Edenton

Every time I visit my father's mother in Edenton, North Carolina I come back filled with stories, names, dates and images that are too much for my brain to keep inside, let alone compartmentalize and store. I could make this entire blog about Edenton and the rich layers of history that have been laid down there, and how the Capehart family has worked their own deposits into the soil of eastern North Carolina.

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.

No Child Left Behind Strikes Again

Those of you on Facebook have probably already read this before, but I'm going to repost it here.

November 2009

Recently I found a family of cats living on the edge of the woods that border my apartment complex. Being who I am, I started feeding them and earning their trust.

It has been almost two weeks and Mama and the babies are relatively comfortable around me.

Tonight I brought them their food as usual, but instead of waiting for me to call to them, they met me at the edge of the parking lot, meowing and being, as kittens are, rampantly cute.

I sat down with them, which is part of the trust-gaining process. Occasionally I'd reach out and pet a kitten to acclimate them to my touch, but otherwise I sat peacefully and kept watch.

I heard a soft cooing voice, a human voice, off to my right. A girl, younger than me but not by much, was creeping out between two cars, trying her best to be quiet. I smiled at her.

"Aww, little cats!" she said. "I've never seem them so little!"

By that I thought she meant she'd never seen young kittens before. Which I chalked up to not having been around animals much. I made conversation.

"Aren't they cute? I found them a couple weeks ago. I'm trying to get them to trust me so I can take them to a shelter to find homes. The mama cat's all right, but the kittens are still wary."

"Kittens?" she asked.

"Yeah. All six."

"Is that what they're called?"

I was slightly confused. Did she think I named all the kittens "Kitten"? I asked, "What do you mean?"

"Little cats. Baby cats. Do you call them kittens?"

"Y-yes." Did she really not know what baby cats were called?

"Where's the daddy cat? Doesn't he take care of the kittens too?"

Confusion bloomed into bewilderment, but I kept it off my face. "Well, no. The dad doesn't have much to do with them anymore."

She clicked her tongue. "He's a sucky dad then."

This girl caught me completely off guard. I was too flabbergasted to be alarmed when she suddenly reached into the cluster of bodies around the food bowl, which of course provoked all seven into near-teleportation out of there. She jumped back and looked hurt, but only momentarily. Once the newness of the heretofore-unnamed kittens was gone, she lost interest and wandered away, leaving me alone with wet cat kibble, fur on my shirt and a whirlwind in my mind.

Had this girl never, until just an hour ago, encountered even the word "kitten"? Was she never taught that not all animals raise their young like humans do? I thought that was something you learned in primary school. Surely she'd come across a kitten somewhere, at least in an "A is For Aardvark" book...

To the parents and teachers of this child:

Where the hell are you??

Strong is her hold

Boy do I have bad timing.

I had been waiting a year and a half for what went around to finally come around, and two weeks before I leave the company, eleven years of selfishness and mismanagement explode in my boss’s face in a great karmic fart.

She quit before she could get fired, but the effect is still the same. She remains in the bakery, but being kicked back from team leader to receiver (yes, my job) is a significant pay and benefit cut. Her home life and personal situation struck a match of pity, but that ember died in the next breath because oh right, look at all she’s done to her employees and her department. I’ll spare you the details.

Karma’s a bitch and then you get reincarnated as a dung beetle.

In other news, this is the fifth year in a row that I have missed the NC Literary Festival. This troubles me deeply, because this year it was hosted by the UNC-Chapel Hill Library system, and I had absolutely no reason not to go. In fact, three of my professors were featured in the festival and read from their books.

The Festival is just what its name implies; a celebration of the various writers and books that have come out of North Carolina and the South over the years. John Grisham and Clyde Edgerton were among the keynote speakers, as well as R. L. Stine and Kathy Reichs. If you’re curious: www.ncliteraryfestival.org

I would not be so stricken by this if I were remaining in North Carolina for another year and another festival. But I’m pulling up my Tarheel roots and moving, as my mountain-born friend jokingly put it, “Up thar whar them Yanks gon’ suck all the South outta ya.”

I know I gripe about living in the land of tobacco and NASCAR, about how I feel displaced here, but a gentle Carolina twang rolls so naturally off my lips that, despite myself, I do belong here in a distantly-anchored sort of way. I was born here, grew up here, and except for brief stints out of the country, lived my life here. I know North Carolina well, and even though I may not like her very much, I do love her, because she’s my mother, and she’ll always be home.

Let it be known that I will cry if I hear “Carolina In My Mind” anytime soon.