A Family Weekend
We joked that Lumberton is a lot like Roanoke Rapids, just bigger. Route 95 cuts through the area and the number of motels and fast-food places is endless. Although we are not very experienced in RV’ing, we now know the mistakes made in how long to stay at an RV campground and why. Even though we’re held captive to a work week schedule, a little extra planning could eliminate some of the humdrum of places that are less interesting and transient. Gypsy RV campgrounds that are more like waystations than a destination. Lessons learned for the next series of trips.
Our weekend plans initially included meeting up with my niece and her family. We were going to have lunch at some yet to be selected midpoint venue and spend a couple of hours catching up with one another. Those plans reshaped into Julie and I trekking up to their home in Albemarle, which is about 100 miles from Lumberton.
The drive was pretty straightforward until the last half hour or so. We wandered through winding roads and small, town centers. We decided to stop and look around Mt. Gilead. As first impressions go, it’s a typical small town. But looks can be deceiving. Mt. Gilead has places on the National Historic Register and the small community has worked to preserve their history. The downtown area is just a few blocks, with all of a couple of traffic lights. If you like really small-town America, this is a wonderful example of that.
Chris and Christy live in a log-built home, on a steep hillside. The roads and their driveway snake around to the point of making me wonder if we were going to fall off the road ways. Yeah, irrational. Their son Pete was home for the weekend and Mike, a friend was there visiting as well. Chris and Christy had just returned from an appointment and pulled up at the same time we arrived. Everybody was there.
We were warned that they had dogs. Big dogs and little dogs and dogs with huge personalities. While Chris and Christy welcomed us to their home, it paled in comparison to the real welcoming committee. To say their canine kids were excited to see us is an understatement. In particular is Moose, or Moo who is the largest, strongest and pure package of excitement you could imagine. Moose is a man-child of a dog who wants you to want him. Together, they are all about fun and play and to call it something else is off the mark. Include the humans in that mix of fun.
A Few Good Men…
No, Jack Nicholson, Tom Cruise and Demi Moore were not coming over for dinner and tell the stories of what happened in the lives of these Marines. Certainly, no movie actors telling a screen play written about Marines that entertain or make you angry, sad or have happy endings. The stories are different ,sure, however their not scripted; they’re real.
I spent a lot of time with Chris, Pete (his son), and Mike. Chris showed me a collection of vintage weapons from different era's, along with various medals and uniforms. Impressive stuff, as they hold a special meaning to him. Chris and Mike were in the Marines together and each has seen far more of their share of what this country asks of soldiers when they first join. They’ve been deployed around the world and have seen humanity at its worst. They’ve experienced different cultures that sometimes explains why other places are called third world countries. Someday, if you can get me that drunk, I can explain what a waffle stomper is. Pete followed his father into the Marines and is retired from the service. He's going to college on the GI bill and using it to secure a solid future. Watching the three guys relive some of their experiences, you could see the deep bonds and you can’t help but respect that they’ve been a part of, a big reason why we enjoy so much. It’s not a cliché’. Anyway you slice it, these are the few good men.
Dinner was fabulous, as Christy prepared enough delicious food to feed 10X the people who were there. Meg, Christy’s daughter joined us for dinner with her girlfriend. They’re planning a trip to Italy and their descriptions of where they’re going and what they’re planning on doing colored me a bit green with envy. But they couldn’t stay for the night and had to get back home. Too short a visit.
The next morning, we were treated to breakfast at one of their favorite haunts. The restaurant is owned by their good friends, who also joined us. Funny and interesting folks who made us laugh a lot. That small town vibe was evident as different people came over to the table to say hi, chat and talk about some event that had or was about to happen. It was cool – everybody seems to know everybody and everybody says hi. Very cool.
We said our goodbyes and talked about getting together soon. I was having an uncle’s moment, sort of, filling in for my late brother, checking in on his daughter and her family. Bob and Sally, if you’re looking, you did all right. I know that we are doing things to keep our family together, and this was just one moment in all of that. A good moment. Christy is healthy, happy and busy with her work, her family, dogs friends and simply living her best life. That makes me happy.
On our way to breakfast, we noted sign for a local university that shared my wife’s maiden name. So, we had to go see it and find out what it’s all about. So Julie looked it up, while I drove there. Fun diversion.
After that, on our way headed back to Lumberton, we decided to visit Morrow Mountain State Park and put our vertigo to the test. It was like who was going to give in to irrational fear first – me or the mountain. A long time ago I drove up the auto road to the top of Mount Washington in New Hampshire. Then, completely in possession of no fear, a guaranteed no risk attitude and yes, a certificate proving I would live forever, I powered up, looked and went back down. Since those cocooned days of sheer stupidity, I was now confronting a fear of height. That phobia developed a long time ago and it’s another story for another day. Heights scare me and the fear of falling uncontrollably to my death soaks into me like a sponge in a bathtub full of water.
Rather than sending Julie up alone and facetiming with photos, we went together. You have to remember; she was convinced we were going to fall off of the Avenel Bridge in Charleston, rig and all. Yup, she would be the perfect companion to allay the irrational fears and help me sheepishly drive up the mountain. Brilliant! Under 3 miles per hour should do it and we’d make it to the top before midnight. We made it to the summit and so did the other 41 vehicles creeping behind us. It was worth it. The vistas were wonderful and we walked all around the place taking in the different views.
Descending the mountain wasn’t as stressful and no one was behind us. I think there was an advance team from one of the 41 motorists to let them know we made it down safely, or the road was clear of the speed demons from New Hampshire. I’d like to think they were concerned for our safety.
We made it back to the Puffin by late afternoon and spent the rest of the day sitting, talking and reliving a pretty nice weekend.
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