Tag: History

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 10

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Growth, Self-care, travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Mismatched Striped Wings

I awoke from a bad dream. My head was aching. I made coffee but then went back to bed. Echos of the dream reverberated in my brain so I got up, took coffee to the beach and sat in the sand allowing the residual fear and anxiety to drain away. This was my last full day in Chicamacomico and gratefully, I’d established an agenda for myself.

I drove to Frisco, which is about 38 miles south of Rodanthe, to go horseback riding. I hadn’t been on a horse since I was a teenager. But strong memories remain. I loved everything about being around horses, even the smells — leather mingling with a horse’s sweat, the hay, the manure, the sweet feed, the horse’s breath.

I arrived at the stable in Frisco and was met with the familiar smells. I felt like I was home. Horses are in my blood somehow.

The horse I was to ride was named Bo. As soon as I met him, he began kissing my face. Not licking it. He gently pressed his muzzle up against my face and held it there for a seriously long time. He never tried to lick me or nibble on me. He just nuzzled me with his muzzle. Prickly whiskers, nostrils flared and snorting air, musky horse breath. For way too long.

I mounted Bo and thanked him constantly for bearing my weight on his back for two hours. I was acutely aware of the fact that the reigns in my hands were attached to a bit in Bo’s mouth. The saddle cinched around his belly and the stirrups hanging down his sides were instruments I used in conjunction with the reigns to make Bo do what I wanted him to do. It seemed an unbalanced alliance. So I offered many thanks, much praise and a few I love you’s as he walked in sand and through woods to reach the ocean.

The path through the woods was narrow with lots of obstacles for him to negotiate: hills, tree roots, water holes. But once we reached the ocean and Bo could run, he seemed happy. I was happy, too.

Like I said, I hadn’t been on a horse since my teenage years. I had forgotten all the muscles that are used in riding a horse. I’m feeling them after the fact.

After my ride, I went to the Frisco Native American Museum. This was an odd place. It was established by one man from his own personal acquisitions and it really seemed more like a collection, less like a museum. There were beautiful Native American artifacts from across the United States and a bit of general information on groups of items. I had so many questions and the only person working there was a woman in the gift shop. I imagine she could have answered all the questions, but I did not want to distract her from her post.

It is hard to look at items that come from people that my ancestors annihilated: items that had been made with intention, that carried a meaning and purpose of which I was not cognizant.

There were a couple of clubs that I fixated on. I wanted to look away but could not. There was a life to them that spoke of conflict, of counting coup, of the sacred bonds of community and the desire to secure that community’s interests. Could it be there is a reason for violence? This was a question I was not comfortable with, and I lingered looking at these clubs for longer than I did any other item in the museum. One of them had a demonic-looking face which I could not fully see because of the light reflecting off the glass. And from the expression on his half-hidden face, I got the feeling he wanted it that way.

There were so many incredible creations: kachinas, beadwork, sand paintings, and of course, masks. I held a sustained discomfort as I lingered over objects, photographing some of them.

I lingered in the gift shop, looking at jewelry. One of the jewelry makers was there talking with the person behind the counter about the properties of different stones that she uses. When she mentioned that carnelian is a courage stone, I replied that I have a carnelian bracelet that I shall need to call upon in that case. She asked what I needed courage to do and I said, “I need to speak my truth. And live according to my own dictates.” She nodded thoughtfully. And then she showed me a stone, a hematite tiger’s eye or tiger iron. She said it dispels a lot of negativity while bolstering you with courage. And she offered it to me, this beautiful stone. It is hard for me to accept a gift. But I felt comfortable accepting this one. I was so deeply moved by her generosity. I will take this stone with me everywhere.

After leaving the Native American museum, I went in search of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. My phone wasn’t getting any sort of signal and I got turned around when operating by my internal exploratory gps. I decided to turn around, go back from whence I came and skip the lighthouse.

As fate would have it, I was driving along Highway 12 when I saw a sign for the Cape Hatteras Light Station! Silly me, I had passed by the entrance hours ago and it hadn’t registered. I followed the road that the sign pointed to and it lead me to right to the lighthouse! I was happy to be reunited with the it. I’d had the opportunity to climb it as a teenager when it was in its original location closer to the ocean. Now, it sits a good way back from the ocean and it was not open for climbing. Still, it was really good to see it again. It is such an impressive structure.

I left the lighthouse, and headed back toward Rodanthe. I drove through the stretch of land that held no structures save a row of poles by the road. I was struck by their vulnerability’ of the row of poles lining the road. How quickly and completely this island could be removed from modern conveniences. One major storm could destroy one’s quality of life here, if not one’s house itself. Everything here seems perched on a precipice between ease and struggle.

My snacks were gone. I was hungry. It was time to hopefully find an open restaurant. This task is much more daunting than it would seem because it is, after all, the off-season at the beach and we are still having a pandemic. I had discovered one reliable deli about five miles from my base. However, on this particular occasion, it was closed. I managed to find a Mexican food truck just before it shut down for the day. They were out of nearly everything but they whipped together a tasty quesadilla for me.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when I returned to my home base. I took my final evening walk along the beach. The sky was dark with an approaching storm. A dozen fishing boats dotted the horizon. I walked halfway to the pier, took some photos and walked back.

I sat in the sand briefly and found a fragment of a shell that reminded me of the stone the jewelry-maker had given me. I pulled the stone out of my pocket and laid it next to the shell. They were like a pair of mismatched striped wings. I decided the shell was to come home with me so I it went into my pocket beside the stone.

I walked back to the house and started packing up the rest of my stuff. I carried the bulk of it to my car. I readied the coffee maker for morning. I gathered all foodstuffs and toiletries and when I felt like I’d done all I could do to prepare for a fast and easy departure in the morning, I went out on the deck and reclined in the hammock.

I pondered the anxiety and fear that had been conjured by the bad dream. In the dream, a situation had stripped me of my agency, and circumstances took on a life of their own. I understand why I had this dream. Up til now, I have not been adept at steering my own course. And eventually circumstances overtake me. I realized that when I return home, I might again place myself into situations that strip me of my agency. This was the source of fear and anxiety. This was the cause of my dream.

From this point on, I must take the reigns, and direct the course of my life. I can do this now. Bo reminded me how.

This time has been packed with weeping, healing, exploring, and expanding. This has been a time for spreading my wings. A pair of mismatched striped wings that now, I know how to use.

I rocked back and forth in the hammock looking up at the clouds in the sky, and I made up a little thank-you song. I was singing this little thank-you song over and over again and I noticed right above me, there was a little break in the clouds in the shape of a heart.

My work here is done. It is time to return to my regular life and incorporate all the new discoveries I’ve made about myself. I am ready.

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 8

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Growth, Self-care, travelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Chicamacomico

I can tell my vacation is nearing its end the same way I can tell its time to do laundry: all my favorite pairs of underwear are used up. All that remain are the ill-fitting and/or raggedy pairs.

I have two more days left in Chicamacomico.

Chicamacomico is an Algonquin word that roughly translates into “shifting or sinking sands.” It is the original name for three communities that have come to be known as Rodanthe, Waves, and Salvo.

As an aside, I learned today that the “e” is pronounced in Rodanthe.

During my first trip out to the beach this morning with coffee in hand, I noticed the people who had been staying in the Ebb Tide house were leaving. Now’s my chance, I thought. I’ll go ask if I can take a quick peak inside. I approached a man with this request and he clearly did not wish to accommodate me. I explained that I thought it was super cute and he said, “It’s not cute on the inside.”

A good while after they left, I decided to see what I could see from the windows. I approached the steps leading up to the deck and saw quite plainly that the sands on this beach are indeed shifting.

I climbed the steps and took the following photos of the interior by looking through the windows.

In my opinion, cute is in the eyes of the beholder.

I had been waiting for today because today, the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station Museum would allegedly be open. I had discovered this lifesaving station by chance, was intrigued by its structures, and wanted to learn more about it. When I arrived, a large “CLOSED” sign was posted on the gate. A car was in the parking lot and lights were on in one of the buildings. I decided to call a number listed online. Maybe they were just closed for lunch? A woman answered and told me they were indeed closed but she could let me come into the gift shop.

Inside the gift shop were prints depicting the bravery of the keepers of the lifesaving station and their crew and the treacherous conditions with which they were often met. Among them was an uncanny print of a team of men using ropes to drag a boat across the sand in the middle of a raging storm. “You couldn’t get horses to pull the boat in a storm, so the men had to,” my hostess explained to me. She loved this lifesaving station and all its history. She delighted in answering my questions and would have told me more than I could retain probably. But I made some purchases and left. I do want to return at a time when the museum is open. The tours are self-guided and offer a unique glimpse back in time.

Postcard of lifesaving crew on their way to rescue the crew of a wreck with a surfboat c1900
Postcard of U.S. Lifesaving Station c1900 Early Morning Training Exercise.
Postcard of lifesaving crew in front of their surfboat. Surfmen had numbers on their uniforms to denote their rank.
Postcard of Lightship #71 Diamond Shoal Station, NC 1913.

I decided to wander north to see if I could find an open restaurant. I could not. But I happened upon a curious marker that made me pull over.

I parked my car and got out, determined that this was a public area to explore, and set off walking along a winding, sandy road.

I spotted a deer off to my left who was standing partially hidden by a shrub and looking at me. I stopped and made an “ooooo!” sound. A curious baby deer peered out from the other side of the shrub! I stood looking at the two of them, the two of them stood looking at me, until the mom leapt off, and the baby followed suit. They ran to the top of a sand dune and paused to look back at me before disappearing to the other side.


I walked on, approaching a crest in a hill and I wondered what I’d find once I reached the top.

I found more road.

I followed the road all the way to its end. And there was nothing but sand and sea.

The vast expanse of emptiness, the absence of any sort of buildings was startling. I held my arms out to embrace the emptiness. It was a very large emptiness so I had to spread my arms out wide.

I returned to my car and drove back to the house where I’m staying. I was lured away from my room by the cute Jack Russell puppy named Ozzie who is staying at a house just down the road from me. Ozzie is a mess. Quite full of himself. I managed to get a few pics of him trying to make friends with a cat, who would have nothing to do with him.

Jack Russells are fearless animals. I appreciate this about them. Because I’ve been crippled by fear over the years. Fear of what other people think of me, basically.

This fear kept me hanging on to the idea that one day, my friend from Oregon – the one who was going to move to NC to be with me, the one who quite suddenly reversed his affection and direction mid-trip, abandoning all his spoken plans, the one who called me the “Hope Diamond of manipulative geniuses,” the one who is the source of my grieving – one day, maybe five or ten years from now, we might become friends again. I could not stand the idea that he thinks I am the “Hope Diamond of manipulative geniuses.” I wanted him to see that he was wrong, that I’m a good person. I held onto a remnant of that hope until today. I think that’s why I’d been hanging on to correspondences. But not anymore.

I deleted over a year’s worth of text messages between me and this guy. Every single day for over a year. Text messages that went back and forth sometimes for hours at a time. I could have written a novel or a play in the time I spent writing text messages. In one quick motion, I deleted them all. I deleted his phone number. I deleted emails and his email address. I blocked him on social media. And in this manner, I have symbolically shut the door forever on the possibility of being that guy’s friend. That possibility does not exist. Because I have learned some valuable lessons at Chicamacomico.

The people I want in my life are people who are capable of weathering storms with me. People who have moral attributes like courage, tenacity, loyalty, and people who manage to keep wonder alive. The people I want in my life are people who won’t lose their footing when the sands shift and who will enjoy riding the waves that shift them.

I want to be the sort of person that I would accept as a friend.

These are the realizations that resulted from my stay in Chicamacomico. And for that, Chicamacomico will always be a part of my heart.

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 5

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Growth, Self-care, travelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Expanding My Comfort Zone

It’s Christmas Eve. The ocean was unusually calm this morning. I took my usual cup of coffee out on the beach before sunrise and walked along the water’s edge. There was barely any wind. The world had a gentleness and an ease about it.

I spotted a pod of dolphins and watched their majestic procession. I asked if they had any message for me. What I heard was, “Breathe freely. And do your thing.”

“My thing?” What is “my thing?”

I watched the sun rise above the horizon line and dazzle the water with its light. I noticed the deep shadows that complemented its radiance. And I wondered at the glory of privileges such as walking, breathing, hearing, seeing. Just being.

I needed to drive into Nags Head today for a few things and decided to make a day of it by veering off the path to see some different sights. I had ideas of places I wanted to explore but I had unformed ideas of what might be there. For me, the discovery is part of the fun. So, for example, at the base of the Marc Basnight Bridge, I had noticed a sign for a Pea Island Lifesaving Station. I decided to veer off to see if there was a spot where I could take a good photo of the bridge while not driving. It is an impressive structure, a testament to engineering ingenuity. I not only found an excellent photo opportunity but an opportunity to walk out into the middle of Oregon Inlet.

The Marc Basnight bridge replaces the Herbert C. Bonner Bridge, the last bit of which was finally demolished in May of 2021 — all except a bit that extends from the shore out into Oregon Inlet about a thousand feet. This is now used as a pier. I had read of this structure’s existence but hadn’t made the connection between its existence and the former lifesaving station where I’d chosen to veer off. I was beyond elated to happen upon it.

I secured my car keys and phone inside my shoulder bag, which I strapped
crosswise over my shoulder for extra stability. Because whenever I am
in a precarious place — on top of a mountain, on a pier or bridge over a
large body of water, even a small pier over a small body of water, I
have an irrational fear that some invisible hand is going to knock my
cell phone out of my hands as I’m taking a picture and it will sail
across the sky and into the abyss below never to be recovered. Or it
will magically reach into my bag, snatch my car keys and hurl them into
the abyss below never to be recovered. Or it will magically lift my body
and hurl it into the abyss below never to be recovered. It is an
irrational fear that is deeply rooted but it is not a debilitating one. I
am still able to enjoy myself while precariously perched. The fear adds
to the excitement.

After satisfying my urge to explore the former Bonner bridge, I proceeded to the Body Island lighthouse. Operational since October 1, 1872, this lighthouse was the third erected on this site. The first was built on an unstable foundation and ultimately torn down. The second was exploded during the Civil War. I think of lighthouses more as decorative structures, less as lifesaving ones. But especially in this area where sailing conditions are treacherous, lighthouses are a necessity.

I stood in awe of this structure as I imagined the history of its existence, the storms it endured, the people it saved.

After running my errands in Nags Head, there was one last place I wanted to explore. A very old-looking house is visible from my room and its vibe has been calling me. I decided to find the road that accesses the house so I could take some photos of it. Not only did I discover this road, but I learned that the interesting-looking house was part of a compound of other interesting-looking structures that were the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station. The museum and gift shop were closed so I didn’t learn much about the history, just the dates posted on placards. But I wandered around the complex, finding all sorts of lovely angles and light for photos. I will definitely explore the history of this place.

The final bit of expanding my comfort zone occurred in the house where I am staying. I am renting a room. Yet I was told that I could take advantage of a full kitchen, lounge area and deck on the upper floor. So I went up there today and found all sorts of magic. I can spread out, when I allow myself to. And why not allow myself to?!

In a world where conditions are limiting and other people strive to keep you in check, I choose to expand beyond what is known and comfortable in the little ways that present themselves. This is often very challenging. For example: I wanted to leave Rodanthe after my car was repaired. But I’m very glad I was able to stay in that space of discomfort until it passed. I’m glad I stayed. I’ve given myself space to dump a lot of stress and allow my heart room to breathe freely. And this is what the dolphins said to do.

Also, “my thing” is growth. I will keep doing my thing.