Monday, March 11, 2019

Returning to Highlands

It always takes a little longer than we think to pack everything up for the trip home, and Sunday morning we did not finally leave until late in the morning.  We stopped only for gas and rest stops; lunch was kale salad from Blue Ocean Market and home-made tuna salad at a rest area just west of New Bern.  By 2:00 p.m. we had arrived in Raleigh and found our way to Millbrook United Methodist Church where Martha's aunt Lizette's 90th birthday party was just getting underway.

In 2001, Lizette and her husband Leon, long-time members, donated a large sum of money to enable the construction of the Christian Ministry Center there, and it is an asset much-appreciated by the members and ministers of the church.


We were among the first to arrive, and spotted Lizette immediately, surrounded my family and friends - a lovely tribute and celebration for a woman who is thought so much of by by her church, family, and community.



We had the opportunity to meet many friends and relatives on that side of the family, some of whom we had not seen since Leon's funeral.

But we had a long drive ahead of us, and soon set off toward home.  Traffic became heavier even on a Sunday, and we only made it as far as Winston-Salem, where we stopped at the familiar Historic Brookstown Inn, which has been praised in the pages of this blog many times.  Such a wonderful place, with its high-ceiling rooms, exposed beams, and old brickwork.


We always marvel at unique places like the Brookstown, off the beaten path a little but well worth it.  We have stayed in Williamston at a place called the Big Mill, which features only a handful of eclectically-decorated rooms in an old barn.  Both places have rates lower than the big chain hotels nearby like the Hampton Inn and the Mariott.  Where else can you have cookies and milk every evening as we do at the Brookstown?  And perhaps be lucky enough to spot Sally, the hotel cat, as we did this time, curled up in the best chair in the lobby.


Martha had posted some photos on Facebook of Lizette's birthday celebration, and that night we returned to our room and looked over the many comments, some of them from friends of ours who Lizette does not even know.


Julie Mayer Potts: She's beautiful
 

Amy Jenkins Ramey: Looks like a wonderful celebration!
 

Benita Budd: Wonderful!



Pearl Barfield: She's beautiful! What an inspiration.



Jessica Fretwell Jenkins: Happy Birthday Lizette♥️.



Geri James Crowe: She's beautiful!!



Richard Betz: She’s a beautiful and remarkable woman and sure doesn’t look 90!



Jean Middlebrooks Morris: Congratulations and Happy Birthday!



Glenda Maxwell Bell: Happy birthday Ms Pryor and may you have many more



Vicki Thompson: So beautiful and I can see so much of her in you, Martha!

We had restful sleep at the Brookstown, and then continued on our way to Highlands on Monday morning.  What a wonderful sight to see ahead of us in the west the high mountains of the Blue Ridge, and to finally climb that long grade up I-40 on the other side of Old Fort.  Some of the trees were flowering, and the grass was greener by several shades than when we had left over two months ago on this same route.  But the trees were still bare and Spring still a few weeks away.

Finally, after stopping for lunch in Asheville, and then in Brevard for groceries and coffee, we arrived in Highlands, our journey and our Sabbatical at an end.  We found our house in good order, although there were branches down everywhere in the yard.  "You had some strong winds," I messaged our neighbor.  "Yes, we had some very strong winds!"  But the winds and most of the frigid temperatures are over for the winter, we hope.  

As we were falling asleep Monday night, we noticed how dark and how quiet it is here, five miles from Highlands and its streetlights, sheltered in Clear Creek valley.  I thought I could hear a murmuring, whispering sound in the background, and then I realized that it was not the sound of the Atlantic Ocean to which we had become accustomed for the past two months, but the little creek out back, making its way with a gentle sound like wind chimes, cascading over a little waterfall in our back yard, then into Clear Creek, and then into the Chattooga River, and then the Savannah River, finally finding its way to that same ocean that lulled us to sleep during our Sabbatical.

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