Flattering Weather

The weather has warmed up now, and there are signs of spring everywhere – daffodils and pansies blooming, the grass turning greener.  I find strength when running in the cold and the wind by remembering that passage in As You Like It that I like to quote:

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.”
Sweet are the uses of adversity. . .

On these suddenly warm mornings, it is nice to be relieved of the need to smile at the counselors of rough weather and instead to be flattered a little for a change!

This morning, I completed a comfortable four-mile run in a short-sleeved T-shirt, down to the Picnic Area, and then back and forth through the aisles of the parking lot to make up the extra distance.  It was a busy place, with runners and hikers coming and going, and several young bare-chested men dressing into wetsuits, preparing to go surfing.  They reminded me of runners showing up at the Park on a Saturday morning, the easy camaraderie and the chatter about surf and weather conditions that I could overhear.

After lunch, we went down on the beach where there was a lot of beach nourishment work going on.  A pair of boats were out on the water in front of us, one behind and one in front, moving a long section of pipeline floating on big yellow steel floats.  

When in the right location, the pipeline is maneuvered perpendicular to the beach and pushed as far onto it as it will go, where forklifts with curved forks grab them and drag them into position on the beach, then push and pull them to the end of the pipeline.  We could see the dredged material mushrooming into the air ahead of us, just past the Oceanana Pier, which was where this section of pipeline was destined. 

There were a lot of people out on the beach and they were all watching with fascination, as onlookers do in a city where there is a high-rise construction job going on.  A four-wheeler was patrolling the area and keeping the curious at a safe distance.  I took this video of the two vehicles at work, watching them swivel swiftly around in a fascinating ballet of graceful motion, a lovely pas de deux of forklifts.
 

We exited the beach on an access ramp near the Oceanana Pier and walked back on the half-mile road where I often run in cold and windy conditions because the north wind is blocked by a row of houses.  It was nice to stroll on this road at a slower pace, appreciating some of the nice architectural details of these oceanfront beach houses.  We have some upcoming projects in mind on our own house in Highlands this summer, and this is a good way to get some ideas.

Now, at 5:00 on a Saturday afternoon, it is 64 degrees, warm enough, perhaps, to go down on the dune-top deck and watch another gorgeous sunset.

72

The rule for birthdays in our household, and one to which I have willingly subscribed over the years, is that the birthday celebrant can do whatever he or she wants on that day. Some years I have felt that this was a burden, as Martha would ask me in the days leading up to the date, “What do you want to do on your birthday?”  And I would not always be able to decide.  That was not a problem this morning, with clear blue skies and warm temperatures.  Highlands Roadrunner went running – what else? 

I had run two difficult miles yesterday in strong wind and cold temperatures.  But the weather has changed, and this morning it was balmy in comparison, so I decided to run toward Fort Macon and try some “Picnic Area Intervals,” which I have not done since February 4.  Since we have arrived, I have struggled to break the one-minute barrier.  In my last session, for example, my times were 1:07, 1:05, 1:03, and 1:01.  I have hit that 1:01 split many times!  This morning, in defiance of my new age, I pushed those splits down to 1:02, 1:01, 0:58, and 0:58.  I think only runners can fully appreciate what a difference it makes to run just three seconds faster in a workout.

I went out onto the beach from the Picnic Area and ran back along the ocean,where Martha was walking and where she took this photo.  

“What do you want to do now?” Martha asked, and I wondered out loud if I had time to wash my running clothes before lunch.  “It’s your birthday,” Martha said with a twinkle in her eye.  “You can stay here and wash your clothes if you want to."  I decided to leave my clothes until later, and we left the condo for a picnic lunch at the same Picnic Area where I had run this morning.  Then we drove to Harker’s Island to the Core Sound Waterfowl Museum and Heritage Center, which I have mentioned before in this blog; I think this has been our fourth visit this year.  We had picked up a brochure about the self-guided trails on our last visit, and that’s what we did this afternoon. 

The Willow Pond loop took us through a maritime forest (live oaks, cedars) around a small pond, where we sighted some kind of "waterfowl" too far away to identify or for my photos to turn out.  

From there, we made out way around to the Soundside Loop, which runs along Core Sound.  The observation deck at the end of a walkway had been damaged over the years by age and hurricanes, and had fallen into disrepair.  It made a poignant photo, I thought - the walkway fallen into the Sound.

It was a serene, quiet walk, and it brought us back around to the Cape Lookout National Seashore Visitors Center, where in past years we have boarded a ferry to Cape Lookout.  From there we returned to the Museum.  “I wonder if they would mind if I played the piano?” I asked Martha.  I had played the very nice Baldwin grand piano in the Heritage Center room on one of our visits almost three months ago, and as there was nobody about I slid onto the bench and played for awhile.  I have been learning a new Bach minuet on the keyboard I brought with me, but playing a real piano made it sound so much better. 

We returned to the condo and I opened gifts from Martha, cards I had received, and many greetings on Facebook.  My birthday dinner was take-out from Amos Mosquito restaurant - Parmesan and fennel encrusted red snapper with risotto and asparagus, and a piece of key lime pie for dessert.  What a wonderful dinner, a conclusion to a beautiful day.  What more could I have asked for on my birthday?  A good run, a picnic, a hike, a piano, the friendship of so many, and the love of my wife for 43 years. And although I am a year older today, I have not yet fallen into the Sound.  

Martha posted this on the blackboard a day or two ago.  I know many 90-year-olds, and this is so true of them!  As for me, I'm somewhere in between . . .

A Treasure of Shells

Yesterday afternoon, we expected that we would have to resort to hallwalking for our exercise again.  But by 2:00 p.m. the forecasted rain had stopped and a feeble sun was attempting to push through the clouds.  I checked the weather radar and it looked like we had a small window between the green and yellow streaks of rain rushing past us from the southwest.  Beachwalking is always preferable to hallwalking!

The J. S. Chatry, which readers of this blog will know is the cutterhead pipeline dredge that has been hard at work (day and night) dredging and nourishing the beach, was nowhere to be seen on the horizon.  I later learned from the website that it was moored in the Harbor since Sunday because of rough sea conditions and mechanical issues.  Thus far, 700,000 cubic yards have been dredged and placed along about a mile-and-a-half of the beach, extending well past the condo building.  We climbed over one of the sand bridges the contractors had created over the pipeline.

We headed west, toward Oceanana Pier; we did not see any work going on, and when we climbed over the pipeline it was silent.  We had only gone a quarter of a mile or so when one of the big vehicles parked with a cluster of other equipment began beeping its horn insistently.  We had not seen anyone working and thought they had been unoccupied.

 “Is that somebody honking a horn at us?” I asked Martha.  We had our answer when a big yellow vehicle - not one of the little bulldozers that pushes the silt around, but a forklift used to pull and push the pipes into place – suddenly detached itself and came toward us, clambering over a sand bridge.  An irate man leaned out the window and said, “You got to go the other way!  That way is closed off!”  It did not look closed to us, but we did not argue with man or machine, and started off in the other direction.  

The beach was wide and flat and there were thick clusters of shells everywhere, including a lot of whelks.

I picked up two interesting shells, but Martha lingered behind, filling a bag with many, many shells that I had apparently overlooked in my zeal to walk as fast as I could before the rain returned.  We returned to the condo, and I could see that Martha had quite a haul in her little ziplok plastic bag.  But I did not realize until later that she had amassed an absolutely amazing collection of shells, which she arranged on a wooden tray as one might see in a museum display.  The counter between the kitchen and the entry foyer is already nearly covered with shells, but this new collection is twice as many.

Those three rows on the left and two on the right are called olives.  The two white ones side-by-size (lower right) are short razor clams.  The big round multi-colored whorl (slightly right of center) is a rare shark eye.  There were several whelks and scallops, and to top off everything she found a perfect sand dollar (below and to the left of the shark eye), not much larger than a quarter.  Martha posted this photo on the Friends of Atlantic Beach Facebook Group page, and as of this post it has attracted 454 “likes.”  Everybody wanted to know where she found them all, so today we expected to see dozens of shell-seekers out there on the beach, hoping to find for themselves this plentiful treasure, washed up on the tide, shyly waiting to be discovered.

New Bern

We have been experiencing some winter weather here in Atlantic Beach, although in no way as significant as in other parts of the country where the Polar Vortex is causing real hardship.  We have been especially watching coverage of Texas and its power and water outages.  Having experienced both in the past we can identify with their suffering.  We have backup heat at our home in the form of gas logs in our fireplace (replacing the wood-burning fireplace insert we had for three decades) and a generator that stands at the ready in the basement with plenty of fuel, but not everyone has those advantages.

Tuesday morning brought a small miracle in the midst of the wind and rain and cold, an unexpectedly balmy 67-degree day.  We decided it would be a good day to drive to New Bern less than an hour away and visit the Tryon Palace gardens, which has been on our limited list of things to do in these times where most events have been cancelled due to Covid.  We packed a picnic lunch, and as we were preparing to leave, a bright fog materialized from nowhere.  It burned off by the time we reached Havelock, and was replaced by clear blue sky and sunshine - a welcome sight! 

We arrived at the Visitor’s Center, one of the nicest we have seen anywhere and home to the annual “Winterfeast” festival beloved of oyster connoisseurs, which we have attended in past years.  The helpful volunteer who sold us our tickets to the gardens also directed us toward a good place for a picnic, a small garden behind the Commission House just across from the Palace.  “There’s a little arbor and a swing over in the corner.”  Her directions were remarkable accurate.

We sat in the swing under the moss-covered roof and ate our tuna sandwiches and soaked up the warmth.  The Commission House, which serves as the administrative offices for Tryon Palace, was built ca. 1886-1888 by Robert B. Lehman and is a lovely, graceful structure with a transom window over the front door.  I noticed the little sunroom on the east side of the house and thought it would be a good place for a piano, or perhaps a comfortable chair and a book.

We walked through the garden there and several gardens at the Stanley House (ca. 1779) across the street which were connected with open gates.  I'm not a fan of boxwoods for the most part, but they worked well here to separate beds in formal patterns.

Daffodils, crocuses, and hibiscus were all in bloom, which surprised us because it is only mid-February.

There was a tall cherry tree, too, in full bloom, pink petals scattered on the brick walkway as if there had been a wedding.  The air was heavy and sweet, and I simply stood beneath it, breathing in the unmistakable perfume of early Spring.

We crossed the street and passed through the big iron gates of Tryon Palace.  Formerly known as the Governor’s Palace, it was the official residence and administrative headquarters of the British governors in North Carolina before the revolution.  Shortly after the state capital was relocated to Raleigh in 1792, the main building burned to the ground. A modern re-creation faithful to the original architect's plans, including the gardens, was built on the site in the 1950s.

We had toured the palace in previous years but had not had time to thoroughly see the gardens, so in these times of social distancing this seemed like a good opportunity.  Just inside the gate, a couple dressed in period costume was working at constructing barrels, using only hand tools, and we watched them for awhile.  

 They had a good supply of firewood for mid-February, which would have been the envy of many suffering families in Texas right now, I thought.

We made our way around to the kitchen garden, which was producing Brussels sprouts, leeks, and some other winter greens and herbs.

Then we made our way around to the rear of the house and found this quiet little place, with a round marble roof-less gazebo in the center of a winding path. 

Around the other opposite side of the house we found some walled gardens.  Although there was not much blooming here in February, they would have been gorgeous in the spring and summer, and these lovely statues were scattered throughout.

This round structure was close to the house, and it took me awhile to discovered that it is called a dovecote.  Doves were raised for their meat, and the guano collected inside the dovecote (which I caught a whiff of as I walked by) was used for fertilizing the gardens.  Organic gardeners would approve.

The afternoon was still early, so when we had completed our tour of the gardens we returned to downtown New Bern just a few blocks away.  In past years we would have enjoyed lunch at Morgan’s Tavern, but we are still avoiding indoor dining, and even the outdoor dining on the patio out back seemed a little too crowded for safety, although there were plenty of unconcerned diners there this afternoon.  I did enjoy wandering Mitchell’s Hardware next door, though, with its narrow aisles and wooden floors.

While Martha visited some shops, careful to avoid close contact – she told me later that face mask use was 100% - I walked down to Christ Church, an architectural and historic gem which I have toured in the past.  It was built as an Anglican Church (it is now Episcopalian) in 1750 on the foundations of the brick and ballast stone foundation of Craven County’s first house of worship built here in 1715.  I remembered from a previous tour of the church that it takes special pride in its five-piece communion service, a gift of George II in 1752, bearing the Royal Arms.  The sanctuary was closed for a private service today, though, so I was happy to sit outside under a towering magnolia tree watching squirrels jump from branch to branch.  There is an outside worship area on the west side of the church, surrounded by flat marble grave stones where saints of the church were interred.  I would have enjoyed worshiping there on a summer day.  But I did the best I could with no liturgy other than the chattering of squirrels and the squeals of children playing on the nearby playground.

At the end of a long day, we started back to Atlantic Beach, arriving at the condo just before sunset, giving thanks for this balm of warmth and sunshine in the midst of winter.

Doormats on a Rainy Afternoon

In my February 1^st post, I included hallwalking on a list of rainy day pastimes.  It has rained for three days, so yesterday, while waiting for our take-out Valentine’s Day dinner from On The Rocks (delicious!), I again walked all of the hallways back and forth on all five floors of the condo building, and then repeated again.  This time I brought my GPS watch with me and discovered that the distance was two miles.

The wind kept blowing rain in my face, but I remained mostly dry.  I passed only two people during my hallwalking, one younger man with a nice-looking spotted dog, and a woman I had seen before with two dogs on leashes.  She looked startled as I rounded the corner, and I quickly explained.  “I’m like your dogs.  I need regular exercise!”  She laughed.  I saw from the end of the hallway that a third dog-owner was out on the lawn in a raincoat bundled against the 42-degree rain and wind.  It would be an unwelcome chore to have to take a dog out in weather like this, I thought.

I had noticed last time that every unit here has a different kind of mat at the front door, most of them nautically themed.  I had my phone with me, so this time I took a photo of all of the mats that looked interesting.  I would have frightened someone very badly had they opened their front door and found me standing there, phone in hand, taking a picture of their doormat.  It would not have been easy to explain myself.  But fortunately everybody was snugly ensconced in their condos, as anybody naturally would be who was not (a) a dog owner or (b) not right in the head.

So here is a compilation of my photos, which I may have to enter in the next show at our local art gallery The Bascom in Highlands.  I shall entitle it, “Doormats on a Rainy Afternoon.”

Valentine's Day

I have been reading about how the Moderna Covid-19 vaccine works.  Unlike most vaccines, it does not contain weakened or inactivated virus.

“It instead contains a small stretch of genetic material known as messenger RNA or mRNA.  It instructs cells in the body to make a small piece of material that looks like a part of the virus. Those bits, in turn, get recognized by the immune system as a foreign invader, and it starts to make antibodies and immune cells that can recognize and neutralize the virus if the vaccinated person ever gets exposed.”

This process is at work already, my immunity building over the next two weeks.  A week or so after we receive the second shot on March 12, we will reach that 90% to 95% protection.  Of course, we still won’t be able to let our guard down as far as face masks and social distancing, but it undoubtedly will make us feel a little better about traveling and staying in motel rooms and perhaps even eating lunch in restaurants – distant memories all!  The alarming graph showing new infections in our country is finally heading downward.

I am thinking about all of this on this Valentine’s Day, which Martha and I are going to celebrate with take-out from a restaurant in Atlantic Beach called On The Rocks, which we have never patronized but which comes highly recommended.  We will have Oceanfront seating here in the condo!  And can listen to whatever kind of music we like, perhaps some nice Dinner Jazz.  We will try to avoid talking about what happened yesterday, when culminating several days of powerful and overwhelming evidence, the U. S. Senate voted to acquit Donald Trump of inciting an insurrection.  It was a foregone conclusion, of course, but I have to think that it accomplished some good by presenting to the public such a clear and irrefutable case against him.  We were also privileged to hear some eloquent and powerful speeches by the House Managers, which no doubt will be remembered in history.

I am an optimistic by nature, and I have to believe that, although he holds sway over most of the Republican Party, Trump’s power will begin to fade now that he is out of office.  Our new President has surrounded himself with competent and intelligent people, and he has distinguished himself throughout the trial by not making any comments about it, instead concentrating on his Covid-relief  package and vaccine distribution.  He is providing the leadership we so desperately need at this time in our history.

And Jill Biden!  Is there anybody other than the most die-hard anti-Biden people (and there are many out there according to what I still see on Facebook) who cannot admire this down-to-earth, intelligent, kind First Lady?  This is the display she erected on the White House lawn this week, her Valentine’s Day message for the nation.

Love.  Kindness.  Unity.  Compassion.  A kind of Messenger RNA to combat the virus of hatred and divisiveness that, while it will surely infect us again and again, may perhaps help us build up some immunity against it.

Politics has absorbed too much of our Sabbatical this winter, as I have said before in this blog.  Now perhaps we can turn the TV off and turn our attention again to practicing gratitude, delighting in the passing of the hours, the coming and going of the tides, the rise and fall of the wind, and the cooing of the Mourning Dove.

Vaccination Day

It was vaccination day, so I set the alarm for 5:00 a.m.  I told Martha later that it felt much like a race morning, when I would set the alarm for an absurdly early hour in anticipation  of the event, as we have in past years here in Atlantic Beach for the Cocoa 5-K, the Havelock 5-K, and the Crystal Coast 10-K and Half Marathon.  The only difference was that I did not have my running clothes meticulously chosen the night before and laid out for the next morning.

I did not sleep well, and I awoke on my own at 4:59,a.m., checked my phone on the bedside table, and cut off the alarm just as it began to ring.  We left the condo in ample time, as we do on race mornings, and arrived at “Race Headquarters” well before our 8:15 appointment time.  Race Headquarters was the old K-Mart building in a shopping center on Arendell, where we were greeted by a team of well-organized and friendly volunteers in a community program that I later learned had resulted in as many as 1500 people being vaccinated.  K-Mart had been out of business for a year or two, and it was the perfect place for Covid vaccines to be administered, with plenty of space for social distancing among the old aisles and merchandise displays now long gone.  There were widely-spaced tables set up where we were directed to sit and complete our “entry forms.”  I had no underlying conditions except being in the 70-and-over age group.  It all went smoothly, and a friendly man about my age asked me to remove my hat so he could take my temperature.  “What is that hat you’re wearing?” he asked, and I told him I had gotten it at the Rocket City Marathon in Huntsville, Alabama, many years ago.  He told me he used to live in Huntsville and we chatted for a bit about that beautiful city, just as I would have at race registration anywhere.

Finally, it was time to line up for the race start, and I sat down at the table to which I was directed for the first of my two Moderna Covid vaccines.  “Oh, that’s cold!” I said, as a friendly woman gave me the shot, and I remembered that this was a vaccine that needed to be stored at about 40 degrees. 

We went from there to the check-out area, where two women gave me a certificate indicating I had received my first vaccine.  “I understand I might need that some day to get on an airplane,” I said, and they agreed.  Then I said, “It’s strange being in this old K-Mart store.  I keep thinking someone’s going to say there’s a Blue Light Special going on!”  One of the women said, “That is your Blue Light Special,” and we laughed together.  I had crossed the finish line.

We waited the requisite 15 minutes in the cool-down area to ensure that neither of us was going into anaphylactic shock, a rare side-effect of the vaccine.  I learned later that two million Americans had been vaccinated on this same day.  Hospitalizations and new cases are on the decline, and I am thankful that we may finally be looking forward to a year of near-normalcy as more and more of us have been vaccinated.  My only side-effect is a little soreness on my shoulder. 

I think I will take a rest day tomorrow.

 

Vaccination Eve

 The latest post from the Carteret County Shore Protection Office website: 

“RANGE B COMPLETED; BEACHFILL CONTINUES ADVANCING WEST.  Weeks Marine continues to make solid progress and has completed dredging the reach known as "Range B" in the Morehead City Harbor, and the concurrent beachfill operations have advanced to "Station 1169+00", which is near where (sic) the east end of the shore parallel road of Club Colony Drive.  Weeks Marine contractors report that, on the morning of February 11, on the dune-top deck in front of a beachfront condo, a tall ungainly-looking individual was sighted practicing a weird Chinese exercise just after sunrise.”

From my perspective, a shadow has been cast over my morning Tai Chi practice.  Instead of the rhythmic, soothing sound of the Atlantic Ocean, two large pipelines now extend along the beach in front of me, while vehicles pass before my eyes east to west, west to east, lights flashing and back-up horns beeping.  A cluster of buildings appeared overnight, a large red metal building where I assume chilled contractors occasionally take shelter and drink hot cups of coffee, and two porta-johns.  The dark mound of “beachfill” continues marching inexorably westward, toward the Oceanana Pier and the Atlantic Beach Circle, and their work has continued throughout the night these past few days.

Yesterday, we drove to The Circle, parked, and walked to Oceanana Pier from the “other” side, and when we reached the pier we could see the advancing wall of beachfill and hear the sounds of bulldozers approaching less than a mile away.  But it was low tide and a beautiful morning to walk on this wide flat beach that, as I have pointed out in past posts, appears to have no need of nourishment whatsoever.

Another shadow has been cast over our Sabbatical here on this winter beach, and that is the trial this week in the U. S. Senate of the impeached Donald Trump for inciting an insurrection.  Didn’t we go through this just a little over a year ago, when the same man now on trial was attempting to extort a “favor” from the President of Ukraine to dig up dirt on the man who now (thankfully) sits in the Oval Office?  We had the TV on most of the day yesterday and today, watching the meticulous presentation by an excellent team of impeachment managers and including harrowing new videos of the events on January 6.  The unfortunate reality is that it is very likely that this vile, corrupt, reprehensible man will be acquitted because of Republicans who no longer believe in anything other than power and money.  It seems like a long time ago when we walked innocently on this wide beach looking for sand dollars and royal sea stars.  But it is always that way, after all:  the struggle to find peace and balance and serenity in the midst of turmoil.

House Manager Jamie Raskin ended his presentation with that uplifting quote from Thomas Paine with which most of us are familiar.

Last night the fog rolled in again from the ocean, and the sunset in the western sky, diffused and gloriously pink, shone through the mist, like a beautiful balm of kindness for us in this time of uncertainty.  The equipment has moved farther west, almost out of earshot, and we can once again hear the sound of the ocean.

This morning I completed my long run, six miles to Fort Macon and back.  The reason I completed my long run on a Thursday morning instead of a Saturday is not because of the weather forecast but because, thanks to Martha’s prompt enrollment on the Carteret County website, we have been notified that we will be receiving the first of our Covid vaccines at 8:15 in the morning.  It will be the Moderna vaccine, and we will receive the second shot a month from now.  It will be a relief to be among the growing number of vaccinated Americans, but we are also anticipating possible side effects, which might include not feeling very much like running six miles for a day or two.  

Twelve red roses are in a vase behind me as I post to this blog, given to Martha to mark the 43^rd anniversary of our first date in 1978.  I am so thankful that our roads crossed so providentially on that February day so long ago!  It never ceases to astonish me how one’s life can change so suddenly and profoundly, in a moment, in a single evening, when suddenly you realize you have met your soul mate.  I might have predicted a day or two after that date that we would be together for the rest of our lives.  But I never would have predicted all of the other milestones along the path that we have taken together – moving to Highlands, raising a daughter.  And never would I have predicted that 43 years after that date we would be driving to the old K-Mart building on Arendell Avenue in Morehead City to be vaccinated against a virus that has killed nearly half-a-million people in a global pandemic.

Great First Month of the Project

I have continued to consult with interest the Carteret County Shore Protection Office website for updates on the beach nourishment project, now alarmingly close to the condo.  Yesterday’s update indicated the project is now about one-third completed.  381,324 cubic yards have been dredged, from areas farther out on the ocean when weather permits, or in the inlet as we saw on Wednesday.  “The fill density on the beach is close to 80 cubic yards/linear foot,” the CCSPO congratulated itself.  “Great first month of the project!”

While I am amazed as the technological feat of this project and awed at the bulldozers hard at work on the beach, it is definitely having some negative impacts for us.  For one thing, the crews are working long hours.  Last night I kept awaking during the night and hearing them still at work, with bright lights shining and the loud beep beep beep every time one of them backed up.  At 4:00 a.m. I dug out some earplugs.  This morning, I went down to the dune-top deck and discovered that the big mushrooming plume was right outside the condo, bulldozers pushing it out into the surf itself.

 I walked down the beach in the opposite direction, toward the Oceanana Pier, and found the beach littered with an unusual amount of weird debris.

It made me wonder if all of this was being carried through the pipeline from Beaufort Inlet.  It also made me wonder, not for the first time, if the main objective of the project was the dredging portion rather than the beach “nourishment” portion, and this formerly pristine beach was merely a convenient place to dump all the dredged sand.  It had seemed wide and flat and well-nourished enough before the project  began.  A few puzzled gulls were waddling along, wondering what kind of marine life had been washed up.

Someone had built a remarkably ambitious sandcastle just down the beach a little way.  Most of it remained, its turrets topped with shells and a big whelk screwed down onto a platform, although its ramparts were already succumbing to the incoming tide.  But the contractors for this fragile, ephemeral little structure had already knocked off for the day, and there was nobody else on the beach but me, collar pulled up against the stiff breeze, hands shoved deep in my pockets.

Exciting Dinners

We have a joke between us.  “I’m cooking tonight; shall I disconnect the smoke alarm?” I will ask.  The smoke alarm in question is five feet from the kitchen, and sometimes it begins its insistent beep at the slightest provocation, like a few weeks ago while Martha doing nothing more than getting a good sear on some sautéed scallops.  Opening the front door and the balcony door will make it stop quickly enough, that cool north wind flooding in.  It adds some excitement to cooking dinner.  I took a turn at cooking one day last month and actually made it go off twice – a two-alarm dinner!

Tuesday night, it was Martha’s turn, and she prepared panko-and-parmesan encrusted flounder, roasted carrots, and couscous (delicious!).  The smoke alarm did not go off, but when it was almost time to plate.  I went out on the balcony and heard some sirens somewhere in the distance.  We sat down to dinner, but we heard the sounds of loud engines out front, so I went out to investigate  There were two fire trucks parked just outside, lights flashing.  Our concerns were dispelled when I leaned over the railing and asked one of the firemen if everything was OK.  “An alarm went off and we’re just checking it,” he said.  That was even more exciting than a two-alarm dinner!  

A peculiar and unsettling incident occurred yesterday.  Just as we were preparing to leave for an afternoon hike at Fort Macon - emerging from our burrow, as it were - Martha noticed a helicopter out over the ocean.  “Look,” she said, “It’s just hovering in the same place!”  While we watched through our binoculars, a figure descended on a line from the helicopter toward the surface.  There was a small fishing boat a hundred feet away.  Had somebody fallen overboard in a life jacket?  The figure ascended, then descended again.  Perhaps it was just a drill, a training exercise for the Coast Guard for rescues at sea, and we hope so.  The wind was blowing pretty hard and that ocean looked cold enough for hypothermia to set in quickly.  I took a photo of the distant helicopter but it was not a good one.  Sometimes I wish my little iPhone was equipped with a telephoto lens.

We had a good hike, taking the salt marsh portion of the Elliott Coues Nature Trail where we were sheltered from the wind.  On our return to the fort, we found that the J. S. Chatry was out in the inlet, just opposite the parking lot.  Tugboats were nudging it into place, and there were long floating pipelines connecting to the beach. 

It still amazes me that silt can be pumped such a distance.  The project at our end is now clearly visible from the balcony – in a day or two they will be past the condo, heading toward The Circle, a mile-and-a-half away.  I measured the distance from where we saw the dredge to the condo using Google Maps, and the distance is at least two-and-a-half miles.

I offered to cook again tonight, a new recipe.  It will involve nothing smokier than sautéing some onions and garlic.  Still, I am wondering . . . should I turn off the smoke alarm?

P. S.  I should have turned off the smoke alarm.  Although my white bean, tomato, and shrimp soup was well-received, I set off the smoke alarm three times. A new record!