The Northwesterly gusts through the open patio door off the master bedroom this morning revived whatever trace of somnolence remained after our 4-day journey here and a fulfilling meal late yesterday afternoon at the Salty Dog in nearby South Beach.
Author Archives: L. G. William Chapman, B.A., LL.B.
Sunshiny day on Hilton Head Island
Lumberton, NC, Harrisonburg, VA and Binghamton, NY are but dust, rain and sleet in our rearview mirror. Around noon today the palmetto ferns began ornamenting the highway as we neared Hilton Head Island. We took another sharp left turn eastward in the direction of the North Atlantic Ocean, escaping Interstate 95 as though assuaging a scar with an anodyne. The land widened upon the sea marshes, expanding the horizon in the endless western sky above the vast salt water inlet. A launch motored inland from the sea. We were back. Years of memories suddenly percolated from the depths. Together we proclaimed, “There! Remember that!”. Or pointed to a landmark we recalled with gusto. Or merely allowed the serum of nostalgia to infuse our veins and settle our minds.
East 64
Today’s venture on the third of our 4-day southern descent to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina took a sharp turn left directly east towards the North Atlantic Ocean. Our overnight destination is Lumberton, North Carolina. For those acquainted with the area it’s about one hour and 40 minutes from Myrtle Beach. We awoke to 63 degrees Fahrenheit under predominantly clear skies. Judging by the proliferation of spray on the highway there had been significant rain overnight.
Rooftop dining
After a unique start at the hotel in Binghamton, NY this morning – the electrical part of a cooler set on fire in the breakfast room and the fire department arrived en tenue complète with flashing truck and sirens screaming – we recovered nicely this evening in the rooftop lounge of our hotel in Harrisonburg, Virginia with a wide assortment of tapas followed by a modest dessert of vanilla ice cream. This after a swim in the saltwater pool. All part of our on-going athletic endeavours.
Two drifters off to see the world…
The initial start this morning was obstructed by bad weather, a mixture of ice pellets and sleet and, latterly after we crossed the border, a persistent fine rain more like a spray which threatened to freeze but thankfully didn’t. With the temperature bearing down just precious fractions above 32 degrees Fahrenheit we wended our way over the glistening black roads of Syracuse, along the circuitous ups and downs, avoiding the Exit Only lanes, glimpsing the modern buildings on the skyline, then through the city to the sudden countryside with its distant hillsides and wintry lakeside scenes. We progressed slowly but earnestly ever southward along Interstate 81. There was of course the usual competition with trucks of various sizes and elongations. I was satisfied to defer whenever appropriate or even mandatory. We were in no rush.
An extra pair of socks
It has to be one of the raptures of traveling; that is, packing for the trip. Getting ready to go. Preparing to leave. Commencing the last minute preparations to initiate the formal departure. One hears the repeated promise to “pack lighter this time”, an error we never manage to overcome. But packing remains by any standard the critical introduction to a journey, digging out those special secreted fashions and accessories which have faded away in the recesses of the closet from the last trip. It’s fun too just reminding oneself of the various bags one has for travel, one for the shorter part of the journey, another for when you get there, one for only documents, credit cards and keys. Some are made of canvass; others leather; some have become antique and useless. Now we might require special luggage just for a computer, tablet, smart phone and electronic watch; plus their various charging wires. And inevitably you start to rethink it all, removing this and that, or putting in an extra pair of socks. Packing is a venture of its own!
Essentials
Itemizing essentials is a crude objective. It is not one to be undertaken frivolously. Not because it is rudimentary or possibly offensively coarse or explicit, but because the judgement is predictably raw and plain. In the result its vulgarity is not its indecency rather its basic nature. If one were to estimate what is essential the gauge would show little finesse and more blunt appeal. By its nature a list of essentials necessitates limitation and reserve, pointedly characteristics of such refinement as a good wine or a single malt whiskey.
The best things in life are free
I can’t honestly affirm that winter is my best-loved time of year. Though I will admit it produces some phenomenal – and singularly glaring – images. Further what I can say without irresolution is that just being alive is a huge profit! Now let me be clear, I don’t say this merely to repeat the obvious which is that being alive is axiomatically a win. I mean to capture the broader perspective; namely, that being alive at any time, now or in the past, young or old, with or without whatever, rich or poor, healthy or decrepit, sane or bonkers, is by any other standard unimpeachable. Just being alive is so far beyond comparison that it begs the adage, “The best things in life are free”. Free because that’s essentially the mechanics by which we get what we’ve got.
Silken Saturday
Overlooking the wintry white fields, their avenues of frozen yellow stalks and the ivory covered river, there is a winding track upon the face of the river as though a snowmobiler rode upon the ice and snow. But the track is too elliptical, too perfect. It is too incomplete and thus impossible to reflect a passage other than what was probably no more than the superficial effect of an undercurrent of water following the submerged perimeter of the weeds and earthen shoreline below. It is a design of an artist’s hand upon the snowy canvass, a wisp of shadow within the white, a sudden apostrophe with an abrupt and inconsequential ending.
The Winter Soul
Across the river the water’s still
The winter soul has flown;
The skies are crystal, the air is thin,
A calm descends below.
A cry is heard within the clouds
The winter soul ascends.
On earth below, a child is born,
The frozen ‘scape amends.
Jack Thomas stirs with Nature’s gifts
The winter soul subscribes;
The chilling cold and hoary frost
Have stirred what love provides!