It's Good To Get Away

Last week I took an overnight trip to Boone by myself and then an overnight trip to Wilmington with David and the kids. You know what? It's good to get away. You know what else? As opposite as our state's two main tourist attractions are geographically, beach-towns and moutain-towns have surprisingly similar "live and let live" vibes. It's lunchtime at the beach and you stop in the nearest deli for a hotdog and a coke. No shirt, no shoes? No problem. You're turned around in the moutains and need directions to the Blue Ridge Parkway. No teeth, no brain cells left? No problem. Inside living spaces are funkier as people tend to spend as much time as possible outdoors. Both communities sport a slower, more casual pace of doing things, and the senses are super-charged with the sights, smells, tastes and textures of some of nature's finest.

I love spending time in both places, for different reasons. Boone is home, and I love going home. Partly because my family, friends, and roots are there, but also because I love the mountains. I love the fact that it hardly ever gets above 75 degrees in the summer and that people sleep with their windows open. I love the way flower beds and vegetable gardens look in the mountains in the summer--how the hills add a lot of visual variety to a flat bed. I love how I woke up last Friday at 10:15 AM (parents, can you imagine?), in a family friend's house (whose kids I used to babysit for) who my sister was house-sitting for and right there out of the blue in the middle of beautifully-framed photos of their family of five was a picture of my mom and the man who lives there. It reminded me that as I go day to day missing my mom, there are countless others who miss their friend.

I love how carefree I felt throwing on my navy sweatshirt and walking to ASU's Student Union to grab a cup of coffee with my brother, who is the Director of AV Services. And how bustling the Union was with parent orientation in session and how it reminded me of my days working for the Carolina Union, which to this day remains my most favorite job. And how we ran into one of my mom's old professors (whose daughters I also used to babysit for--Boone is like that) who was probably the age I am now when I first met him, but who looks virtually the same after 20 years. He told me how much he missed my mom.

And then how I enjoyed walking by myself back to King Street and playing tourist in a town I know inside and out browsing the vintage clothing shop, the music store and the Mast General Store to look for two small toys for my kids which I promised I'd bring back. Lunch with my dad, walking the dogs with Daniel and Kate and then some more time spent in a special situation with Kate rounded out my short jaunt to the place I still call home, although now I've lived away from Boone for almost twice as many years as I ever lived there.

With no incident on the three-hour ride home, it was a nice reunion with David and the kids as the excitement began to build for going to the beach the next morning. We picked Wilmington/Wrightsville Beach for two reasons: 1.) A co-worker friend and her family were there and invited us over in advance for a big meal and 2.) From front door to beach towel, Wrightsville Beach is the closet beach for us to get to. We had to drive from our house in North Chatham County to Raleigh, but once on I-40, it's only 120 miles to Wilmington. And I really wanted to see if we could be dipping our toes into the water in under 3 hours from leaving our driveway. We couldn't. We didn't time the drive right (it always needs to be in the 1:00 PM range, after lunch, when the kids are most likely to take a nap) and we ended up making way too many stops. And Johnny whined, cried, and complained the whole way there. And when Johnny whines, Grace hits him, and when Grace hits him, I yell at her, and when I yell at her, she cries, and when Grace cries, Johnny whines even louder. Instead of protesting each pit stop for the sake of "If we stop again, we're not going to be able to see how long it really takes to get to the beach from our house," I finally resgined to the fact that stopping-several-times-thus-throwing-off-your-time-of-seeing-how-long-it-really-takes-
to-drive-120-miles, is, unfortunately, how long it takes when you're driving with kids.

Once we got there, the effort was worth it (pretty much) as the kids were beside themselves with energy and joy splashing in the water and digging in the sand. What I love about the beach, in addition to the ocean being free, is the way the sun gives me enough color in my face to where I don't feel the need to wear much make-up, and the way the saltwater dries my hair with a hint of wave in it that looks way better than spending any time fixing it. I love getting all the way wet and the feel of the sun slowly drying my skin. I love playing with my kids and having them remember beach games that I made up last year that they remembered but I'd forgotten--and how fun it is to get 'whip-splashed' in the salty, shallow foam. Making castles and drawing pictures in the sand and remembering the year spent on the beach when David and I first met. And how intense that last wave was on Sunday--the one that took Johnny and me under with pressure so fierce that it knocked my bathing suit bottoms to my knees and left tiny shells sticking to Johnny's private parts. A wave with such gusto that it had us both gasping for air and him ending up in tears and asking if he could sleep in the living room and watch tv that night, like he gets to do when he's sick or sad.

The beach and the mountains. Two of my favorite places. One where it's fun to wear as little as you can get away with and one where it feels good to bundle up to the max. One where it's exotic and far-away and represents the year I fell in love and the only year I ever had a tan. The other a place for which I will always be homesick and from which I will always come. I wasn't born there and I haven't lived there for seventeen years. But it feels natural now and feels like it will always feel natural: when people ask me where I'm from, I say, with great affection, "I'm from Boone."