Well Met

Fair Bluff, NC

Yesterday, I was cheered by contact with actual, live, intelligent, engaged humans who reside in The South. Authentic Southerners who were born in the region, were educated here, and who live here to this day because it's beautiful, it has potential, and it's home.

Take a road trip with DH and me on a zig-zagging route past beautiful farms and unique Southern eccentricities, through a charming tiny town untouched by time, to the dear, dear home of my graduate alma mater, Chapel Hill, NC, to meet an old friend and a new one.



DH googled us a new route that took us through farm country we'd not seen before, wearing and tacking in 10-18 mile segments of fallow farmland. Maybe it was the gorgeous early fall light, the unusually dry, clear day, but the farmhouses all looked larger, newer, more prosperous than I expected.  Too many pretentious columned ones, of course, because every Southern farm is Tara in someone's heart, but plenty of the kind of farmhouse I love best: the wide wrap-around porches and shed roofs, white paint and porch railings, front steps decked out in yellow mums and deep orange pumpkins. Cotton and feed corn must be doing well. I hated to hear that tobacco has made a comeback because of the huge Chinese market, but it's still the top-subsidized crop in the Carolinas. And my cynical, political self wondered how many of those apparently well-off farmers were tea party folk taking federal farm subsidies.

There were creative business oddities, screwball Southern shibboleths, and regional commonplaces on display, too, in little pockets of roadside business dotted between the fields. My favorite cluster included the Christian Car Wash, Priscilla's Bail Bonds, and Aspire Landscapes and Tutoring. One small, run-down farmhouse advertised with a hand-lettered sign: Sewing, Daylilies, and Toy Poodles.  In South Robeson County, we passed a small stand that offered, "Produce 4 Sail." The recession has hit some folks very, very hard in a part of the country where many struggled even in the boom years...when some others of us couldn't spend fast enough. Everywhere, there were indications of deep-rooted belief, including the Bayboro Baptist Church sign that read, "Autumn Leaves. Jesus Doesn't." And this quirky juxtaposition, a billboard in the middle of nowhere, reading, "Primary Health Choice. In God We Trust." Is it just me?

In quaint Fair Bluff, NC, we stopped for a shot of the bridge over the Lumber River, parking next to an unmanned, but well-stocked, sweet potato stand. I believe we were meant to select potatoes and leave our payment, circa 1949. After taking pictures, I returned to the car ahead of DH, who was working on a panoramic shot. A car pulled up beside ours and a nice-looking lady hopped out to ask me, "You want to split a box?" Beg pardon? "A box is too much for us, but half a box is just right. Do you want to split the cost of a box of potatoes?" I didn't need any, but she spoke to me like she knew me, and that was nearly enough to stock me up on sweet potatoes until Thanksgiving.

We passed the home and office of Mrs. Shelby, Psychic Reader, who had seven 10-ft. tall inflated Frankensteins in her yard. And DH missed this, but I swear it was there, appearing suddenly after a mile of fields and disappearing as quickly: an apparently fully functional fire truck in hot pink, next to a firehouse trimmed in pink. I went in search of the image online and found it on WRAL's website from a 2008 Breast Cancer Awareness event. Breast Cancer Awareness month has come around again. Do they just leave it pink all year 'round or paint it anew each October? Whichever it is, I was instantly reminded to be aware.

WRAL

At the end of this magical mystery tour, a Priceline'd hotel in The Research Triangle. And, the next morning, a coffee with an old friend I haven't seen in 36 years, RS. He hadn't changed as much as I had. He runs half-marathons and I can't, but I forgot to be envious. He's the kind of guy who tells a story just as it occurred, never glossing over the parts that might make him look bad, so that, somehow, you like him better for it.

RS and The Time Capsule

That box before us was a surprise he'd brought in the trunk of his car: a box of knick-knacks he'd somehow gotten stuck with when he was helping me move for the tenth time back in the early seventies. The box was crumbling; the contents are bound for a consignment shop; but the memory is indelible. There were some tarnished silver pieces wrapped in Raleigh News & Observer classified home ads, circa 1974. You could get a three bedroom house that sounded pretty nice for $27,000.00. And a five bedroom, two bath, three fireplace mansion for $65,000.00.  I figure those prices will come back around at the rate we're going, so I'm saving the fragile, browned newsprint. In April I'm going to call the phone number of the mansion and make an offer.

Whenever I meet old friends I haven't seen in decades, I always admire my previous, youthful good taste in humans. My coffee with RS and DH lasted 2.5 hours. Suddenly, it was time for my lunch date with a blogging friend I'd never met...an unprecedented opportunity to admire my good taste in blog buddies.

Sheria (I finally learned to pronounce it right--accent on the first syllable) proposed an old Chapel Hill icon for lunch, Breadmen's. I'd passed it a million times, seen classmates on the patio, but I'd never eaten there. Full parking lot for Sunday lunch. Sheria was right on time. And warm, kind, funny, and so very smart. Charisma like crazy and a kind of luminosity. Please visit her blog at The Examined Life, and the spots we share at Hen's Teeth and The Swash Zone. We squinted into bright autumn sunlight for our picture and she held my hand to say goodbye. We're going to do this again.


The weekend was exactly what I needed to alleviate the news blues. In fact, I was so rejuvenated by connecting with live Southern humans who think, I've decided my Stewart/Colbert Rally sign should read,  "Southerners for Sanity."