Stay at Home

Governor Cooper's Stay at Home order takes effect today at 5:00 p.m., and local law enforcement is already gearing up.  There was another roadblock on the Walhalla Road this morning when I drove to Highlands.  I rolled down my window, and a young female police officer asked me, "What brings you to Highlands?"  I replied that I was going to the Post Office, and then for a run, and then returning to my home in Clear Creek.  "Where are you running?" she asked, which surprised me.  I hadn't really decided yet:  Big Bearpen?  Lower Lake Road?  The "Usual Three?"  I think I said something vague like, "You know, just around Town."  She told me that was still allowed, but to be sure to practice social distancing by staying six feet away from anyone.

"Still" allowed?  That had me a little worried.  I had read the Stay at Home Order, and it clearly says, "except to visit essential businesses, to exercise outdoors, or to help a family member."  I guess I am helping a family member, too, come to think of it.  I would be difficult to live with if I couldn't go running.

They are definitely getting out the word to Stay at Home, and I applaud our small Town with its limited manpower for getting out the word so well.  The roadblock was gone when I returned an hour later, moved to another highway, probably.  During the few minutes I have been sitting at my computer writing this blog post, I received a text message, all in caps as usual, from Macon County.  NC IS UNDER A STAY AT HOME ORDER TODAY AT 5PM PEOPLE SHOULD STAY AT HOME AND LIMIT INTERACTIONS AND TRAVEL.  And then we heard a message on our land-line's answering machine saying the same thing:  "This is a Code Red Message from Macon County 911, etc."  This would be a difficult time to be in local government; I feel for them, and I support them wholeheartedly.  The worse emergencies I had to face when I was Town Administrator were hurricanes, Town-wide power outages, and blizzards, but nothing like this.

When I arrived at the Post Office with some packages to mail, I found that they had hung long strips of clear plastic from the ceiling, in front of the counter.  The lobby smelled strongly of Lysol.  Postal Clerk Tabitha was as friendly as usual, but she was wearing latex gloves again, and this time she slipped on a surgical mask.  "Stay safe!" I said as I left, and she said the same.  How quickly we are adjusting to the New Normal.  We no longer blink an eye at a surgical mask.

Yesterday, I had come to Highlands for a Sunday morning visit to Bryson's Grocery Store, and I found it almost empty at 11:00 a.m.  Fred had told me Saturday that the Methodist Church's virtual worship service on Facebook had 1000 viewers last week (and they only have 500 members) so perhaps that is where most of them were.  The bread aisle had been cleaned out again, and toilet paper was down to a few rolls, of course; but what an earth would anybody want with shelled edamame beans?  The bread was no problem, really; I returned home and baked an artisan loaf that afternoon.

But tortillas!  Who cleaned out all of the flour tortillas on the lower shelf in the Mexican Food aisle?  I managed to find one overlooked box of an Old El Paso Soft Taco Dinner set, which contained six tacos and two foil bags of enchilada sauce.  Martha told me she had a good tortilla recipe, so I guess that is what we will try making next.

The Town was deserted for a Sunday morning.  I circled through the Shell Station, donned latex gloves, and topped up the gas tank.  There was not a single car there.  I circled around and drove back down Main Street from the east end, where all of the parking spaces would normally have been filled by Episcopalians, Presbyterians, and visitors to Wolfgang's and Highlands Inn and Old Edwards Inn.

These are terrible times, and after a weekend without cable news, I turned on my computer this morning to horrific visions of body bags, makeshift morgues, and emergency hospital tents being set up in Central Park.  I am so thankful that my problems are so very few.  And that I know how to bake bread and make tortillas.  And that I can still run on these deserted streets.

Nothing Happening in Highlands

We look forward to our Saturday morning group runs every week; it's generally a long run, but more importantly it is a social run, when we catch up with the lives of our running friends, share stories, and talk about anything and everything.  I had posted a notice that our group runs had been cancelled, and I deliberately showed up at the Park a half-hour late.  Fred was parking his little red MG just as I was arriving, and he hesitated as he walked toward me.  "Is this a group?"  I laughed and assured him two runners would be just fine.  A half-mile down the road, we met Karen, and stopped to chat with her, and then we passed Art and Vicki; Martha started after I did.  So there would have been a group of six of us had we all started at the same time.

Governor Cooper's statewide Stay at Home order thankfully permits outdoor exercise, but we did not see very many people out at all on this second unusually warm and sunny day in a row at the end of March, just a couple of dog walkers.  There was no traffic to speak of, and only two or three cars on Main Street; gone were the throngs of visitors who would normally be here on a morning like this, walking down the sidewalks past open shop doors, and the auto enthusiasts gathered at the Loafer's Bench.  It looked like this photo that Martha had found posted on the "Highlands Happening" Facebook page:

The pollen is still in the "red zone," so we both ran fewer miles than we had planned.  Temperatures climbed into the 80s again in the afternoon and the prudent thing to do would have been to stay indoors or sit in the shade with a book, but I felt restless, and ended up working in the yard after lunch, turning the raised garden beds on which I had spread compost last week with a spade.

Martha felt restless, too.  "What would we normally be doing on a Saturday?" she asked me this afternoon.  I suppose we might have driven up to Town, top down on the Mini, perhaps ordered some take-out from the Asia House, watching people walk by on the street. Or gone out of Town to shop for groceries and eaten lunch at an open restaurant.  Imagine that!

Our old life.

Roadblocks

What Martha had heard yesterday on Facebook is indeed true.  When I drove up the Walhalla Road this morning to go to the Post Office, there was no sign of any roadblock, but on the way home the Town Police had set one up.  The young officer waved me through (since I was leaving Town), but I recognized him and I rolled down my window to thank him for doing a good job.

The road to Town had been eerily devoid of traffic except for two or three trucks heading south, bound for the County landfill on Rich Gap Road.  Main Street, too, was almost empty except for some vehicles parked in front of Reeves Hardware again.  The construction businesses is just about the last remaining commercial operation in Highlands, so it makes sense to allow workers to buy building materials.  In the same way, Tate Landscaping was busy all over Town, mostly placing pine straw around trees and shrubs.

The pollen level today is back up in the high range for this entire area, and I could feel it in my lungs when I was working outside yesterday.

But I thought it might not be as heavy in Town as it is in Clear Creek since the oak trees are not yet showing signs of greening up.  That seemed to be the case as I parked across from the Nature Center and began walking up the road to Sunset Rocks.  There were no other cars in the parking lot.

The Town made a good decision a year or two ago when it decided to stop maintaining this road, a roadblock of another kind.  It has deteriorated even more since my last hike up here; an adventurous 4 X 4 could make it, but gone are the days when SUVs from Atlanta could drive up here.  Nothing was more annoying than being forced to step off the road during a pleasant Sunday afternoon hike to allow a big Suburban containing healthy young people to bounce past in a little cloud of dust.  We all have our pet peeves.

But I was not feeling peevish today; I had the road entirely to myself, passing not a single person all the way up to the summit and all the way back down on this unusually warm day.

It was so warm, in fact, that I realized I was a little overdressed.  The Asheville forecast this morning had predicted that this would be a record-setting day, hotter than the previous hottest day on record in 1907.

Just as I was leaving the parking lot, an SUV pulled in beside me containing four young people.  The driver rolled down her window, and I said, "There is absolutely nobody up there!  Enjoy your social isolation!"  They laughed and climbed out, wearing hiking boots.  I would like to think that they had planned to hike even if the road had been in better shape.  I would also like to think that they were not from New York or New Orleans, the latest epicenters in the pandemic.

Coronavirus in Highlands

The Town of Highlands is doing a good job at addressing the coronavirus pandemic in this small, but very cosmopolitan, part of the world, where visitors come from all across the country during the summer.  The Town Board declared its own State of Emergency last week, following the State and Federal declarations, and has now passed some additional measures.  In additional to the Town Hall and Rec Park being closed, all restaurants, hotels, and shops are closed.  Curbside take-out is allowed by restaurants, and many are doing that.  Now, in addition to hotels, all short-term rentals have been closed down.  Residents who own homes here and arrive from out-of-state are asked to self-quarantine for 14 days.  The Mayor has put out the word that Highlands is not the place to hide out from the coronavirus! 

Gatherings of more than ten people are also prohibited, and the Police Department is empowered to issue misdemeanor citations.  I realized this morning that the Highlands Roadrunners Club website needed to be updated, so I posted a notice that all group runs have been cancelled, as well as the handful of small area races I had put on the calendar, some of which we had looked forward to running.  I also sent out an e-mail to that effect to all of our local runners.  We will plan to run in groups of one or two with our friends, as we did yesterday, for the immediate future.

Grocery stores, convenience store/gas stations, and hardware stores are exempt from the closings.  This morning when I went to Town on "essential" errands to the Post Office and to buy gasoline for my chainsaw (with latex gloves on my hands), Main Street was nearly empty except for Reeves Hardware.  And I was greeted by this at the Post Office - caution strips applied to the floor indicating six feet of separation between those waiting in line.

"Go ahead," a woman browsing through the greeting card display at the end of the counter told me, and I tiptoed nimbly around her.

All of this will be a tremendous loss to local businesses.  I have often heard that many retail businesses turn a profit based on only three holiday weekends:  Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day.  The first two of these holidays will almost certainly be cancelled, and we aren't even sure about Labor Day, six months from now.  We received the CLE (Center for Life Enrichment) catalog this week, and it looks like most of those classes, lectures, tours, and other events will be cancelled.  We will have to enrich ourselves this summer in other ways.

P. S.  Martha just learned from Facebook that the Town Police have roadblocks set up on all roads to Town!  That is just amazing.  And frightening.

The New Normal (Continued)

Day by day, our "normal" world continues to reveal stranger and stranger realities.  This morning, I had to stop in Bryson's, our local grocery store, for some essentials (and yes, they had packages of toilet paper!) and a woman in the next checkout aisle was wearing a mask.  Was she protecting herself from the possibility of coronovirus particles in the air?  Or was she protecting the rest of us from her because she was already sick?  In Dusty's, the little grocery store on the Dillard Road, I was greeted by Lou gesturing to two boxes of latex gloves on the counter, which all customers are asked to don upon entering - black (large) for men, white for women.  It felt strange to latex-fumble in my wallet for some cash.  "Are you still taking cash?" I asked, and he said they were so far.

And what is even more amazing is how quickly all of this has happened.  Two weeks ago today, we had just arrived back in Highlands the previous day and we drove to Clayton for lunch at Rumor Hazit restaurant and grocery shopping at Ingles, where we stocked up as we normally would after having returned from two months out of Town.  There had been plenty of toilet paper on the shelves.  Had I only known how quickly those shelves would become empty, in only a day or two, I suppose I, too, might have stocked up a little more.  But when does that cross the line to "hoarding?"  At Bryson's, there was a sign on the toilet paper shelf limiting single rolls to eight per customer; I carried four rolls to the checkout.  "You can have eight," the checkout girl said.  "That's OK.  Somebody else might need some."  That made me feel a little saintly, and I only hope others will do the same as those supplies which disappeared so suddenly gradually begin to re-appear.

Our mail was forwarded to Atlantic Beach while we were gone, and there has been quite a delay in receiving the last few straggling pieces of mail which were sent there and now are being returned to Highlands.  We received a local newspaper this week from nearly a month ago, filled with stories of school sports and activities all over Town, everybody so blissfully unaware of what was to come.  In the same way, issues of the New Yorker have been drifting in from what, if I were a science fiction writer, I might call something like "The Before Time."  The first few pages were filled, as they always are, with all of the concerts, plays, movies, art exhibitions, and other cultural activities that people in a big city so freely and widely enjoy.  This week's issue had no such items listed - who knows when we might be able to enjoy a symphony orchestra perform again?  The latest cover art, simply titled "Grand Central Terminal," said it all.

The pollen count is very high, too, higher than usual, and I have been suffering with a tight chest and stuffed sinuses, to the extent that I Googled several articles, such as Allergies Vs. Coronavirus:  Here's How to Tell the Difference.  I compared symptoms with Lee Zoellner at Highlands Outdoor Tool this morning when I picked up the chainsaw I had left for sharpening.  "They've been awful!" he said.  "And Laura, too!  It made me wonder if I was getting this thing."  His wife Laura works at our local nursing facility, the Eckerd Living Center, which is under lock-down; Laura has to have her temperature taken before entering.  "Me, too," I said.  "Except that I don't have a fever, and I always get allergies this time of year."  Besides, I thought, I ran six miles Saturday (probably not the wisest thing to do in medium-high pollen conditions) and I continue to work out here at home.

I told Lee that I was afraid I might sneeze or cough in a grocery store, causing a panic, perhaps even a stampede of frightened people, clamping handkerchiefs over their faces, knocking over displays and shoving shopping carts aside, all trying to escape that elderly man over in the canned vegetable aisle, spreading infection wildly through the air. 

The New Normal

The terrible news continues to pour in every day, making my own recent posts, "Tales of the Coronavirus," seem like minor inconveniences.  How quickly we have all come to adapt to the "new normal!"  Latex gloves worn by grocery store and post office workers, closed restaurants and hotels, shuttered movie theater, and empty shops all over Highlands.  The new normal:  when I return from the post office with magazines and mail, I give everything a once-over with a Clorox wipe, trusting that thoroughly sanitizing everything, together with "social distancing," will keep us protected. 

I am glad that we do not live in a large city, where we might have to depend upon things like public transportation and elevators in office buildings.  We can walk down Main Street, careful to maintain a safe distance from other pedestrians, and not feel in any danger.  We drove up to Highlands yesterday and ran with some of our friends, avoiding handshakes and hugs.  "I saw you running an hour late last Saturday," I scolded Vicki.  "So you either forgot to turn your clock ahead or you were practicing extreme social distancing."  But what a ghost town Highlands was, on a Saturday morning three weeks before Easter, when there would normally be plenty of traffic and the parking places would be rapidly filling up.  The new normal.

Martha and I both completed six miles, and I ended up running/walking most of my miles with Fred and Karen; we took a lot of walking breaks.  Fred does not normally take walking breaks, but I think he just wanted to talk.  The Methodist Church is a big part of his life and it has been closed down for a week, with virtual services taking place on-line.  When we finished running, some of us just stood around and visited just a little longer, satisfying that need for human contact.  Perhaps that will be the most difficult safety measure for some people:  to stay home, to avoid social contact, that powerful glue that binds us all together.

The pollen count was in the medium-high range yesterday, and we could both feel it in our lungs, especially after an afternoon spent working out in the yard in warm sunshine.  The yellow, sticky stuff is coming down hard, visibly coating the glass top of the outdoor table on our deck from one day to the next.  But it felt good to be outdoors, spreading pine straw and hauling compost from the compost bins to the garden with the wheelbarrow.  Our neighbor Daniel was out working, too, just a couple of hundred yards from my compost bins.  And later in the day he posted this picture on Facebook of a copperhead he killed with a shovel, lurking under an old tire.  It's that time of year when one has to be wary when working outdoors, socially distancing one's self from venomous snakes.

So as the new normal continues, we are doing the best we can against the perils all around us, armed with hand-sanitizer in one hand and shovel in the other.

Tales of the Coronavirus (Continued)

It was another surreal day in this new era of Coronavirus.  We have learned that the Boston Marathon scheduled for April 20 - Patriots Day in Boston - has been postponed until September 14 for the first time in its 124-year history.  I was texting one of my running friends in Montgomery, Alabama, about the virus.  "What's the situation up there?" he asked, and I told him what was happening.  "At least we can go running, right?" I told him.  "Not in Italy," he said, and a little research confirmed that was the case; those found guilty of being outside face a three-month prison sentence or a fine of 206 euros ($230).  I told him that our friend Anthony would be very disappointed about Boston being postponed; he had trained perfectly for the race, something that only marathon runners can truly appreciate.  But, of course, it would be madness to invited 50,000 runners from around the world, cram them into buses to Hopkinton, and allow them to run all the way to Copley Square high-fiving thousands of cheering spectators along the way.

We are not in danger of prison or fines in Highlands for being outside yet, and in fact we understand that outdoor exercise is being encouraged provided it is not done in groups.  So Martha and I drove to Highlands and went running this morning, separately, and compared notes later.  "It was so strange!" Martha said.  "There were only two cars in front of Mountain Fresh at lunch time.  And the whole street down by the Presbyterian Church was empty."  I had noticed it, too.  There were a few individual walkers out on the streets, but not many, and virtually no traffic.  And Highlands School, which we both ran by, had only a few teacher's cars parked out front and dark classrooms.

These strange days remind me of being in a blizzard - like the Blizzard of '93 that struck Highlands on March 13, 1993 - except there is no snow and our power is on.  I used to have a T-shirt that commemorated that storm, in fact.

There is the same sense these days that we are in the midst of a terrible storm, trying to hang on desperately to something solid.  And, as they did 27 years ago, all over Town people are asking one another, "Are you doing okay?  Stay safe!"  Life is on hold, as we hunker down and wait for this blizzard to pass and the long recovery to begin.

Tales of the Coronavirus

"So much can change in one week!" I said in my last post.  Now, only two days later, even more changes are taking place in our everyday life, sometimes on an hourly basis.  The entire city of San Francisco is on lock-down, with all residents asked to shelter in place.  And it appears that the same may be ordered for New York City.  Those are drastic measures, and it occurred to me today that, while we had basically "stocked up" after returning from Atlantic Beach, perhaps another trip to the grocery store might be necessary if we, too, would be asked to shelter in place for any length of time.

My visit to the Ingles grocery store in Cashiers was a little surreal.  As I parked my car, a man two spaces away was placing groceries in his car and I noticed he was wearing a protective mask.  As I entered, a woman was exiting wearing the same kind of mask; I thought perhaps she looked a little embarrassed.  We are normally very prudent about using hand sanitizer, but now we are being even more cautious, treating every surface (such as the handle of the grocery cart) as if it might be covered in coronavirus. 

The new rules for social interaction are calling for a separation of six feet, and I think I noticed some customers in the store giving me a wide berth as I headed down the aisles. I was startled to hear a young man stocking shelves tell his co-worker, "It's like committing suicide, coming in to work every day like this!"  And in the adjoining aisle I could hear an irate woman declaring, "They shouldn't be allowed to come in here!  They should be checking drivers licenses to make sure they are North Carolina residents!"  Calm, down, I felt like saying.  Take a deep breath!

I filled up my grocery cart quickly with the essential supplies that we had identified, including a couple of hearty meals that freeze well, like Martha's home-made baked ziti (which she is planning to prepare tonight) and lasagna.

We already have lots of flour, rice, and canned beans, but I bought some more flour and yeast.  The bread aisle in Ingles, and later at Bryson's, our local grocery store in Highlands, was completely cleaned out, which I had expected.

I sent this picture to our daughter Katy, who lives in Greenville, SC and fortunately works from home.  "The bread aisle at Bryson's today," I said.  "Two aisles away plenty of flour and yeast.  I can bake my own bread!"  It was the same in Greenville and elsewhere, she said.  She is more resourceful than many of her generation; she, too, can bake bread.  Those who depend on processed food and dining in restaurants will be affected more than we will.  Yes, we can bake bread, I thought, a little smugly.  But will it come to that?  To bread lines?

There was no hand sanitizer, of course, but I asked a woman stocking that area if they had aloe vera gel.  She pointed to the next aisle, and I found eight bottles, with a sign indicating only one could be purchased by a customer.  Others must have learned, as I did a week ago, that you can make your own hand sanitizer - one-third aloe vera to two-thirds isopropyl alcohol.  But of course,  there was no alcohol. 

I had expected the toilet paper aisle to be cleaned out, and it was.  Why people are stocking up on toilet paper is a little surprising, but I suppose seeing an empty aisle and only one or two small, off-brand packages of toilet paper left, creates the urge to snap them up, and that's exactly what I did.  I had also expected the milk aisle and the eggs to be empty, but what surprised me was all of the meat that was completely gone from the long refrigerated cases:  chicken, beef, pork, fish, all completely gone.  Similarly, the potatoes were mostly gone, but not the sweet potatoes, which are a healthier choice and in fact were on my grocery list. 

I managed to get most of the things on my list and found the rest at Bryson's, where there were plenty of eggs and also milk and meat of all kinds.  (Will the shoppers in Cashiers eventually discover it and descend upon it like a horde of locusts?)  But it was a sobering chapter in Tales of the Coronavirus, and I returned home unsettled, watching cables news reporting as the crisis expands farther and farther, thinking about all the many ways lives will be impacted.  In the afternoon I received a text from Macon County Emergency Management saying that a state of emergency had been declared, and in capital letters, NO MASS GATHERINGS OVER 100.  RESTAURANTS DRIVE-THRU CARRY OUT ONLY.  I thought of all of the ramifications that would have.

It is encouraging to hear that Macon County, as well as municipalities and states around  the country, are stepping forward and being proactive.  I know from my own career with the Town that public service often attracts some of the most competent and responsible people.  And in the midst of the panic buying and the nerves on edge, private individuals have also been coming forward with acts of goodness.  It was reported that a Houston couple, learning that a small restaurant would be closing, left a $9,400 tip for the wait and kitchen staff to help them through the coming weeks.  And Martha told me that Pescados, a take-out Tex-Mex place in Brevard, put out the word that any child (many of whom depend on school lunches and might be going hungry) can come by and receive a free taco, no questions asked. 

The Coronavirus and Spring

So much can change in one week!  Last Sunday afternoon, we were visiting Martha's aunt Lizette at Brookdale North in Raleigh on our way home, but only a day or two after that, visitors to Brookdale were being screened to prevent the spread of the coronovirus.  Assisted living facilities for Martha's three other aunts in Asheville and Clemson have also been locked down for now.  The Beaufort Picture Show, where we watched so many movies over the past two months, has closed until further notice.  Church services in Highlands were cancelled today, and Macon County schools, including Highlands School, will be closed beginning Tuesday.

In some ways we returned to Highlands at the best possible time, just days ahead of the feared spread of this pandemic.  We were able to get to the grocery stores twice this week and stock up on essentials, although the toilet paper aisle was cleaned out and there is no hand sanitizer to be found anywhere.  According to a New York Times article, one "enterprising" (or, one might say, "profiteering") man in Tennessee went out and purchased 17,700 bottles of hand sanitizer, traveling some 1300 miles, hoping to sell them at inflated prices on the internet, only to find that eBay and Amazon were not permitting such activity.  I hope they sit in his garage for a long time.  Crises like these bring out the best and the worst in human nature.

Meanwhile, we are settling back into our life in Highlands.  It was a joy to show up at the park on Saturday morning and run with some old friends.  It was a warm, overcast day, perfect conditions for running, and after a week I think we have begun to acclimate to the 3850-foot altitude.  We shared stories about shortages in the grocery stores, and what has changed in the two months we have been gone.  Several friends have passed away, one only this past Friday, which is a sobering reminder of our own mortality and our gratitude for being in good enough health for a Saturday morning run.

Last night I went out onto the deck before going to bed and I could hear the spring peepers - small frogs that begin to sing this time of year.  In the uncertainty of pandemics some things never change.  This morning, I walked down the road and discovered that the flowering trees that were planted on the Westbrook property ten years ago are just starting to bloom; Martha told me that they had not been blooming only two days ago when she walked there.

In our own yard, daffodils, forsythia, and hyacinth are all blooming.  The tulips have come and gone, but our neighbor sent us some photos of them.

The first day of Spring will be Thursday, but it felt like it today.  The sun came out and it warmed up, and I washed our Mini Cooper, and then applied a coat of wax.  Then I drove up to Highlands, the top part-way down, the windows open, enjoying the beautiful day.  It was almost as relaxing as a walk on the beach.

Return to Highlands

I had remembered to set the clocks ahead an hour, and we both awoke early on Sunday morning, in plenty of time for the sunrise.  I went out onto the dune-top deck one last time for my Tai Chi, and as I approached the upper platform I immediately began walking gingerly.  It was only 36 degrees, but there was a white glaze of ice on the surface.

I realized that, ironically, we had arrived here just over two months ago to decidedly balmy temperatures, up in the 60s.  I wouldn't have thought that it would be this cold in March.  I wisely backed off to the lower part of the walkway for my Tai Chi, but not before taking this photo of the rising sun.

Despite the time change - this ridiculous requirement each year that we set our clocks ahead one hour in order to "save daylight" somehow - we managed to get off early enough on Sunday morning to arrive in Raleigh by 2:30 p.m., plenty of time for a nice visit with Martha's Aunt Lizette.  It is always so good to see her!  We were able to arrive in Winston-Salem at the Historic Brookstown Inn before dark, where we were pleased to see an old buddy - Sally, the Hotel Cat, asleep on a chair in the lobby.

This morning we drove the rest of the way back, green grass fading as we drove westward, the trees bare.  It was still winter west of Asheville, and I remembered that one of our worst storms ever in Highlands, the Blizzard of 1993, took place on March 13.  We still may see a little bit of winter!  But not much sunshine, I am afraid.  The forecast for the upcoming week looks a little rainy.

But all was well when we returned to our house, except for a lot of branches that had blown down in the yard and some washing.  There will be a lot of work to do in the coming weeks.  But it was good to walk in the door of our own home again after so many weeks - safe port and quiet waters after our voyage across the long miles on the interstate.

As we lay our heads on our pillows, I realized how dark and quiet it was - we live in a quiet neighborhood, and there are no walkway lights out the window of our bedroom.  I listened intently, but without success, for the familiar sound of the ocean in the background - the wide Atlantic Ocean, out there in the moonlight, crashing loudly, or just murmuring quietly - to which we had become accustomed for a long time.

Crystal Coast 10-K

As race day approaches, we spent some time organizing in preparation for returning to Highlands on Sunday.  We have completed all of the improvements and repairs that we set out to do this year on the condo and now we have been thoroughly cleaning it in preparation for the final last-minute items on Sunday morning.  It has been a rewarding Sabbatical here in Atlantic Beach; Martha has read 18 books and I have read half that many, as well as completing some writing projects.  We also saw some fine films, attended some interesting educational lectures, and spent some long hours out of doors, hiking and running, which we would not have been able to do in Highlands.  Martha even joined a knitting group at the Carteret County Library earlier in the week and learned how to knit.  There is always something new to learn, isn't there?  But now we are both ready to return and face our responsibilities in Highlands with renewed perspective and energy.

The thing we have loved most about this place is its serenity.  It is hard to explain exactly why, but the simple act of walking on the beach seems to settle us and center us, to give us a great sense of peace.  Perhaps it is the soothing, rhythmic sound of the surf breaking on the shore, or the many things to see along the way - the sandpipers and shells and sand dollars and sea gulls (all those "S's"!).  We found a beautiful picture in one of the shops here, and after thinking about it for a day or two, we returned to purchase it and hang it in the front room to show our appreciation to Martha's Aunt Lizette for her generosity in letting us stay here during the winter.  Visitors to the condo will immediately see it hanging on the wall over the sofa when they open the door.  It is called, appropriately enough, "Serenity."

Weather conditions were anything but serene this morning, however!  We could hear the wind building up overnight, and by this morning it was a fairly steady 25 miles per hour out of the north.  That's not as strong as two years ago, when we both faced gusts up to 50 mph on that bridge, but it would be enough to compound the obstacle.

We arrived at the starting line in Morehead City in plenty of time, sheltering from the wind behind the Bask Hotel while we waited for the staggered start - 9:00 a.m. for the half-marathon, 9:15 a.m. for the 10-K, and 9:30 for the 5-K.  The three races meant that there were not that many runners in each race, only 122 in the 10-K, so we both got off to a good start, heading west down Evans Street, then turning out to Arendell, before finally approaching the big bridge. This part of the race was not difficult, really; after all, we are used to running hills in Highlands, and the wind was pushing hard behind us, like a gentle hand urging us upward.  Martha was ahead of me, of course, and I passed her as she circled the barrel at the 10-K and came back toward the bridge.  Then I turned, too, and we were both running straight into the wind.  Some runners were walking on the bridge, but I was determined not to stop.  I kept thinking of that quote from As You Like It:

Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,

The seasons' difference, as the icy fang

And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind,

Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,

Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say,

“This is no flattery. These are counselors

That feelingly persuade me what I am."

Yes, I thought, this wind is persuading me what I am!  And in no time, the summit was reached, the short descent to Arendell, and then the turn back toward the finish.

We were both well pleased with our finish times.  Two years ago, I finished this same race, in stronger winds, in a time of 1:18:33, and in the final mile I picked up the pace, determined to see if I could beat that time.  My time was 1:17:52.  Martha had not run a 10-K in a long time, and she, too, was pleased with a finish of 1:04:11.

The awards were held in a building a couple of blocks away, where we gathered with a hundred or so other runners, sharing congratulations and race stories with other runners.  Martha ended up taking second place in her age group.  And, at the very tail end of the awards ceremony, the presenter said, "And we have an Over Seventy runner here, as well," and it turned out that I was that runner, the oldest in the race, and went up to receive my award a little embarrassed at the loud applause.  All of us older runners experience this phenomenon soon enough, because every runner there is thinking, "I want to still be racing when I am that age!"

We celebrated with lunch at The Shuckin' Shack, right next door to the awards ceremony, and then returned back to the condo.  The northerly wind had left the balcony in sheltered sunshine, so we both sat out there for one last afternoon, soaking up a little sun while Martha worked on that 18th book.  Later, we drove over the bridge to Beaufort, the same bridge we had run over that morning, for the final film that we would be able to see in the Beaufort Picture Show series, Maiden.  It was the perfect grand finale, the inspiring true story of a courageous woman, Tracy Edwards, who in 1989 gathered together an all-female crew to participate in the Whitbread Round the World Race, a gruelling yachting competition that covers 33,000 miles and lasts nine months.

It was an inspiring story, and it put our own modest struggle against adversity earlier in the day in some perspective.  Still, we do what we can do.  And we both agreed that we are not cut out for the sailing life.  In fact, I felt a little seasick, honestly, simply watching those big waves crash over that little boat.

The Catbird Seat

This morning we ran our last three-mile run before the race, taking the same route as Monday, down to the Picnic Area and then back on the beach.  Low tide was a little after 9:00 a.m., and once again there was little wind and the ocean was calm under an overcast sky, so that the wide, flat beach was a welcome alternative to the hard pavement on Fort Macon Road.  I was surprised when we first started coming here that it is so pleasant running on the beach, which at low tide is packed down and smooth, not at all the soft sand one encounters on most beaches.

I sat on the bench along the dune-top deck and soaked up the sights and sounds around me after my run this morning.  It is this place, like a little stage at the end of the walkway, where I do my Tai Chi nearly every morning and then, if the weather is nice, return with a cup of coffee for awhile. 

A year or two ago, I referred to this place as the Catbird Seat, thinking about the famous James Thurber short story.  Sometimes we will look out from the balcony and see someone sitting here, but not often this time of year.  "There's someone in your Catbird Seat," Martha will say.  It looks as if it would be a convivial place for socializing late in the afternoons during the season when this place has more people than we suspect we would enjoy.  It was not a catbird but a mockingbird that I was listening to this morning (I have learned the distinction from Ranger Randy on our Fort Macon bird hikes), perched on the very peak of that house next to the condos where the roofers were working on Saturday night.  He went through his entire repertoire, which was amazingly lengthy, then seemed to start over again, his mocking song unfurling fluently in the still morning air.

We are starting to think about the race seriously now.   We will pick up our race packets on Friday and drive the course; although we have both run the half marathon and I have run the 10-K, it will be good to refresh our memories about where the mile splits are.  Although only half the distance as the half marathon, the 10-K route still crosses the Atlantic Beach Bridge and then returns again.  The weather forecast is calling for strong winds Saturday morning, and we hope they will not rise to the level of those 50 mph gusts we encountered two years ago, which can be daunting up on that high, exposed bridge soaring across the sound.

The race is always on the first Saturday in March, so it is later this year (March 7) than it has ever been before because of Leap Year.  We both feel in many ways that our Sabbatical is coming to an end now, and within a few days of completing the race, depending on the weather, we will start packing up and returning.  It is so generous of Martha's Aunt Lizette to allow us to stay here in January and February, and we do not want to outstay our welcome.  It will be good to see her in Raleigh on the way back and spend some time visiting and celebrating her upcoming 91st birthday.   And then to get back home to Highlands.

Super Tuesday

Today is "Super Tuesday," and it looks like Joe Biden may be on his way to the Democratic nomination.  He was not my first choice, but he certainly has the experience, and he is a good, decent man.  I watched a clip of him working the crowd in a small diner in Texas where Beto O'Rourke had taken him after pledging his support, and it was really heartwarming to watch him take his time just talking to folks, asking kids what sports they were playing in school, that kind of thing.  I remember one of the late night hosts saying awhile back that "Joe was like a comfortable pair of slippers, and perhaps that's what America needs right now, because our feet are tired!"

Perhaps now we can avoid the urge to turn on the TV or watch cable news on our computers as much as we have, and simply enjoy the experience of being here in this beautiful place.  We both completed a three mile run yesterday, with a couple of short intervals, down to the Fort Macon Picnic Area and then out onto the beach.  It was low tide, the wind had died down, and it was a beautiful morning to be running on this wide, flat beach, waves breaking so gently that it seemed more like a large lake than the Atlantic Ocean.

A landscaping crew has been here off and on for the past week or two, cutting back the clumps of what I think is white pampas grass to encourage new growth.  They also removed the better half of the decorative bushes in the center of the walkway out to the beach, which had been dead since we arrived.

I noticed that they left some of it, which is showing healthy new growth, including tiny buds and white flowers beginning to open up.  Spring is definitely on the way!  It reminded me of similar work awaiting us in Highlands upon our return, including pruning the apple trees and removing the small hemlock tree that fell just before we left and demolished our picnic table.

And Resolute Elevator continues to work resolutely on "the lifts," as I mentioned a few days ago in this blog.  It looks like they may be getting close to completing the project, with new walls in place.

There are also new control panels outside the doors, like this one on the ground floor, which seems to have considerably more buttons than the previous ones.

The crew of young men arrive early in the morning so I sometimes see them on my way out to the walkway for my Tai Chi, or later with a cup of coffee, and I always stop to talk a little.  "Been out walking?  Or running?" one of them asked as I returned from the beach in my running clothes.  "Running." I said.  "Really nice our there!"  One of them said, "I wish I was that committed," and I answered, "I've been told I ought to be committed!"

When will work be completed?  They were a little vague about it.  One of them indicated that the most difficult job would be not the hydraulics or the walls or the control panels but the alarm, and he pointed to the overhead alarm in the ceiling outside, which was open and from which dangled a lot of wires.  I suppose that might be one of the most important things about an elevator, if you think about it - being able to push a button and set off an alarm if it fails to work and you are stuck inside.

My guess is that the work will be finally completed and the elevators fully operational the day after we leave.