Several weeks ago, I had the opportunity to spend a wonderfully relaxing week on Hatteras Island, one of the chain of narrow barrier islands just off the coast of North Carolina, known collectively as the Outer Banks. As we headed by car over the long causeway that separates the Banks from the mainland, the wind picked up, pushing the usually calm water of the Sound into frothy whitecaps.
We reached the islands and headed south toward Hatteras. The wind was really blowing now, and I was astounded to see the sand from the famous dunes blowing in long ghostly streamers across the islands' one main road, similar to the way snow obscures the highways during winter storms in rural upstate New York.
The waters of the sound, choppy and unsettled, were visible to our left and as we drove along, we were occasionally gifted with the sight of the ocean, raging on our right just beyond the drifting dunes. Suddenly, I realized how narrow this spit of land called the Outer Banks truly is...and how small and insignificant my person was in the face of this magnificent show of nature.
The storm raged for another day and then abated, leaving an idyllic week of sunny, blue sky beach weather in its wake. Later in the week, when the winds had really calmed down, we took the 40 minute ferry ride to Okracoke Island, composed mostly of wild and starkly beautiful National Park Service Lands, to see my friend Ruth Fordon, who runs a marvelous retreat center aptly named Island Path, with Ken DeBarth, who is a physician assistant. After a wonderful lunch with Ruth at the Flying Melon Cafe, where we were treated to some of Ruth's beautiful photographs that she uses to illustrate her calendars and notecards, we explored Okracoke's tiny village, including a charming lighthouse, then rode the ferry back to Hatteras.
The rest of the week remained calm and we walked down to the beach on the evening of our departure to take one last look at the beautiful ocean, the same body of water that is known as the Graveyard of the Atlantic, with some 1500 known shipwrecks at silent rest off the Banks' coast. The sun was just going down and the horizon melted into the water, everything a misty blue, the calling seagulls wheeling overhead in the ocean breeze. Suddenly a pod of dolphins appeared just off shore, cavorting in the waves, leaping and playing with what must have surely been the pure joy of life. We watched them swim and they finally headed north, disappearing from sight.
All in all, a perfect week. The storm, the crashing waves and blowing sand. The blue sky beach days. The ferry ride to Okracoke. Visitors from the deep. Precious time with dear friends and family.
Life just doesn't get any better than that.
Recent Comments