But I won't, because I can't do it justice. I keep wishing there was time to sit down and interview my grandmother, who at 94, is a goldmine of information about eastern North Carolina and its residents for the past 200 years or so. But my grandmother, with four children (and their spouses), ten grandchildren (and four spouses), six great-grandchildren, dozens of nieces and nephews, hundreds of friends and innumerable "adopted" family, flits as fast as she can flit between this person and this person, talking all the while. But I can't keep up. Neither with her flitting or her talking. At 94, my grandmother outpaces me.
Now that I am home, I plan to spend more time with her and possibly get those interviews I've been wanting. Because they will make a fantastic book.
For now, you get some photos of the scenery. What else do take pictures of? (Click to embiggen)
|Edenton sits on Albemarle sound. Thus, there is swamp. A lot of swamp.|
|Hearing my grandmother say the word "swamp" in her accent sends me into fits every time. "Swaump!"|
|The water was the color of iodine and only inches deep.|
|Cypress trees. Yes this is upside-down. No I did not flip it post-production.|
|Swamp. And cypress nubs.|
What the photos unfortunately do not give you is the smell of the swamp. Which is far more fragrant than what you'd expect. I can't describe it to you other than to say it's halfway between the smell of a forest and the smell of a lake. Makes sense, doesn't it, when pretty much that's what a swamp is.
I didn't just hang out in a swamp all day, despite what the photos tell you. I swear.