The Ocean Is Calling Again

Anybody expecting to read daily or near-daily posts on this blog, as they might have seen during January and February, would have been disappointed this month.  This is only the third post since our return to Highlands.  The reason for this suspension of activity is that the days have been filled with ordinary events.  We scheduled dental appointments and ophthalmologist appointments; we filed our State and Federal Income Taxes; we took the Mini and the Honda out to the shop for oil changes and other work.  We did manage to find time for the Highlands-Cashiers Players dinner theater and a cute performance by the North Georgia Players Sunday afternoon, but it has been mostly unexciting material.

Our running has gone well, though, and we are now in that suspended state of training called the Taper, when weekly mileage is cut in half and cut in half again.  I was tempted to pick up the pace a little during my three-mile run this morning, but I remembered that the Flying Pirate Half Marathon is only eleven days from now and this is not the time for speed-work.  Two cold mornings this week were replaced by a lovely, warm afternoon, and as part of her training Martha ran on the Franklin High School track (I opted to run in Highlands earlier).  I have run on this track in the past, and I do appreciate the simplicity and order of a track workout on a perfect surface.  But Martha was a little disappointed to find the surface had deteriorated in recent years, patched like a street with many potholes.  Tracks are not supposed to be like that.

It was warm in Franklin, up in the 60s, and despite the high pollen count the conditions were just beautiful.  Trees at that lower elevation have not only flowered but have put out the bright green leaves of early Spring, like young ladies trying out new summer dresses.  There may be a chilly morning or two remaining on the horizon, but it seems as if we have seen the worst of the winter.

We will be leaving on Saturday, a hard drive from here to Williamston, where we will spend the night at a wonderful place that I have written about in this blog in the past, the Big Mill Bed and Breakfast.  We have stayed there at least three times on our way to the northern Outer Banks.  It is a quirky little place, consisting of five guest rooms in an old barn and farmhouse on 200 acres of land, just a couple of miles down the road from the Hampton Inn where we used to stay - and less expensive.  My clever wife found the Big Mill, and in its own way it is as special and unique as the Historic Brookstown Inn in Winston-Salem.  I well remember our first stay there in the room they call "The Corn Crib," inside this old barn, beautifully decorated with Mexican tiles, and stocked with goodies freshly-baked by Chloe, the proprietor.

We do not expect to arrive until the evening, when we hope we will have a little time to shake out stiff legs and explore the gardens, grounds, and outbuildings.

And then, on Sunday morning, we will drive to Duck, and will stay in the small rental cottage where we usually stay, Ocean Watch.  We have many wonderful memories of this place, where we have run, eaten fresh seafood, written poetry, read books, and watched ghost crabs scuttle into their little holes out on the beach.

For the next two days, we will be making preparations for the long drive to the ocean, a little farther than Atlantic Beach but no less wonderful.  And, only one week later, we will find ourselves standing on what I called in my last post - before the typographical error was caught by my sharp-eyed proof-reading wife, "the startling line."

And so this blog will fall silent for a few days until our arrival at the (sometimes startling) Atlantic Ocean.