Oriental

Thursday, we enjoyed lunch in an Oriental restaurant.  That is, a restaurant we have visited many times in the past called The Silos, which is located in Oriental, NC.  Oriental is a pretty little Town on the Neuse River, which is billed as “North Carolina's Sailing Capital,” where they say “the boating season never ends.”  It is pretty quiet this time of year, although I have no doubt that boating does occur in every month of the year one way or another.  You can drive to Oriental in a roundabout way by going through New Bern, but the shorter and far more interesting way is to drive to the Cherry Branch Ferry Terminal and take the ferry to Minnesott Beach, on the other side of the broad Neuse Rivere, another kind of “boating.”

 
The ferry is operated by the N. C. Department of Transportation and there is no cost, which always surprises us.  Crossing the Neuse every half-hour by ferry is a normal commute for many, but for us it is always a treat.  While commuters sit in their cars, we normally stand outside (unless the cars are stacked bumper-to-bumper as they were on our return trip), watching sea gulls draft behind the ferry, suspended with motionless wings above us, or sometimes resting on a lifebuoy.

In 2019, we took a ferry from Holyhead to Dublin that dwarfed this tiny one.  Once the largest in the world, it crossed the Irish Sea, a distance of 70 miles, in three hours and 30 minutes.  It seemed more like a shopping mall than a ferry, with bars, restaurants, and shops.  It was so large that we were not even aware of any movement, unlike this little ferry across the Neuse, which on a rough day would have made us a little queasy.

The Silos, AKA “Oriental’s Favorite Joint,” was constructed within two grain silos, features mostly Italian food, and does not have an Asian item on the menu,  nor (surprisingly) any seafood, although there may be seafood specials during the season.

What we like best is the hand-tossed pizza, with a delicious marinara sauce made fresh daily.  And, of course, the unusual décor.  Climb upstairs and you enter a cozy little space with a ceiling  completely covered in record album covers, most of them from our own era and many of which I recognize as having owned at one time or another.

“This brings back memories!” I told the young waitress who took our order, first pulling two pints of very good local beer for us from Shortway Brewing in Newport.  “I think I owned most of them at one time or another.”  She laughed, and I realized that she was probably born at least two decades after most of this music was made.  There is a small stage and a lot of impressive amplifiers and accessories, and musical groups perform regularly during the season in keeping with its description as a “Joint.”

The pizza was delicious, as always, and after lunch we drove back to “downtown” Oriental to one of Martha’s favorite shops, Nautical Wheelers, before taking the ferry back.  There had been a mere three cars that morning, but by the afternoon, some 25 or so cars were lined up waiting to cross.  We thought some of them might have to wait for the next ferry, but they somehow managed to squeeze all of them aboard in four narrow aisles, bumper to bumper. 

This was a day of rest for both of us.  I had run four miles on Wednesday, including a set of four “Picnic Area Intervals,” and was planning to run six miles on Friday.  So it was nice to take a day off from training for the 5-K race coming up next weekend, enjoy some good pizza and beer, and let ourselves be ferried from one sunny shore to another.

Clam Chowder

Clam chowder:  any of several chowder soups in American cuisine containing clams. In addition to clams, common ingredients include diced potatoes, salt pork, and onions. Other vegetables are not typically used.

Corn bread:  a quick bread made with cornmeal, associated with the cuisine of the Southern United States, with origins in Native American cuisine. (Wikipedia)

Combine these two Southern specialties and you have the basis for an event that we have enjoyed for a number of years, the Clam Chowder Cookoff, a fund-raiser for the N. C. Maritime Museum in Beaufort.  The 12th Annual Cookoff took place as usual in the Harvey W. Smith Watercraft Center, a roomy boatbuilding facility on the waterfront that showcases the art of boatbuilding.  And, Friday night, the art of clam chowder and corn bread building. 

 
As in past years, we arrived early and picked up our ballots at the door.  The building filled up fast as chowder aficionados with keen appetites circled the watercraft center to sample four chowders and four corn breads in color-coded bowls to make judging easier.  

The doors were open to the harbor outside, and the sun was setting over Beaufort harbor, a picturesque backdrop for the evening.  Dawn Freeman was sitting closest to the open doors (corn bread by her friend Michelle Stout, set up across the room).  Her chowder was our Number One choice last year and, as it turned out, this year too.  

Dawn makes classic “Downeast” or Hatteras-style chowder (as opposed to New England or Manhattan), with a clear broth and the simple ingredients of clams, bacon, onions, and potatoes, but it is flavored perfectly.  Last year, one of the chowders was so thick (New England style) that a plastic spoon could nearly stand up in it.  That was not the case this year.  Although some of the chowders had extra ingredients (like corn), all of them were variations of the classic Hatteras-style.

I did not take a picture of the ballot - Martha took all of the pictures in this post except the Watercraft Center building - but that's Dawn's chowder in the blue cup, and Michelle's scrumptious corn bread (the loaf-shaped one) in the blue paper.  As of today (Sunday), no winner has been announced.  I suppose it takes awhile to count all of the ballots.  But I can assure the reader that it will be a free and fair election, and nobody will challenge the results.  Downeasters are honest people.

It was a wonderful evening, and we drove back across the bridges to Morehead City and then to Atlantic Beach with the western horizon still faintly red from that spectacular sunset. 

New Bern

Last week, Martha read a copy of Michael Ondaatje’s Divisadero that was here in the condo with some other books.  Penciled faintly on the back leaf she found this quote:  “The past is always carried into the present by small things.  So a lily is bent by the weight of its permanence.”  Perhaps this verse came to a thoughtful reader and he or she jotted it down so as not to forget, as I sometimes do.

Most days we have seen this egret standing only three or four feet from the margin of Fort Macon road, and we have wondered why he is standing so close to the road rather than out in the salt marsh just a few feet farther back.  A little research told me this was a great egret (as opposed to a small egret or an intermediate egret), for it stands at least three feet high.  We slowed to a stop to take a picture, and although it stood calmly enough as cars whizzed by just a few feet away, it suddenly became alarmed at a stopped car, and rose up on his huge white wings and soared away over the marsh.  The next day it was back again in the same place.  I am sure this is not an unusual site for locals, but it thrilled us to see such an elegant birds, standing so casually by the side of the road.

Today, we drove to New Bern for the day, a city that we love to visit and less than an hour’s drive on US-70, which is not the most picturesque of roads.  It passes through Havelock and then Cherry Point, where the Marine Corps Air Station is located, and it seems to be the same kind of road you see in many parts of the country, especially near military bases, lined with a depressing succession of storage buildings, pawn shops, vape stores, and tattoo parlors.  There is an especially noteworthy strip shopping center on the way where there is a pawn shop at one end and a church at the other. 

But once you cross the wide, curving bridges into New Bern at the confluence of the Trent and Neuse Rivers, suddenly you are in a different world, with historic houses, a pretty little downtown shopping area, and beautiful churches.  Our lunch destination was a place we often visit, Morgan’s Tavern, located in an old converted livery stable with rough brick walls, high ceilings, and many little dining areas scattered about.

 

Lunch was Morgan’s famous tacos – shrimp for Martha and mahi for me – and their excellent Morgan’s IPA, made in partnership with St. George Brewing Co. in Hampton, VA.  It occurs to me that part of the mission of this blog may be to make the reader's mouth water.

Then we went our separate ways, Martha to shop in the many shops on Middle Street and Craven Street while I wandered up and down the downtown area looking at the pretty houses, some of them built in the early 19^th century.  

New Bern is also the “The Birthplace of Pepsi Cola,” invented in 1893 by Caleb Bradham and introduced as Brad's Drink.  But just down Pollock Street from Brad’s place is a far more beautiful building, Christ Church, an Episcopal church built in 1871 around the brick shell of a previous church built in 1824.  The church especially prizes a silver communion service given by King George II, which I once viewed on a tour of the church by a friendly docent.

I have a wonderful memory of sitting on a bench there two years ago taking notes for a poem (which will be published in due course):

My practice of gratitude has led me here today
To the churchyard of Christ Church.
A haze of bright morning fog buffed away
Into brilliant clarity, reflecting everything
Around me:  this venerable old magnolia
Under which I sit, its liquid jade leaves,
The burning stained glass windows behind me.

Tryon Palace is the biggest attraction in New Bern, and we have visited it and its formal gardens (beautiful even in the winter) on many previous visits.  The palace is a reconstruction of the original (destroyed by fire in 1798), formerly called Governor's Palace, the official residence and administrative headquarters of the British governors of North Carolina from 1770 to 1775 and North Carolina’s capitol until after the revolution.  George Washington reportedly danced in the palace, and there is an oil painting on display showing him in formal dress surrounded by the nobility of the era.

Here is a photo of the palace from a previous visit (we chose not to visit it again this year).  It is a graceful structure, one of the few buildings of this era designed by an architect.

I made my way eventually to the North Carolina History Center, which also serves as the headquarters for Tryon Palace tickets and information.  The History Center is one of the finest I have seen and I toured it last year as well.  The exhibits are extensive, and cover everything from the environment of the central coast area and how it was settled to the production of naval stores (turpentine, rosin, and tar) and the resulting destruction of the Long Leaf Pine forests, fishing, and agriculture.  It does not shy away from the history of slavery, “the peculiar institution.”  There are heartbreaking displays of advertisements for a slave auction, as well as ones offering a reward for the capture of escaped slaves.  It was a dark time in our history.

It was an especially mild day in New Bern, and we arrived separately back at the car at about the same time and started heading back, past all those tattoo parlors and vape stores, through Morehead City and across the bridge to Atlantic Beach.  Martha suggested we stop for appetizers at a place called Full Moon Oyster Bar just across the bridge, which she had been reading about on Facebook.  It looked like a run-down place, with rusting metal siding and a neglected-looking deck area which we imagine must be crowded during the summer months with diners sitting outside watching the sunset over Moonlight Bay, which was lined with boat slips and colorfully-painted summer homes.  

But appearances are deceiving, and we were welcomed by a friendly young man and two young women who quickly made us feel at home.  The special of the day was Blue Cheese Grilled Oysters for a dollar apiece and they were delicious.

Then we ordered the crab dip – from a “secret recipe” – accompanied by a loaf of fresh bread, served with complimentary potatoes and cole slaw.

We had been the first to arrive, but as we sat at the bar people started to come in, and before long the place was filling up, many of the customers welcomed as locals who knew the food and the staff.  We will be coming back to this place again!

I love secret recipes.

Beaufort

It’s hard to believe that we have been here for almost two weeks.  I posted on January 6 that we were Settling In, but now it seems as if we have been here a lot longer.  I have been unable to sleep past 7:00 a.m., when light begins to filter into the bedroom through the vertical blinds, and sunrise (7:15) unfailingly finds me out on the dune-top deck for my morning Tai Chi.  I was surprised to find the walkway and deck coated with ice Tuesday morning, even though the temperature was only 39 degrees. 

And there has been a brisk northerly wind on one or two mornings recently when, let us say, my Tai Chi was completed expeditiously. 

I have run six times so far this year, completing a total of 12 miles, many more than I would have logged in Highlands so far this year, which Friday night saw its first snow of the year – not very much accumulation, but a lot of accidents reported on Facebook, mostly the sort caused by out-of-town SUV-drivers who believe that their huge, All-Wheel-Drive vehicles are invulnerable until they reach those slick places where the locals know to slow down.  We have also been to the fitness center, where Martha took a yoga class and I worked out on the many varieties of free weights and machines they have there.  And on Saturday, we attended “Bend and Brew” yoga at the Crystal Coast Brewing just down the road, a yoga class that concludes with a free beer and some time to socialize afterward.  We have also attended church twice at the friendly and welcoming First United Methodist Church here, which has a wonderful Pastor, Powell Osteen, whose sermons we have enjoyed for eight years now.

The stack of books and New Yorker magazines which I had been accumulating for some time now has also significantly shrunk in size.  Martha is on her fifth or sixth book already, and I am making headway, too, finishing all of the New Yorkers last night and putting some of my books aside for special attention, as a wine aficionado might put aside a special bottle, a reserve vintage, to savor on a special occasion.  The televisions (there are four of them, one in each room) have remained off.  And I have been working on some poetry, too.  Thursday morning, a thin red sunrise appeared fleetingly in a chink in the clouds on the horizon and then vanished for the rest of the day.

 
What light there is is ambient light,
and I have seen this kind of light
leak through the occluded dawn,
thin and red, standing out here alone
on the edge of a dark continent
that still sleeps, that waits to greet
whatever may happen to appear
on the horizon at the chosen time. 

We have not gone on many day trips yet, but Thursday we decided to drive across the bridge to Beaufort, one of our favorite destinations.  The pretty waterfront town has been named by USA Today and Southern Living, among others, one of the prettiest small towns in the country.

We stopped first at Fishtowne Brew House on Turner Street, where we enjoyed a very good beer, sitting out front on this cloudy but unseasonably warm day watching locals and visitors stroll past.  Then we split up, Martha heading to the waterfront to visit some shops on Front Street while I went the other direction, to the Old Burying Ground on Ann Street, which I never fail to visit when I am here.

 
The Old Burying Ground contains graves dating to the Civil War and even to the Revolutionary War, and the Historical Society gives tours and distributes an interesting brochure about those who are buried there. 

Vienna Dill (1863-1865), a two-year-old, was buried in a glass-topped coffin because her father could not bear to see her sealed away.  When vandals desecrated her grave one night, she is said to have disintegrated.

The British Officer (1700s), a sailor in His Majesty’s Navy, insisted on being buried standing up at attention, which is how they buried him.

Not far from the British Soldier is a grave containing sailors who froze to death when the Crissie Wright was wrecked in January of 1886.  It is marked by only three or four bricks. 

 
“Cold as the night the Crissie Wright went ashore,” is a phrase still used around this part of the coast.  It is said that all hands were lost except for the ship’s cook.

And why did he alone deserve to live?
Trembling in his bright icy salvation
While his shipmates, one by one, were
Lowered into a common grave in the
Old Burying Ground under the live oaks,
Slipping and sliding on frozen ground.

And, my favorite grave of all (and that of many others), The Girl in a Barrel of Rum (1700s), who (the story goes) begged her father to take her to London.  He promised to return her to her mother’s arms, but she died on the voyage home, and her father brought her body back in a barrel of rum.  Her story strikes a chord with many, who to this day decorate her grave with little dolls, flowers, and stuffed animals.

And according to one account, the story doesn’t end there. “There are those who say that the figure of a young girl can be seen running and playing between the graves in the Old Burying Ground at night.  They say that the tributes left on the young girl’s grave are often moved about the graveyard at night, often found sitting balanced on top of other gravestones or in places they couldn’t have moved to by just the wind.”

The Old Burying Ground is a spooky place at night, as we discovered a couple of years ago when the Historical Society was offering night-time tours.  So it was a relief to pass through the wrought-iron gates and wander down to the waterfront, where I eventually met up with Martha.

These yachts were so beautiful!  I can almost imagine living a simple life on one, going from place to place like a wandering Ulysses and tying up in pretty little ports like Beaufort.  Except that we have seen boats like these tossed about and smashed in the aftermath of hurricanes, and winds and seas so high that small craft warnings are common on the weather forecasts out here.  

 And then there is sea-sickness . . .