The Threshold
11/30/2010
Salter Path
It’s funny how things that are happening high in the sky are seldom noticed by humans on the ground. As we focus our attention here on the surface of planet earth, clouds drift by, birds fly, airplanes crisscross leaving vapor trails. Unless you are a pilot or flight attendant, the only thing you might remember is the rare rainbow, or violent storm. Looking up with a clear vantage point, you have a vista in both sunlight and moonlight of wonderful things that have the power to lift you out of your terrestrial rut, if only you would take the time to notice.
I sat comfortably on the beach at Salter Path last November and reminisced about earlier, happier times. It was about 9am, and the sun had just gotten to that level where the heat of its rays was basking the beach. It was low tide, and I had found a spot earlier on the deserted beach about 100 yards south of a group of surf fishermen. I had left them alone when I walked by at 6am, and they obliged me as well. Now isolated except for an occasional beachcomber meandering by near the surf, I went to the backpack and pulled out Diana’s kite. It was neatly folded in a stiff protective case, and I again marveled at its beauty. It was a simple x-winger rainbow with long tails of red and yellow ribbons. Light and easy to get aloft, I had found it a year earlier in a little kite shop in Ocracoke just off the main street. I fly this kite to commune with her spirit, usually in places where we had spent time in her living years. I know her spirit is still here on earth and this kite is my antenna.
The breeze was gusty and a bit cool, but it swept in off the ocean, being mellowed by the now prominent sun in the east. I rolled out the line and she took off like a bird without any effort. She just left my hand and sailed upward toward our rendezvous in the sky. Short minutes passed as she gained altitude, string played out, and feet then became yards and she was high up there, soaring in the cloudless blue. She danced left and right, swaying on the gusts, then righting and standing proud with her tails standing out behind. I settled back into my beach chair, the legs now deeply embedded into the white sand. I sailed with her in my mind, listening to the rough surf. Umm, must be a storm out there somewhere, I thought. The tide was coming in now toward me and I knew that I would have to move. As the surf climbs the beach, passersby are herded into tight little walking paths between the firm tidal sand and the soft beach up closer to the sea grass. My solitude was being slowly encroached upon as more walkers appeared.
Suddenly a lone seagull swooped into my field of view close to the kite. I watched in awe as this master of the air soared and glided above us all and I wondered what his view was like. He was inordinately high up there and not another gull was to be seen around him. A kindred spirit, I thought, as he banked and turned with the strong sea breeze. He seemed to acknowledge the kite as a fellow sojourner, flying for the pure joy of it, doing what the Almighty intended. I wished that I could feel that free. And then it occurred to me I had watched Diana with the sea birds so many times on our trips to the beach. Not having lived near the ocean in our lives, we savored each visit, several to this very beach. And on long walks in the surf and sand, she had always fed the birds. At the time, I wanted to believe that it was her unabashed sentimentality and love of animals showing through, but now I wondered if she had not been just tuning into God’s plan. Man had encroached into these creatures’ homes and forced them to adapt. Perhaps she was just making amends.
And now, this gull was circling around her again, with a view of the earth and sky and, yes, heaven above. The sky was his bounty. He knew she was there and so do I. And like so many of his brethren before, he welcomed her presence. Now he was simply waiting for her to break out the bread.
A Night on the Low Road
A couple of weeks before her birthday, I began to feel it. The effects of the approaching anniversary were beginning to pile up. I could feel it in my body, aching joints and running nose. But more than the physical effects, the mental strain was more apparent. There were lapses of judgement, instant rage at even the most minor incidents, inanimate objects suffered my wrath, a zipper, a milk carton, the cable remote. I originally thought I was just seasonally off balance, that I dreaded the holidays fast approaching. But that isn’t really true. I have always loved the holidays. I just hate the corruption of the holidays by our consumer culture with wholesale commercialization. But that’s a different story.
It was also soon to be the one year anniversary of Diana’s death. This event now represented a major hurdle, a dimensional shift of a threshold into my new life. I have been juggling the past and the present in hopes of formulating a future. My quest then is finding a balance, what to give up and what to hold onto. What outcome do I want? Do I even know the pieces yet? The time had come to seek some revelation, and the place to do it was on the road.
I like to drive at night.
There is something about the blanket of darkness that stimulates my
thinking, and I knew that my best insights come at dawn. I knew that if I wanted to greet the sun at
the coast on the Outer Banks, I would need about 6 hours to get there in
time. The question now became, “Just how
do I go?” Did I really want the
preferred route of my TomTom GPS? Just plug in
The road was a two-lane, winding affair for most of the
way. And because of a high dew point,
there were patches of fog hanging in the gullies between the rolling
hills. Fortunately, the 350Z simply
tracked along, its Zeon headlamps piercing the vapors, so that I could proceed
with relative confidence. Susan’s voice
kept me company and the animated GPS display gave me another set of electronic eyes
to peer through the fog. I rolled along passing small hamlets with no
street lights, and medium sized communities with a few stop lights that always
seemed to be red when I approached. Why
at 2am in a village of 3000 people they would have that light changing was a
mystery I would have to review later.
The countryside in this part of the state is mostly rolling hills,
ancient mountains actually that had been eroded down so much that they were
just pleasant shifts in attitude while the Z gobbled up the miles. There was very little, if any traffic all
along the way for a hundred miles or so until I approached
Driving at night presents many challenges and one of them is
finding a decent (and safe) place to pull over for a few hours sleep. When Di and I were doing long road trips, we
usually went to one of these truck oases.
There is something comforting about the big rigs rumbling at idle, and the screech of air-brakes as they come and go
during the night. On one occasion, we
were traveling on US66 outside of
It must have been around 5am when I began to see the faint
glow in the east. I knew that the earth
was rotating under me and the sun was fast approaching our meeting. I recalibrated the TomTom,
and Susan told me again that I was about two hours out. Well, maybe not if I move the Z a little
higher in power curve. We hit the
outskirts of
Harker’s
The place doesn’t look like much. There are lots of shacks and little county
roads that let you get around, and it is home to the headquarters of the Cape
Lookout National Seashore. They have a
big museum that will tell you everything you want to know about “downeast” culture.
The locals are distinguished with their own accent. It seems to be a weird mix of English, Irish,
Scottish brogue, and a dash of “southern” and you
sometimes have the locals repeat what they’ve just said. This small community has somehow managed to
get bypassed in the rush of 21st century civilization in many
ways. Probably not for very much longer
though. I’m sure that McDonalds and the
land developers have them on their map.
But for now, it’s a place that you can still characterize as “quaint”.
Not quaint and historic in the commercialized sense like Beaufort, just a few
miles down the road. Harker’s
I sat on the end of the picnic area that’s between the sound
and the headquarters building of the national seashore. It was a long grassy knoll with shelter
houses and fire pits. I had decided to
walk to the end far away from the parking lot, assuming that if any other
picnics were to occur, they would want the convenience of access to their
vehicles. Another
beautiful day here on the edge of the North American continent. Breeze was almost cold and to be expected in
late November. The waves were choppy and
the sky with light wind-swept clouds did little to keep the bright sunshine
away. I had brought my lunch here as
Plan B. Earlier that
day I had awoken in my room at the B&B in Beaufort and found a great walk
down by the docks and out along the water about a mile and a half to a secluded
spot to welcome sol and give thanks.
My spirits were high as I made my way to Harker’s
If you like to shell, it’s hard to beat
I wound down the narrow county road out to the end of the
island where there are several commercial ferry services to be found and
luckily one was still running ferries, even though the wind was high and the
water choppy. I knew this particular
shop because we had used it the last time that Di and I had gone out the
The captain emerged from the store and called the
boarding. I stood, but my stomach was in
knots. I was just not ready for
this. I didn’t want to let her go and
this was the ultimate symbol of separation.
No, I explained I was feeling ill and I wanted to get my money
back. He gave me a squinty eye and said
OK. I retreated as fast as I could back
to the Z car in the parking lot. I sat
for a long time. How could I have come
so far only to finally realize the she is not gone in my mind. Not just in spirit is she with me. Physically she is still as much a part of me
as my arm or leg. I knew that I had to
find her again. And so my plan morphed
into a picnic. And now I found myself
looking out over the sound, five miles away was the