The Town Where Every Turn Was a Left

I reckon all people go to Beaufort, NC (pronounced “bow-fort”) to see the wild horses on Taylor Creek or on some other nearby island. That’s what Our State Magazine promised us, and that’s what we were chasing in late March, earlier this year. We didn’t really know what to expect much. I had read about the town being an old hangout of Blackbeard, the English pirate who operated around the West Indies and the Eastern coast of Britain's North American colonies. I also read about the new and somewhat high-end Beaufort Hotel for which it was impossible to make a reservation all of last year, if you can believe that much! I mean, who goes to Beaufort, NC right? But the end of March is not a popular time for Eastern North Carolina, and we did find availability this year (since we booked during the winter). For the life of me, I never understood why Eastern North Carolina is not more popular during colder months. Spring and late fall are my favorite seasons to escape to the beaches around here because the crowds retire home, inland. But then again, I am not what you call your typical beach bum! Quite the opposite: I want to be as far away as possible from the beaches when the true bums are there. How do you fill 48 hours (or less) in Beaufort, NC, you ask? Well, let me tell you. We got into town late on a Friday night, almost at closing time. We didn’t know this but lots of businesses are closed for the season in our coastal communities during winter - precisely because the beach bums are not there, I guess. The Black Sheep restaurant was the only one downtown that was open. It’s on the water, but it was almost 8PM when we got there and pitch-black outside. We sat on the patio (we always do, since the pandemic) and the breeze was strong, but it was nice and it smelt like salt and algae. We headed for a nightcap at Beaufort Hotel after that. The next day, the only full day of our trip, we first had breakfast on the upper deck of the 34° North Restaurant which is adjacent to Beaufort Hotel where we stayed. The hotel is quaint, smells new, and very nicely decorated. The only complaint is that you absolutely must do the valet parking because the self parking is across the street, in a dark alley which looks run-down and ominous at best. The breakfast was great, many choices, but the view from our table, right on Taylor Creek, was even better! The boats of locals are parked right under your table. A gentleman was selling one of the yachts that morning to some kind of big shot CEO person who came down from somewhere North with an army of legal people to buy his retirement toy, I guess ... Just part of the local crowd. Across the river from our hotel, there is a patch of land that looked like a wild refuge, but we were not sure how to get there or what it was. We looked for birds and wildlife, but it was all still. After breakfast, we headed to downtown Beaufort to visit the Maritime Museum which is actually well done. For those interested in a complete history of this area, the museum does a good job documenting it, and taking you through it. There are several rooms dedicated to the turmoiled times of Queen Anne and the piracy years, and Blackbead, the pirate, truly dominates the memory of those times. The museum library is impressive, if not by number of books, by decor alone: a fully wood-paneled room that reminded me of a log cabin, its quiet atmosphere invites you in to stay a little and learn more. We then browsed through the local shops downtown, and my husband tried the ice cream at Beaufort Creamery. After all that, we headed out of town (took every left turn Siri told us to take, and there were always left turns - I wondered how did we not end up just doing a big ol’ circle) to look for the wild horses. We headed North towards Cedar Island National Wildlife Refuge, about 45 minutes from Beaufort. We drove for what seemed forever on this skinny road right by what we found out later that it was Core Sound, parallel to the Atlantic Ocean. The landscape was pure marsh and you’d expect to see fish jumping out of the water, or egrets and herons hovering over the reeds. But there was not a soul! Nothing but sky and sun and water and wind. We passed one of the trails (the only one we could eventually find) in Cedar Island about 4 times before we actually figured out a way to stop and explore it. After that, we made it all the way to the beach where huge driftwood trees were laid to rest forever. The beach was tomb-like, quiet and serene. Again, not a soul disturbed it. There were no people, either, just us, the ocean, the water-washed trees, and lots of shells. Nothing more. We headed back towards Beaufort and on the way back we found the Elliott Coues Nature Trail which is part of the Fort Macon State Park. Fort Macon is a restored Antebellum-era fort famous for the Battle of Fort Macon (1862) fought during the Civil War and (we didn’t know then, but we do now), the second most visited park in North Carolina. It sits right on the beach and in addition to miles of trails, it has a fully restored fort complete with cannons, fortifications and other artifacts of the real wartime days gone by. We did not visit the fort, we stuck to the nature trails. The wind was absolutely insane on the beachfront trail! Not only our hair and hats felt like they were blown away, but our entire heads felt like they were being yanked off our bodies and thrown somewhere in the high tide! It was on the Elliott Coues trail that I got the worst call I would want to get from family nowadays: that my sister’s family had Covid. This was their first time since the pandemic started and it made everything for that weekend taste just bitter-sweet from then on out. On the way back towards dinner, we stopped by Mill Whistle Brewing, one of the couple of local breweries in town. We tasted such concoctions as BoFirt Sunrise, DitDot and Radio Lot. Their tasting flight tray was a circular saw blade made of wood. Dinner was at Aqua Restaurant, a bit more inland, not with much of a view, but what an experience! Although their menu changes regularly, I cannot recommend enough the seafood curry with tuna, shrimp and lobster in a coconut milk curry soup. If Blackbeard’s ghost would have come to haunt and kill me that night, I would have died full and happy! We drove slowly along Taylor Creek away from downtown and towards our hotel (after taking a left from our parking lot and another left on Front Street - because, like I mentioned before: anything worth seeing in this town is always on the left). As our car lazed away into the dusk, we saw a pod of dolphins swimming around in the creek. You know that the iPhone had to come out and Google had to be asked: why are the dolphins in a creek and not in the ocean? “Taylor Creek” is not really a river, per se - it is very similar to a sound, because it runs parallel to the ocean. So, I guess it’s as good enough as the ocean itself. It was eerie to see them in such a narrow stretch of water, though. Unfortunately, the light was so low, the sun all but gone so we could not take any pictures that would have proven how carefree and beautiful these graceful creatures were. The next morning, we had a delicious, fresh, local breakfast at Turner Street Market Restaurant. We sat on the sidewalk and talked to the town’s puppies venturing out into another quiet, lazy, off-season, sunny, chilly March day. A family of four, parents and two little girls, armed with rubber boots and aluminum buckets were picking up trash downtown, the girls not older than 6 or 7, because this is how you ensure that the next generation does better than we ever did - you teach early, by example, and you teach that your home town is where it all starts. We could not head out of town before we visited Blackbeard’s “House” on Hammock Lane. Nicknamed “The White House” (I guess simply because it is white), or “Hammock House” (we learned that a “hammock” is actually a “fertile, raised area by a river”), the house is a couple of blocks inland from the creek, but allegedly in 1709 when it was built it was right on the water. Debris buildup moved the river away and the house more ashore. It was an inn during Blackbeard’s time, and he allegedly spent some time here, but as a guest and not an owner. There are records (like this one: https://blackbeardthepirate.com/history.htm) everywhere on the internet about it, for the curious. It is not open for visitation. I was just in awe that something this old in an area ravaged by merciless hurricanes that religiously strike the shores virtually yearly, sometimes several times a year, can possibly still be standing. But there it was - typically Southern and West Indies in its beauty, a picture speaking louder than words. And also on the way out of town, we finally did see the wild horses - they were grazing on the other side of the creek (momma and baby and all), on that brush island we saw from our hotel’s restaurant’s patio, on our first day. Having come so late into our view, and us almost having missed them, they looked like chimeras - I could not believe they were real. But I took some shots to prove it and so you all can’t tell me that the wild horses of North Carolina are pure hearsay. They were the perfect coda of this short but meaningful trip of exploring parts of our state that are mostly off the beaten path, but rich, flavorful, colorful, wild, and wildly and historically important nonetheless.

The wild horses of Taylor Creek, Beaufort, NC

Click on the picture to see the entire album from this trip

A Southern Journey

I knew I missed The South when we moved back a year or so ago, but I just didn’t know how much. Most days, I miss The West and I don’t even realize how lucky I am to be able to live back here. But there are weekend trips now and again that we take that remind me of precisely this blessing.

If this month would have a nickname, it would be “Food”. Seriously, all we did was spend exorbitant amounts of money on foods pretty much every other day. I am always of the belief that food is not only good or worth exploring only because you pay hundreds of dollars for a bit of it – on the contrary. The most delicious food, I think, is the most primitive, the simplest, cooked in small corners of the world, in the most unexpected, least equipped kitchens. We didn’t seek the extra expensive food. It kind of found us, through chance and some little planning. It is a big month of celebration for personal reasons for us, so I guess it kind of went with the times.

Food is a great excuse to travel. And although food takes us places, we never stop just at that. We try to take the entire place in and experience the most that it has to offer.

A Short Trip to Kinston, NC

First, we spent a day and a night in Kinston, NC. I wrote before that I love taking trips to places that people would ask “Why in the world would you go there?!” about. Kinston might be such a place. I am sure many people have never heard of it, even if they lived in North Carolina for a while. It is in the Eastern part of the state, where rivers run wide and the barbecue sauce has no tomato in it, like God intended!

Some of our friends put together a pilgrimage trip to the Chef and the Farmer restaurant which is featured on a PBS show of some fame, A Chef’s Life. The owner of the restaurant, Vivian Howard, is also the star of that show, giving people a peek into Southern cooking, Eastern Carolina style.

We first stopped at our hotel, a former bank nowadays called The O’Neil, across the street from the restaurant. The hotel is a turn of the (20^th) century former bank. The lobby has antique details, an amazingly ornate plaster ceiling, an enormous vault turned into a bar and luxurious seating behind former teller windows. The hotel only has seven rooms, and each room has a unique personality. We had another couple of friends staying at the hotel who were in a Chinese-motived room, while ours had an English hunting cottage feel.

The Farmers & Merchants Bank in Kinston, NC, now The O'Neil (hotel)

This is how you know this is a small town: we asked the front desk lady if it’s OK to park on the street, on the side of the hotel because we could see no signs for parking. She said, in the most endearing Southern drawl: “Oh, mah goodnesshyeah! You surely can park just about anywear … You see some signs in the street clearly sayin’ ‘No Parking’, but don’t pay them no mind!” She peeked through the window behind her desk and pointed at the cars parked across the street: “You see them cars over there? It saiz ‘No parking’ right there, but they’re parked right under the sign. No one will tow you. Kinston police don’t care. They have bigger fish to fry, I reckon!” – she ended with a shrug. We were wondering about them big fish and what they were. Hmm …

The lobby at The O'Neil - with the ornate plaster ceiling and the giant vault

The place was brimming with hospitality. The front desk lady was nice and helpful, and if you can tell from my retelling the parking story, very welcoming. The vault, like I mentioned, is turned into a giant beer and wine cooler, with a self-serve bar where they invite you to partake of snacks, cookies, fruit, water, beer, wine, or coffee at any hour of the day and night. The cleaning ladies wished us a good weekend when we left, and asked us how our stay had been as if we were old friends. The hotel, like the whole town, really, was quiet. We did feel like maybe we and our friends might have been the only guests that day.

To wait for the rest of our friends to get to town for our planned dinner, we went to Mother Earth Brewing – a brewery, as you might have guessed which was about a block and a half away from our hotel. You really cannot get lost in this downtown. Everything you need to see or do is right there, in a 200 yard square, just about. Some of our friends who had checked into the hotel earlier than us noticed that the lead singer in the band at the brewery was also the front desk person who welcomed them at The O’Neil earlier. It’s all in the family, you see.

After our refreshments at the brewery, we headed towards our destination – Chef and the Farmer.  We were seated in a private room, because of the size of our group – about 16. Between all of us we ordered just about every appetizer on the menu. Because of my weird diet, they had to mash two of their entrees into one – I got the grilled red snapper on top of the sweet potato skins and everything was delicious. The portion sizes were decent, unlike some of the really “fancy” restaurants that skimp on the quantity on the account of presentation and flavor. In this place, each dish had everything: presentation, flavor, uniqueness, and size to please you. The cocktails and the desserts were unique and delicious as well.

The red snapper and sweet potato skins with mushrooms at Chef and The Farmer

The following morning, we headed for brunch at Boiler Room Oyster Bar, a restaurant owned by the same people as Chef and the Farmer. Again – all in the family here. I guess this is not as famous as the fancy restaurant we had dinner in, nor nearly as expensive, but like I said before: it’s not all on the price tag. In fact, the lunch I had at The Boiler Room was in some ways more surprising and more delicious than Chef and the Farmer, especially in its simplicity. I believe half of our group had the butter bean burger, me included. Just as plain as simple as it sounds: a patty made of butter beans and I am not sure what else. But I am sure it had a mix of love, and mystery, a Southern blessing, and a splash of good luck to make it extra special. It was deep fried instead of grilled, and my goodness, was that the best veggie burger my mouth has ever tasted?! It was tasty and as soft as butter melting in your mouth. They did ensure me there won’t be any butter nor mayo, nor eggs, either, in it – and still, it was amazingly delicious: the right measure of savory, salty, crunchy, buttery, melty... You would think people went there for the oysters, but think again – like I said: about 8 people out of our 16 got that burger, vegetarians, vegans, and meat eaters alike and we all loved it.

I hope I’ll travel many a places in my life, but that butter bean burger, I tell you what – won’t leave my memory any time soon.

We strolled the city after our brunch and visited The CSS Neusse – a real-life replica of a Civil War boat -, the local coffee shop, and just walked the streets of downtown Kinston. It’s a sleepy town, with stores open but quiet, and not much foot traffic. One of our friends said “there is nothing in this town but drunk foodies.” We chuckled because we surely recognized all of us in that description.

The CSS Neusse
Click the picture to browse through the Kinston, NC album from this trip

 

Continuing the Journey Through Charleston, SC

Following our weekend in Kinston, NC, we had a weekend planned for Charleston, SC. Now, I won't repeat every truism that was ever said about Charleston. I am sure those of you who visited it know all about why it’s amazing, and those of you who have not have read about it too: the gem of The South, the beauty, the Civil War-era historic hub, the home of Rhett Butler, the “civilization gone with the wind” are just some of those things mentioned about it.  

I usually go to Charleston to slow down and sip the past just like you would a hot cup of mint tea. The aroma of the place seeps into your pores and takes over the body and the mind like a mist. There are many the things you can do in Charleston. So many, there is never a good plan for it, because there is no human way to pack everything there is to do in one weekend!

We settled for strolling Meeting and Market Streets downtown, and looking at the street artists in the City Market while hunting for pralines and a place to eat really good seafood. This was the first night.

The next day, because we had a whole day, we drove to Magnolia plantation, a place that has belonged to the same family since 1600’s (started with The Drayton Family). The plantation home has been rebuilt several times since the first foundation was laid down, and today it’s more like three or four houses and multiple additions put together rather than one cohesive building, although it surely does look like one. The grounds of the former plantation were the star of this show, however. After losing all the money they had in the Civil War, like most landowners in The South, the owner of the plantation decided to open the grounds as a garden, and they remain opened this way today.

The home at the Magnolia Plantation

What's a Southern home without a peacock on the front lawn?! 

The gardens are a scrapbook of forests, pastures, marshes, lakes, all along the Ashley River. They are only very subtly human-touched; they are mostly left to the devices of the subtropical Southern vegetation to shape it in the most wild fashion. The trails are graveled, but crooked and winding through overgrown areas. Azaleas, camelias and Spanish moss brush your face as you squeeze yourself through the many narrow pathways and trails. While admiring the beauty of the trees, bushes, and flowers (all in bloom, it seemed just for us, as this was April, one of the most flora-rich times of the year in The South), we were watchfully crossing bridges over ponds and estuaries of the Ashley river on the lookout for alligators. I was watching the trees for snakes, too, but I figured with that many vines, it would be impossible to tell which one was a snake and which was a vine. The alligators did not let themselves waited for for too long. They were shamelessly swimming around, undisturbed, it seemed, by the sizable crowds of visitors.

I love visiting old Southern homes, because you see America’s history rolling right in front of your very eyes in the stories they amount inside those walls, in the pictures, décor, books. All its glories, and shadows, all the ghosts, and belles of the past, all carefully and elegantly tucked inside the grand staircased foyers and plantation shutters …

Alligator at the Magnolia Plantation

For dinner, we found a treat of a place called Hanks, close to our hotel not far from The City Market. The food here was a little too overpriced for what it was, but the cocktail I had (it was a locally inspired one), called Colonial Daiquiri (rum based) was divine! I also loved their special salad which had the most enormous shrimp (sized more like lobster than shrimp), arugula, and roasted potatoes (I kid you not!) in a roasted tomatillo vinaigrette. Holy salad gods! I still don’t think it was worth the almost $20 it cost, but it was memorable. Maybe not quite as amazing as that butter bean burger in Kinston – but still something to definitely remember.

Walking the streets of Charleston is really my favorite thing to do down there: shooting the beautiful doorways, people watching around the Waterfront Park and the Pineapple Fountain, hearing the giggles of college girls taking selfies at The Rainbow Row, watching people line up for food at Blossom, Magnolia’s, or Hyman’s – all color the Charleston experience in its own unique way. This is a town encapsulating so much history within its brick walls and cobblestone streets like a snow globe: you shake it and another memory forms – all real, all old, and yet right in front of your eyes.

Charleston entry way

There is a smell about Charleston that stays with you: it’s a mix of sea and mold, a mixture of uncured antiques and jasmine or some other bloom.

The Pineapple Fountain at Waterfront Park

We picked funky-named places, with hippie or Southern names to have breakfast in both days we were there. We figured how could we go wrong with such choice deliberation?! On the first morning we were there, we went to Another Broken Egg (their crab cakes are so fresh you’d think they reached out into the waterfront for the crabs right then and there), and Page’s Okra Grill in Mount Pleasant, the second day. That place is a zoo. Not sure how the wait staff doesn’t turn postal on people – there is not one revolving door of many people queued up to get in but two of them – one through the front of the store and one through the back patio. With all this apparent commotion, the staff never misses a beat: good ol’ Southern hospitality is at home here. Their breakfast potatoes are to kill for!

Rainbow Row

The last day, we drove across the many bridges around Charleston in look for an islandscape we could shoot. We ended up on Sullivan’s Island for a short hike and a peek at the ocean. Again, we were mindful of alligators and snakes, but luckily found neither one that day. Crossing over the dunes onto the beach was like seeing one of those multi-commercialized prints all the hotels down the beach hang in their bedrooms: water brush swinging in the wind, sand blowing at an angle, with seagulls diving in the horizon, where it meets the water … Idyllic and peaceful comes to mind, if you think the beach is peaceful.

The beach at Sullivan's Island

While we chased all these treasures, and all the history and the tastes of The South, during both trips we got lost on ancient (for America) streets lined with magnolias, live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. There was not even a hint of a breeze in the branches. The trees and the houses with old fences and gates were silent, sleepy, immersed in a slumber of centuries. The thing I missed the most about The South is just The South … The old homes, with wrap-around porches and the big columns in front, the pineapple details on the front staircases, the narrow streets with even narrower, uneven sidewalks. The awkward, cluttered layout of an old city that ran out of room for new homes. The smell of mold and dampness, the humidity in the air that makes my hair feel like it was dipped in molasses. I missed all that, down to the sweaty skin I get when walking around the honey-like air … The buttery taste of food from people who know how to use butter and a fryer. I must have been born in The South at some point in the past. If not that, then I am not sure what ghost lives inside my chest, because for sure it does, as it always understands this song …

Whether food called us out to the road, or  whether we just found it looking for some other treasures is irrelevant. Dipping ourselves into the past and into our surrounds for a spell is always a treasure, no matter the pretense. This weekend, I found out that The South is still here and has waited for me, patiently, unchanged, for the nine years I have been gone. There is something to be said for timelessness and eternity – and The South surely knows a thing or three about those …  

  

Timeless Charleston, SC
Click the picture to browse the entire album from this trip

Family, Spring, and the Call of the Road

Families are interesting sorts. Just when you think you know all the people who make up your family,  met them all, there are a few stragglers that pop up in someone’s memory. Not just because Ancestry.com tells you there are more, but more people that you knew about, but never quite made time to visit with. I have been married for almost 9 years now, but I have not met my husband’s half siblings. Two of them, I am afraid, is too late to meet, as they are gone. But this weekend, I met one of his half brothers, his wife and his only daughter and her family.

It was like Thanksgiving in … March. Just a big ol’ dinner and lots of family stories, laughs, and memories. It felt cozy and warm. You know, when the hugs are meaningful and the warmth you feel is real, not contrived, and you feel like you belong. Or rather, he acted like he found his pack.

I am still to meet lots of extended family within my relatives’ ranks, but I was still happy to witness their reunion and watch their jokes and unraveling of their common memories, and some not as common but always shared, in some ways: by the same places or other relatives or common stories told by people they both knew.

The trip we took for this reunion was around the Norfolk – Chesapeake, VA area. I had been there before, but I obviously was not paying too close attention to it. The cities are like postcards of The Old South, with hundred year old houses, bothered here and there by modern condo buildings.

This is for those folks who think America is the land of sky scrapers: this is the tallest building in Chesapeake, VA - the headquarters of Dollar Tree. In a sandy, salty, flat plane, it does not take much. 

Neighborhood pubs and hangouts are at every corner. The whole area (Norfolk, Suffolk, Chesapeake, VA Beach, Portsmouth, Newport News etc) is so big, and spread out and in square footage it does feel like a  metropolis. Flat and sandy with the ocean invading the land here and there. But the corner pubs, and bike lanes and hippy joints, like Yorgo’s Bageldashery give it an extra cozy and small-town feel.  The container ships in Norfolk offer a skyline like no other city’s. The juxtaposition of old, new, and industrial is what characterizes these parts.

We found a park (Oak Grove Park) to stretch our legs and burn off the beer calories we gained from The Public House in Ghent the night before and that was pretty much the extent of our sightseeing. Spring was peeking shyly through the few popped buds and in the spring in the walking dogs’ step. But it was still windy and chilly. The bright, cloudless, sunny skies did not do much to warm us up.

Buds popping for spring

After the walk and a stroll in the bookstore, we went to lunch with my husband’s niece and her husband. Then, we drove to their horse farm. That was a treat! I had only seen horse farms in movies. The way the land is partitioned and the barn and the place for the horse trailer – everything was like out of a picture film. I loved it and was grateful for the opportunity to experience it.

Sun setting on the farm

It was only a two night trip, but with the roller-coaster of emotions and new-ness, it felt like a lot longer. Neither one of us wants to go back to work tomorrow. We want more time with people who get us, more good food, more story telling, more driving around and finding small, off-the-beaten-path places to eat, walk, or people watch. If only someone could pay us for those activities, too! Life is indeed too short.

On the edge of the Great Dismal Swamp. I could only imagine the snakes in there in the summer. Those, and the mosquitoes! But the peace and the quiet this time of the year were true tonics. 

An ancient tree rotting but still standing massive and stern. I wish they measures trees, not buildings. This one would win my vote.

A Picture a Day. March

The smells, the noises, the colors, the capriciousness, the blue skies, the snow, the birds ... of early spring. The new life barely breaking through. 

It was a good March, albeit still too cold! 

This is taken the day all the kids in the country marched for less violence and more control of guns. I thought this was appropriate. Click the picture and scroll through this month's visual notes.

Another April 9th

As some of you who know me well know - April 9th has always been a tough day for me. I have written about this before so I won't bore you with it. 

However, this year, I remembered this poem which I have run into a few months ago, and it made me smile. 

It made my heart fill with a painful joy it made me sigh with relief and gratefulness, like when you realize everything you ever thought to be true about yourself and the world was just an ugly dream, and the only thing real is this second. Right now. Feel your wrist and count your pulsations. That's it. Now, go spend them with that stupid grin of happiness smeared on your aging face. Go. And never be sad again, as long as you are on this side of dirt.

Good News (Marina Tsvetaeva)

Alive and well!
Louder than thunder -
Like an ax -
Joy!
...
Stunned,
Awed.
What instead -
Cry?
...
So, am I alive?
My eyelids closed,
Breathing, I call -                                           
Do you hear?
...                 
Dead - and risen?!
Just enough for a sigh,
A stone from the sky,
A crowbar
.
On the head -
No, up to the hilt
A sword in the breast -
Joy!

 

 Thanks to my grandma, maia, the official bloom of April 9th will forever be the narcissus. 

About Spring, Birthday and Easter

“It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want—oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!” (Mark Twain)

You noticed right. I posted nothing in April. My favorite month, my month, “the cruelest month” that it is, I had no inspiration. Not totally true – I just stopped breathing there for a while, in awe of this life, and this world around me. And I had to be quiet for a bit to take all the awesomeness in.

Anne Lamott says at one point that “in Easter — and Passover too — something that happens is that we stop. This is the 'dark night of the soul' stuff that John the Divine writes about; that in that stopping we may fall into an abyss that we have been trying to outrun since we were little children. (…) But in Lent, if you are a person of committed spiritual growth, you do stop.”

So, that's what I did, I suppose – just stopped and observed the big world around me with care, and keen eyes. It might be the last time I did – who would know?! We're not giving precise expiration dates.

This April, was the first time in as long a time as I can remember that I really was happy about my birthday. Ever since I was in elementary school, for whatever reason, my birthday was sad to me: another year, vanished and not half of the things I planned to do are checked off the list. So disappointing! Time running out, never returning to me. The mouse in the wheel running out of steam. But this year, the world looks different to me, from the other edge of the precipice that I just hopped over in February.

Like an old poet once said, my “doors of perception were cleansed” and the “world appears now to me as it is – infinite”, and most of all vibrant. I might speak in platitudes here, but there is something humbling about your heart literally being stopped for a bit. To come out of that and still see the light of day is character changing and direction altering. How can it not be?!

As much as I previously hated my birthday, I have always loved spring, and Easter is my favorite holiday. They usually all fall around the same time. I just love sitting still and listening to the life coming back in the spring. The light this time of the year is the light of Easter to me – given to us secretly in the dark church, at midnight, like a big mystery that only we are chosen and fortunate enough to partake into. I love spring because it allows me to enjoy that light, of hope and renewal and “another chance”-ness with every day, unlike the light of Easter, on Resurrection night, for one hour at church.

This year, I enjoyed spring slowly, with every flower, every bloom that showed up in my yard. It's amazing how much time you have when one is not working. I relived, again, every year of my life, with every sunny hour and every tulip that popped open. Since facing death a few months ago, my senses are sharper, and my attention is keener than ever before. I realize more acutely that the end is in every breath. Or could be. Therefore, I am that much grateful when I outlive it. The leaves look sharper green, the sun is warmer and brighter, the music is sweeter and every breath is a blessing. Every touch from my loved ones is uplifting and gracious. I am so unspeakably and undeservingly lucky!

Spring has always been a happy awakening for me, a welcome gift of re-opening my heart to the world once again and trying once more to do it right. For the first time, this year, I associated my birthday with that sentiment, as well. Took 41 years, but I am grateful I finally got it. I hope it forever stays this way – such a gift to be able to awaken my soul as the world awakens its own!

Instead of brooding over the year past and what I did not get to accomplish, I now cherish the simple fact that I made it over another threshold. I cherish people around me, and the fact that they are on this side of the dirt with me. Strawberries taste sweeter this spring, and the wind in my wrinkled and wintry cold skin is a gentle kiss.

Rumi asked “What is this heart? It is not human, and it is not imaginary. I call it you.” Just like the Alchemist, I finally found the treasure – it's always been here, it's always been inside me. This year, I got to meet it. Full circle. Now, I am home.

*Note: Orthodox Easter vigil started April 30^th this year. Easter Sunday was May 1^st. 

 

 "April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land"

 

 

Shades and colors of my garden, in April.

 

The Light. At Easter.  

 

"The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough" 

That May when Utah Valley Moved to Portland

I have lived in the high Utah Desert for five years now. Sheesh! That used to be my deadline max! “I give it 3-5 years”, I used to say when we first moved here. Funny how time just sneaks up on you like a pair of wild wrinkles around your eyes.

I have lived through snow dumps and icy roads, through high winds that pick up furniture and large trash containers and carry them down the street, as an unwelcome present to your neighbors. I have seen bigger hail than ever before, and even bigger rainbows than ever before, too.

But never in five years have I seen so much rain for this long in this Valley! We have had nothing but daily rain for the past three weeks. Some days, I even forgot the count of time since last I saw the sun in the sky! For three weeks, I keep telling myself: “This weekend is the weekend I am putting my garden in”. And for three weeks, I have been putting it off, because there is nothing but a mud pit out there and no break in the skies, and colder than cold temps, too.

To the many laughs and chuckles of my East Coast and Romanian family, I even threatened I would go out and buy some rubber rain boots, just so I can sink myself freely in the mud and plant my tomatoes, nonetheless! “Rubber rain boots in the desert?!” – they smiled dubiously. And I am glad it didn’t come to that!

This past Saturday, I found a window of sunshine in the sky to finally plant my garden. It’s not a big one, as usual, but we did have to move a raspberry bush, and add new soil to the veggies, which made for a pretty decent workout. Now, it would be grand time for the rain to come back and nourish what is finally in the ground, as opposed to all the weeds that have gobbled up all the water so far! But if only rain (and weather) would listen to me!

 

The veggie beds before: ... a pile of weeds and nothing besides, really ... 

 

... and the veggie beds after: new veggies lined up like ready little soldiers, planted firmly in the new compost soil.

 

Our strawberries are sugar sweet this year! I thought, like grapes, they'll be sour from so much rain, but not these: they're a handful of sweetness with fresh, clean mountain air mixed in. 

 

This is easily the greenest I have ever seen this yard.

I am done threatening the skies and just glad and grateful  that we have a green and fresh yard to look at this Memorial Day weekend. And the tomatoes, peppers, beans, eggplants and cucumbers are glad for finding a home, finally too! They had mold in their containers from this much water! Now, they’re happily feeding off of the new compost. Life begins a new cycle!