserved and completely accidental leg up along the way.
Friday, April 23, 2010
FOOD FRIDAY!
BAKED PORK AND NOODLES
This one is so easy I can't believe I never ran across it before, and even though a big part of is it is a couple of canned soups, I'm not proud, if it tastes good.
What I was really looking for was a way to make what my mother called "pork and noodles"--a good name, really, because that's all it was, plus some onion. Somehow she could boil egg noodles, pork chops and onions together and make it come out a rich, delicious wonder instead of a gluey mess. It can't have cooked for a very long time--the noodles take only 10 minutes to boil--and the pork not much longer. Anyway, I never found a recipe for boiling pork and noodles together, but I found a slew of them for baking them, all about this simple. Pork in North Carolina is a delicious and cheap protein, and I'm looking for more ways to use it. But you don't have to live in the Tarheel State to enjoy this.
Just one warning: give yourself some time. I takes 1 1/2 hours to cook.
6 country-style pork ribs
salt and pepper to taste
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can French onion soup
8 oz. uncooked egg noodles
1 medium onion, sliced
Preheat oven to 250 degrees F.
Pat meat dry, sprinkle with a little salt and pepper, and brown thoroughly in bottom of a Dutch oven. Remove meat from pan and set aside.
Mix soups together (do not dilute) and pour into Dutch oven. Raise heat to a boil and deglaze bottom of Dutch oven with the soups.
Distribute uncooked noodles evenly through soup mixture, making sure they are submerged, then nestle browned pork among the noodles. Separate onion slices into rings and distribute evenly over all.
Cover tightly and bake for 1 1/2 hours, until meat is fork tender. Serve with salad or your choice of vegetable. Yum!
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