Swansboro

This morning's view of the walkway and dune-top deck did not look very different from last night's view.  It was spitting rain just a little, but by the time I walked out it had stopped.

I wish I had carried my phone with me, because midway through my Tai Chi, a narrow chink opened up in the eastern sky and the sun glinted through, an almost miraculous appearance in the middle of all this fog.  In a minute or two it was gone, buried in the fog.

They have resumed work on the elevators, although I did not see a Resolute Elevators truck anywhere.  Instead, two men were working in the pit below the elevator shaft.  Property Manager Laura told us that the project involved three separate contractors and would probably take two months to complete.  I realize that I have no idea how a new elevator is installed.  Will a construction crane show up after the preliminary work has been completed and lower an elevator cubicle from above, down through the shaft?  It will be interesting to see.

After breakfast, I drove across the bridge to the Morehead City Recreation Center for a workout with weights.  Daily rates are only $7.00, half what they are in similar facilities.  It was only a little after 10:00 when I returned, and we realized we had the whole day ahead of us.  So we decided to drive to Swansboro for the day - "The Friendly City by the Sea," as it calls itself.

The fog was still thick as we drove all the way down the Crystal Coast on Highway 58, through Atlantic Beach to Pine Knoll Shores, Salter Path, Indian Beach, Emerald Isle, across the Sound to Cedar Point, and then across the final narrow bridge over the White Oak River to Swansboro. 

We stopped briefly at the Tourist Information Center in Emerald Isle, and Martha pointed out these paper whites along the sidewalk.  Will winter ever arrive this year?  Or has it already come and gone, and Spring is just beginning?   It looked as if daffodils were starting to come up, too, or perhaps tulips.

The visibility was not very good, and Martha, who was driving, was glad to finally reach our destination.  We were glad to see that The Saltwater Grill was open for lunch, one of our favorite places.

The view was lovely out across the White Oak River, foggy one minute and then so sunny that we had to don our sunglasses out on the deck overlooking the water.

We are planning on running intervals again in the morning so we decided to make this meal a bountiful one.  Martha had the shrimp burger and I had the spinach and strawberry salad with yellow-fin tuna, both absolutely delicious, although we could not quite finish the huge portions they served.  We don't normally post pictures of our lunches out here, but these were so attractively presented I could not resist.

And then we separated, Martha visiting one or two of her favorite Swansboro shops while I climbed the hill away from the riverfront and meandered through the historic district.  There are some fine old homes in Swansboro, some of them dating to the 1700s, and I am guessing many of them have been rebuilt over the years as they have in Beaufort as a result of hurricane damage.  Many of the homes are decorated with ships wheels, anchors, and other nautical themes.

Even Ward Cemetery, at the top of the hill, has a sign proclaiming it's amiability as a proud part of the Friendly City by the Sea.

While I was touring the historic district, I kept hearing a loud BOOM from time to time, off toward the west; it sounded like thunder, or a big gun.  It turned out to be the latter, I discovered.  I stopped at the Chamber of Commerce to chat with a man and two women on duty.  "I've been walking around your beautiful little city," I said, "And I wonder what that loud booming sound is that I keep hearing."  The man said, "That's the Marine Corps Firing Range at Camp Lejeune, and that's a 155 millimeter howitzer."  That's a big gun!  I told them my brother had been stationed there almost 60 years ago.

"Where are you from?" one of the women asked, as a dutiful Chamber of Commerce volunteer should ask.  "Highlands," I said, "About 500 miles away."  But she knew exactly where it was.  "Highlands!  My sister and her family stayed there over the holidays.  They rented a log cabin."  Everybody knows where Highlands is these days.

The Olde Brick Store stands down on Front Street, and it did not seem to have sustained very much storm damage over the years.

I am guessing this building was constructed by a builder who modeled himself after the wisest of the three little pigs in the fairy tale, and thus it has survived a good deal of wolf-like huffing and puffing.

After my self-directed historic tour, I settled down at the little park next to The Saltwater Grill for awhile, the fog mostly gone by now, and ships slowly sailing up and down the river.

It had was very peaceful sitting in one of those chairs on the water (the one on the right), and I think I could have stayed there all afternoon, watching that picturesque sailing boat anchored out there in the river, bobbing and swaying in the gentle waves, while the howitzer continued to boom in the distance.