A Blend of Sun and Clouds

That's the phrase that Tim Root, our local WHLC-Highlands weatherman, often uses, though it sounds more like cooking than weather forecasting.  That is certainly the case at the Outer Banks.  As we say in the mountains, if you don't like the weather, wait around for a little while and it will change.  The main factor affecting the weather here is that the ocean is right there, outside the window, and its impact is often powerful and mysterious.  The weather radar might show a green blob of rain approaching from the west, but suddenly it will dissolve into absolutely nothing, and there will be blue sky as far as you can see.

The other nice thing about being here in April is that there is no pollen in the ocean.  After our race in Edenton, I could feel the pollen from all of those lovely trees beginning to accumulate in my sinuses and lungs.  But here, that cool, fresh, pollen-free air is a balm to an allergy-sufferer like myself.

This morning started off with fog so thick that you could not see the horizon - fog and cloud merged into a gauzy ocean.  But in a little while, a dim sun began to burn a little hole through the fog:

And now the sun is brightly shining.  Didn't I just check the forecast, when I first woke up this morning, and it called for a 60% chance of rain?  I'll go in and check again.  Aha!  Some brilliant meteorologist looked out the window and decided to change it to 0%. 

So I'm closing this blog out for awhile and going for a run!

*                   *                   *

Another great six-mile run - I was almost overdressed, it was a little on the humid side.  I saw so many people out running and walking - this is a place for active people.  I had told Martha that, if she felt like it, she might want to meet me at the Duck Park, which is a little over two miles from our house; that way she could run fewer miles and we could ride back together.  I didn't know whether she would meet me there or not, but just as I arrived she passed me in the car and parked.  She told me that she had been sitting at her computer, wondering whether to go or not, when she suddenly came upon this on Pinterest:

 Well that's a pretty clear voice speaking to you, isn't it?  You just have to listen.  And obey.

We had a great run, down the long sidewalk next to Four Seasons - one of our favorite places to run.   On the way, a pickup truck swerved off the road partially onto the running path along Highway 12, just in front of us.  The passenger got out and walked back down the road - had he dropped something from the truck?  No, he had seen a turtle making its way across the road, and he helped it across the sidewalk and up into the landscaping near Fishbone's Restaurant.  When we were running down our sidewalk, we saw another turtle, in the middle of the sidewalk and staring at a fence as if baffled by this obstacle.  So we did the same thing, carrying him down to a shady, mulchy area.

Log off, shut down, go run . . . but stop for turtles along the way.

Rainy Day at the Beach

We had a strong storm Monday night, and that is always exciting when you are living oceanfront.  The wind flings water against the windows and you don't know whether it is rain or ocean - it just tastes a little salty on your lips.  All of these houses are built on tall wooden piers, and you have the feeling that the house is wobbling just a little and might simply sail away off its foundation into Currituck Sound.

This morning it looked like rain again (and showers came and went most of the day).  So I went to my "local gym" as I have in past years - the Barrier Island Fitness Center in Kitty Hawk - while Martha did some shopping.

Then, since we were already down south in Kitty Hawk, we rambled south along Highway 158 for lunch at another of our favorite places, the Outer Banks Brewing Station, which advertizes itself as the first wind-powered brewery in the country.  It's tall 80-foot windmill - which took five years for the Kitty Hawk Board of Commissioners to approve - produces 10 kw of electricity in a 30 mph wind, and the wind is always blowing out here!

The other notable thing about the Brewing Station is that, besides its good beer, it also provides delicious food, not just your ordinary "pub grub."  Martha had a delicious crab cake sandwich with corn relish, and I had a salad topped with seared tuna - delicious!

We had dinner at the best seafood restaurant in the Outer Banks, Martha's kitchen - sauteed fresh shrimp from our favorite local seafood purveyor, Dockside 'N Duck.

These folks are so friendly!  It turns out that the manager has been to Highlands (wedding at Old Edwards Inn), and hails originally from Monticello Road in Weaverville, a location we know well and not far from our home before we moved to Highlands.

And for the evening?  My good book - a brand-new Inspector Wexford mystery, and it is starting to get interesting!

Why, exactly, was the next-door-neighbor having tea indoors for nearly an hour when he originally told police he had been outside in the garden for the whole period of time when the vicar was being murdered next-door?  Hmmm . . .

Cloudy Day at the Beach

We had a peerless day yesterday at the Outer Banks - full, bright sunshine all day long:

But this morning we woke up to this sight - gray skies, gray water.  Still quite beautiful (that's one of the things we like about living for even a brief period of time on the ocean, the way it changes constantly, hour by hour, day by day) but not as enjoyable to spend time out of doors.

So I headed out the door this morning before the approaching thunderstorms this afternoon and ran 6.00 miles, down by the Duck Boardwalk,  back to our little chapel behind the Methodist Church - it's great to be running back here again!

And then, what to do the rest of the day, and tomorrow (which is predicted to be the same)?  A bookstore!

Is there any better way to spend a cloudy, rainy afternoon at the beach than with a good book?

Arrival

Finally we have arrived, at the end of our week-long tour of historic homes, to this familiar place (although in an unfamiliar house) in Duck.  As we usually do, we found ourselves awaking early, before sunrise - birds singing, sky lightening - made some coffee, and soon this gorgeous sun was brightening the horizon and we felt like we were back home again.

Some children who had stayed here before us had spelled out "2014" in shells on the little table below the house, and we changed some of the letters to make this - our motto and our goal for the next week:

Long walks on the beach, sea shells, sunshine . . .

Out of the Blue

I have to say I was proud of Martha for instantly agreeing, even urging, that we run a race, especially since she had not run for many weeks.  I reminded her that a 5-K race might not be the best way to begin a Spring running program, expected her to run/walk the race, but knew in my heart that she would run it.  The only other person I knew who had run a race out of the blue was Fred, who once showed up in Indianapolis for a conference of some sort, found out about a half-marathon the next morning, and proceeded to run it.

Friday night's scheduled "Boogie on Broad" had been cancelled due to tornado warnings, and there was indeed a wild storm all night long.  I dreamed that the roof had blown off some dream-like building that I was in, and neither of us slept well as we listened to the wind and rain howl outside.  In the morning we discovered that a small tornado had indeed touched down a mere six or seven blocks from the Parsonage Inn, twisting several trees around and blowing off at least one roof:

The damage was actually right on the race course, but I did not see it at all.  I was instead looking at the cannons pointing out to the sound, and joking with a small cluster of people standing along the road (perhaps the owners of the damaged house) - "Hey," I shouted, "Is there anyone behind me?"  They laughed and said there was, and that was about the point where a guy who looked like he might be in my age group came alongside me and passed me by.  I hung on right behind him for the next two miles, and a younger man also, wondering the whole time, Do I still have it in me?  Do I have the competitive will to dust this old guy?  By that time we had left the younger man behind, and we turned a corner where there was a slight hill, less than half a mile from the finish.  And that's when I remembered that I was a runner of mountain and hills, and I licked by him.  "Nice job," he said, and then I ran as hard as I could and did not relent.  I was surprised to find myself finishing in 27:52, and in just a few short minutes, here came Martha, running hard (of course), and crossing the finish line in 32:56.  A good morning indeed!

We walked back to The Parsonage Inn and had the best portabello-mushroom souffle I think I have ever had, served outside in the little garden area by the competent and friendly Terric - far better post-race food than the usual banana and water.  After breakfast we walked back to the finish line area (five blocks away), just in time to learn that I had taken first place in my age group and Martha second in hers.  This was a real accomplishment for Martha, who has not run more than a mile or two all year, and she was also the oldest in her 10-year age group.

Onward to the Outer Banks, filled with a sense of accomplishment and pride.  We arrived late in the afternoon, more tired than we had expected, but exhilarated to finally arrive to the sight and sound of the ocean outside our little rental house.

Edenton

Friday we drove to Edenton, winding through the interesting countryside of Eastern North Carolina, stopping for lunch in Washington, NC.  We ate at On the Waterfront, and found ourselves once again along a river - this time Pamlico Sound.

Then we left for Edenton and a night at another B&B, one which I had anticipated for some time, the Parsonage Inn, rated No. 1 by Trip Advisor in a city with many lovely B&Bs.  We had actually toured this inn last year in Edenton when we attended the Tour of Historic homes; it is located next to the Baptist Church (which we also toured in great detail), and is a circa 1889 Italianate-Victorian structure which used to be that church's parsonage.

Operated by a friendly and talented Culinary Institute of America chef, Giuliano Giannone, and assisted by the truly outstanding Terric, we had a wonderful time, staying in the Webster Simmons Suite:

When we arrived Friday night, we learned from a poster on a shop window that there was a 5-K race scheduled for the next morning - the "EK5K" or Edenton Chowan Kiwanis 4th Annual EK5K Run/Walk.  Of course, this Highlands Roadrunner and his wife were totally unprepared for a 5-K race, but it certainly seemed as if we were destined to run it, especially since I had planned to run in the historic district Saturday morning.  So we both signed up.  Giuliano could not have been more accommodating - "No problem," he said, "We'll just have your breakfast after the race is over."

So here we were - going to bed early, setting the alarm for 6:00 a.m. to run a race.  Once a runner!

Wilmington

After a great six-mile run through the Georgetown historic district, we departed for Mount Pleasant, the Myrtle Beach area, and Wilmington.  The brief trip through Myrtle Beach included a good lunch at the Flying Fish in Barefoot Landing, but the place was a marked departure from these historic cities we had been visiting.  Fat, cigarette-smoking, tattooed folks seemed to be everywhere, taking photos of themselves at places like Tiki Jim's with their faces poking out the holes of jungle cut-outs saying things like, "They'll ne'er believe this back home!"  Am I a travel snob?  I guess so.

Like Beaufort, Wilmington was a city we had never visited before, or at least not more than a brief stop.  Home of the battleship North Carolina (which we did not tour), we found ourselves again in the Riverfront District along yet another river, this time the Cape Fear River.  Wilmington seemed to be a cosmopolitan city - lots of music, theater, folks sitting outside little restaurants relaxing with a glass of wine after work, and fit-looking runners up and down the boardwalk.

The homes here were not as stately as in Beaufort, but to me just appeared to be gorgeous - all of them from the late 1800s, and very well-preserved.

We stayed in a little B&B not far from the Riverfront, a lovely house that reminded us both of Martha's grandmother's house - "Mamah" - in Raleigh.  Wide front porches with porch swings.

Inside, there was beautiful detail everywhere - oak handrails and paneling, just lovely to behold!

I walked around the neighborhood the next morning (with no camera in my hand), marveling at the homes and yards.  I wasn't sure what "zone" this was, but in one 100-foot stretch I passed a Japanese maple, a live oak, a magnolia, a crepe myrtle . . . and yes, a palm tree.

Georgetown

Our next stop on the journey was Georgetown, which we had visited once or twice before many years ago.  It, too, featured what seemed to be a continuation of the Waterfront Park in Beaufort - a long stretch of little shops and restaurants along the Sampit River which they call Harbor Walk:

We enjoyed walking down Front Street and exploring the downtown area, and I was looking forward to a planned run the next morning in the historic district.  The homes here were not as sumptuous and grand as those in Beaufort, but were tidy and well-maintained.  We had a glass of wine and shrimp cocktails at Big Tuna on Harbor Walk, but ended up eating dinner at a restaurant right next to our hotel, the Hampton Inn on the Marina, called Lands End - very, very good.

And by the way, this had to be the nicest Hampton Inn we have ever stayed in, with the possible exception of the one in Lexington, Virginia, which is part of the historic old Col Alto - this is the view from our window of the marina, and it was within easy running distance of the historic district (about one mile).

Delicious shrimp creole at Lands End!  It made us realize that this is a dinner we had not made in a long time.

Tour of Beaufort

I ran two uncomfortable miles early Tuesday morning along a busy five-lane road where our hotel was located, thinking about my brother who had gone through the ordeal of Marine Corps boot camp here at nearby Parris Island in 1963; what a hot, swampy, seemingly snake-infested place this seemed to be!  But downtown Beaufort was cool and beautiful, and we had scheduled something we seldom did:  a walking tour with a guide.  It turned out to be one of the highlights of our trip.

Highly-rated on Trip Advisor, Jon had arrived here, according to his website and his own admission, as a shipwrecked New York State Yankee.  "A former Hollywood actor, Jon came ashore in a Coast Guard rescue helicopter in February 1992 and soon fell under the spell of Beaufort's natural beauty, her people, and her history."  He turned out to be a passionate, poetic, informative, and colorful guide to this beautiful and storied city, showing us details we never would have noticed ourselves.

When we toured the churchyard of St. Helena's Episcopal Church, he pointed out the graves of young women and children and of confederate officers as if he had known them personally.

We found out why some of the ceilings we saw had been painted blue (to deceive the wasps and the mud daubers into thinking it was the sky so they would not build their nests there):

. . . And why some of them had been painted black (to keep away the "haints" which the African Americans brought with them):

Thanks to Jon, I now know what this means:

It's not a tabby cat, it's concrete reinforced with oyster shells, and judging by the condition of the hundred-year-old walls I saw, it far surpasses in durability and strength concrete reinforced with steel.

We had lunch and dinner at a wonderful local place called Plums, which featured fresh seafood, and in between those meals we drove out to Hunting Island and climbed the 167 steps in its lighthouse - the only lighthouse in South Carolina that you can climb.

We did a lot of walking - and a little running, and a little climbing - today!

Arrival in Beaufort

Beaufort, North Carolina, I discovered, is pronounced "Bow-fort," but in South Carolina it is pronounced "Bew-fort."  Neither of us had been to this lovely city before, filled with more historical homes than Savannah and Charleston combined according to some reports.  We were impressed when we arrived by the sheer scale of some of the homes - huge mansions, hidden back in the shade of live oak trees hung with Spanish moss:

We had dinner at a little place tucked in a back street - our first taste of seafood on this trip and good, although Martha's shrimp and grits was a little unexceptional.

After dinner we strolled along the river - a river which, Martha pointed out, seemed to follow us all along the journey:  it seemed as if we followed a similar river on our next two stops, as if in anticipation of the ocean.  Tiny little gnats - "noseeums" - tried to torment us, but I asked around and found a little spray bottle of cedar-scented local natural ingredients that seemed to do the trick.

Our Journey Begins

We usually take a trip to Duck, on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, in April, and this year we decided to travel there by a more circuitous and adventurous route.  Perhaps we were inspired by our friends Bob and Nancy, who take off for months at a time in their RV (at the moment they are in Utah).  So we planned a trip through some cities we have never seen and some we have not seen in a long time on the way.

We started our trip in familiar places - Brevard and Hendersonville - on our way to Highland Lake Inn and Resort, near Flat Rock.  (Our waitress at Marco Tratorria in Brevard at lunch had a large tattoo partially visible on her neck, and when I asked what it said - I usually do during this curious phase of my life - she told us, "Constant as the Northern Star," a quote from Julius Caesar; she said she wanted to be writer and this quote reminded her of her dream.)

 Beginning as a grist mill in 1789, Highland Lake Inn has a long and colorful history.  It became a golf course in 1910, and later a boys prep school and a summer camp. The property is now the site of several accommodations, including a historic lodge and several small cabins (where we stayed) and a first-class restaurant called Seasons.  There are lots of quiet places to sit, extensive paths and walkways and gardens, and a lake where we have gone canoeing in the past.

 We slept in one of the small cabins on the property, and all night we heard a very distinctive "screech" behind our cabin, something like a woman screaming.  We suspected what it was because last year we saw the same resident, a white peacock, and there it was in the morning when I went down the road to a secluded place to do my Tai Chi, perched in one of three trees (how appropriate for Easter morning!):

We celebrated Easter at Trinity Presbyterian Church in Hendersonville, where we heard a powerful sermon by Rev. Mark Stanley, who quoted Karl Barth to us.  Barth had wondered why people came to church (something I have wondered myself recently); on Sunday in worship, claimed Barth, people want an answer to this one question, Is it true?—"and not some other answer which beats around the bush.”

Then we had a plentiful Easter Dinner at Seasons and strolled the ground. And everything seemed to be remarkably true.

It had rained all day on our way over here on Saturday,  but Easter morning was clear and cool.  I arose early, before church and dinner, and ran a little over four miles on the grounds of the resort and in nearby East Flat Rock Park, the sound of that peacock still on my mind.  I found a path that wound around and around, following a lazy little river, the sun warming me as I ran, and I realized that I had no idea what lay around the next bend.  And that I was enjoying that feeling immensely.

Our journey begins.

April Freeze

Normally April showers bring May flowers, but tonight the temperature is predicted to plummet to 26 degrees, with a wind chill of 17.  So those beautiful blossoms, posted yesterday on this blog:

. . . Are now covered in the billowing, ghostly sheets that I hope will protect them from a hard freeze, each limb tucked securely away against the cold:

And my run tomorrow?  It will most likely take place in temperatures in the mid-30s.  I wonder if I will ever be able to retire my winter running clothes for the year?

April Showers

It's still winter on top of Big Bearpen - I ran up there again this morning to check - but Spring is making even more advances down here in our sheltered little valley, especially as we are having some April showers today.  This light, silvery rain that comes down in April really brings everything out in what seems like a matter of hours.  Suddenly, walking down the sidewalk, we notice these hostas thrusting up vigorously out of the pine straw - they grow an inch or two a day:

All down the road, they make a lovely green band of new growth.  Last year, we were dining on our deck and watched a deer amble up the road and nibble at them, but so far this year they seem unscathed, although there have been close deer sitings down in the valley.

And the tulips of yesterday have been joined by a whole fellowship of the beautiful flowers, all in a row along the fence:

Today for the first time I noticed blossoms on the apple trees.  The deer don't care about these blossoms and tender shoots, but I am afraid they may make incursions into the yard if they do produce a crop of apples, and there is no good solution - our tabby cat is not the deterrent that a barking dog would have been in the past.

What a glorious time of year to run!  If only the pollen wasn't so thick in the air - the worst in ten years, they are predicting. 

But in this most beautiful time of year there will be no complaining from this Highlands Roadrunner.

Springtime in Clear Creek

Yesterday I ran up Big Bearpen, and it was winter on the summit - the splendid white oak trees at the very top had not even begun to bud out.  That's not surprising at an elevation of about 4250 feet.  But here in Clear Creek, at an elevation of 2650, our grass has literally turned green and grown an inch overnight, partly due to the rain we had on Monday.  The daffodils have been up for some time, and the trees down the road are flowering:

 And this week the tulips are blooming all along the front fence:

In Clayton on Saturday, Spring was even farther along - all the flowering trees were out there, too, and the sound of lawnmowers was everywhere.

That's something I love about living in this part of the country.  Spring can last a very long time, depending on where you drive.  (The same thing happens in the Fall, when we can enjoy fall colors for weeks.)  It's nice to be able to enjoy a variety of elevations, a variety of seasons, a variety of roads and journeys.

Run Your Own Run

From time to time, I check in on a wonderful blog maintained by the folks who stay on top of Mt. LeConte year-round.  It is called "High on LeConte" and it includes stunning photography, practical advice, and pretty good wisdom from people of whom I am very envious (even in the dead of winter, what a gorgeous place that mountain is).  Today I discovered this on the blog:

"A man can climb a mountain in a hundred different ways"- P. Weiss

"The quote above really spoke to me. I see so many people hiking up this mountain and they all have a different experience. Whether it takes you an hour or thirteen, everyone has a different goal on what they would like to get out of their journey. We don't judge people on what journey they choose. As the Appalachian Trail community says, "Hike your own hike". 

 

Isn't it the same with running?

Morning Running

I usually run in the mornings on Saturdays, but this week I have run four consecutive weekdays in the morning.  This has largely been due to scheduling - April 1, we were already in Town, doing a final walk-through before a real estate closing.  Another day, we had to be out of Town in the afternoon.  But today, I simply decided to go, while it was cooler and the sun was lower, because I have been enjoying starting the day off with that morning run - having the workout already done is very satisfying, and not having to stop what I am doing at home to go back up to Town is also a plus, especially if I have been doing hard physical work.

So I am finding that I may be turning into a morning runner like two or three of the others in our little running group.  I realize as I think about it that I used to run in the afternoons because it provided stress-release after a hard day at work, but now my life is a lot less stressful.

An article in U. S. News & World Report a few months listed many benefits of morning running:

1.   Your body feels rested and ready for the day after running.  True.
2.   You are less likely to have scheduling conflicts in the morning.  Also true.
3.   You have improved productivity and mental clarity.  I always have a lot more energy after a run; now it's nice to have that energy during the day, rather than in the evening as I often needed to do in my previous career.
4.   Your metabolism is boosted.  That also appears to be true.  Am I losing that extra 5 pounds?
5.   You sleep better.  True.  And awaken ready for the day.
6.   Your diet tends to be healthier the rest of the day.  Very true, and I'm not sure why.  One would think a person would eat more, but I seem to crave less food and healthier food.

(http://health.usnews.com/health-news/blogs/eat-run/2013/09/23/6-benefits-to-being-a-morning-exerciser)

We are all so astonishingly capable of making changes in our lives, in minor ways and major ways.

So I think I'll keep this new-found schedule for awhile and see what develops.