Weather Wonders

Faye Leads the Way

What a difference a week makes!  Last Monday was a perfect Indian summer day and I was kayaking on the Appomattox – today I’m hunkered down, glued to the television, monitoring what the weather channel is calling “ the storm of a lifetime.”  What a crazy flip of nature.      My neighbor Faye invited me for an afternoon paddle…something I’ve been itching to do, so I accepted with enthusiasm.  Our route was to take us on three local bodies of water, starting at Wilck's Lake behind the public library, paddling down Buffalo Creek where it empties into the Appomattox and then following the Appomattox into downtown Farmville.  Faye indicated it was an easy paddle and would take about two hours.  Well, you may remember the cliche “two hour tour.”  It was more like four.  But, oh so fine.   Mind you, I have not done any kayaking in quite a while so I was a bit rusty.  This became apparent straight away when I tipped it at a precarious angle getting in.  I’m sure I saw alarm on my friend’s face.  I can only guess what she was thinking about the entire venture ahead of us.  I have to admit that within the first five minutes my arm muscles were talking to me and my flu shot was whining.  Now I’m thinking I’ve gotten myself into something I can’t even see the end of the tunnel…or the river as the case may be.   But it got better and better and I got the rhythm and my muscles relaxed.  We had to portage the kayaks up and over the High Bridge Trail, we navigated around fallen trees and pushed ourselves over sandbars all throughout the beautiful afternoon.  We laughed a lot.   We even startled a deer who was resting next to the river’s edge.                                  It was a perfect afternoon.

Wonderful Wedding

The Wedding was all I had hoped it would be.  Most importantly, the bride was happy and radiant. The groom showed up, looked debonair and positively beamed as Kate walked down the aisle with her father.  Did I say walked?  They almost sprinted.  But they arrived at the alter in good fashion, finding groom, best man, the priest and the rings.  All it takes to join in holy matrimony!  The wedding party sat in the choir pews, up close and personal, giving us an intimate connection to the ceremony.  It was all lovely.

Back in Farmville, I am pouring over photos and reliving moment by moment.  Sadly, the inevitable will engulf me and the clarity of the wonderful weekend will begin to fade.  I'm writing it all down and pressing it to heart and mind.  It was just too marvelous to forget.

Gone Missing

Life can surely offer up some surprises.  Most of you know I lost my cell phone on Saturday.  It happens….folks misplace their phones all the time.  Having said that, I feel my current circumstances contributed to my heightened aggravation.  This is a pretty significant week for me with calls to make and bases to touch, and to top it all off I knew I was leaving Elizabeth City Monday morning at 6:00 headed back to Farmville – with or without my phone.   I did what everyone does; cuss, blame their husband and check under the car seats.  Having no luck, I then began to retrace my steps.  You can only imagine where those led me the Saturday before my daughter’s wedding.  In the attic, the garage, every room of the house, Page After Page, Overman & Stevenson, Sydney’s, the downtown market, Belks, Big Lots, Farm Fresh & Food Lion,  Lowes, Ace Hardware, Jenny’s house, Brenda and Terry’s house, Flora’s house, Muddy’s and CHKD’s….just to name a few.  I didn’t make it.  There weren’t enough hours in the day to do it all over again, and besides, I had concluded that it must be in the house…..somewhere.  Turns out it wasn’t.  Driving back up hwy 460 this morning, George’s phone rings and it’s his Longwood secretary.  Said she got a call from a lady (Faye) in Farmville who had called me this morning and left a message. Faye was surprised when the return call was from a thrift shop in Elizabeth City who was trying to figure out who the phone belonged to.  Faye said she knew and would make some phone calls on my behalf.  The l-o-n-g and short of it, she did.  Phyllis went and picked it up and has it in her glove compartment.  No wait, her office.  No, maybe she said it was in her pocketbook. 

Up and Running

Well, we're not running for heavens sake, but we are walking.  Farmville's a great place to walk the sidewalks and ponder life's wonders.  We've adjusted quite nicely and find the area to our liking.  I've stopped (almost) making comparisons to Charleston, but I can't help myself sometimes.  Our neighborhood park area where we walk Woody for daily rituals, is not totally unlike our walk to Colonial Lake....nicknamed the "cement pond" that we took our daily walks to while living in Charleston.  There's not as much meet and greet along the way, but it's a pretty stroll and we check out the comings and goings of mostly university students and faculty heading to and from class.  The park area is just a huge grassy playing field where the old high school once stood, and is now used by Longwood for rugby and soccer.  The other day George and I were there late in the day and, as often,  found the field empty and quiet.  Out of the blue a small black pup darted from somewhere, followed in hot pursuit by it's owner.  As it came to be, we all met, sniffed and checked one another out and were straight away invited over to meet spouse and have a glass of wine!  They are lovely folks everywhere.  I think we're gonna be just fine.

It's been a while.  Life's been busy...back from Charleston and on to Farmville.  Our Charleston stuff fit right into our new house in VA with room to spare.  I swear it was the easiest move ever. Loaded the 20' UHaul on Thursday, drove to Farmville on Friday and unloaded on Saturday morning. Two guys showed up at 8 AM and had everything off the truck and in place by 9 AM.  Good grief, why didn't we think of THAT sooner?  We did miss Margene.  This was her first absence from a Jackson move.  She would have marveled at the fellows in the orange shirts.  Two trips to Lowes, one trip to Roses,  one to Walmart (forgive us) and one stop at Goodwill and we were set up for sleeping, cooking and showers.  We're getting pretty proficient at this stuff.
Looking forward to a great year in the foothills...it's beautiful country.  Plan a road trip and come up for a visit.  We have three bedrooms this go around!

The Real Deal

What a delicious treat Mrs. Whaley’s garden is…..the book and the garden. 

I’ve seen plenty of Charleston gardens during my stay, some officially open for “The 65^th Annual Festival of Houses and Gardens” and others just a peak through the gate or fence, but I had not had the opportunity to visit Mrs. Whatley’s garden until recently.  Anna and Britt were in town for a mother-daughter getaway, and to specifically see the garden.  Some years ago while Anna was out of commission for a spell, she and Britt shared reading Mrs.Whaley and Her Charleston Garden”.  This charming tale chronicles the life of Emily Whaley who spins a lively story of her life in the early 20^th century deep south…her love of life and gardens. And so Anna and Britt came to Charleston to see and share Mrs. Whaley’s creation at 58 Church Street, and they invited me to come along.  How lovely.

Charlestonians take their gardens seriously and aren’t stingy with their time, talent and treasure.  They work ‘um.  Some are grand and formal, others are tiny, almost secret spaces tucked in tight behind walls.  All seem to be cherished places enjoyed by the families who created them.  The gardens are for pure enjoyment…they feed our senses and evoke gentle peacefulness…an elusive feeling we’ve lost touch with. 

Mrs. Whaley’s garden is such a place.  It beckons you to enter, wander deeper down the path and experience what is has to offer.  It’s not grand.  It’s certainly not Charleston’s finest.

 But it is the real deal.  It has symmetry and balance.  It uses backdrops to showcase its plantings.  Various plant heights and alternating flowering seasons are carefully adhered to, and the garden takes full advantage of borrowed landscape (the huge live oak in the neighboring yard branches out and embraces the entire back garden).  Mrs. Whaley’s use of seashells, statuary and a small reflecting pond all speak of those things she loved the most…”things” she held dear.  And so, she made them a part of the garden to be gentle  reminders of the goodness of life.

And it is the real deal.  That’s what I tag something with that I feel a kinship to.  Somehow I feel is obtainable…not totally out of my reach.  That I too could create something like Emily did. 

Who knows, one day I just might.

Invisible Shopper

Do you ever feel invisible?  Like, you don’t measure up to some elusive standard of a well heeled shopper.  Well it happens to me all the time.  What is it?  Try as I might I can’t figure it out.  Here’s the scene.

 I’m thinking I’m pretty savvy.  I know where I’m headed (after all, I am a local now) and I know the designer’s name (I have an invitation) albeit a postcard advertisement.  I bike down to a trendy shop on King Street and enter the store with demure graciousness.  It’s a tiny space and not crowded…there’s only one customer looking at the jewelry.  I begin to look as well, touching a few things, making a few ooos and ahhs, and I admit I did look at the price tags.  Perhaps that’s a signal to becoming invisible…strike one.

 I then introduced myself to the older lady (not quite my age) and suggesed she’s the clever designer.  Wrong.  Her daughter is the “oh-so-classy” young thing in crisp whites sporting the elegant necklaces.  That could have been strike two.  I do manage to redeem myself a bit by inquiring about commissioned pieces, and the “mother” measured my neck for size.  It was all rather quick-like.  The interest and entire focus was clearly on the other customer.

I have to say they were nice in a tight lipped kind of way.  I stood around a bit longer.  Wandered around the 300 sq. feet of store space (that didn’t take long) and slipped quietly, un-noticed out the door.

It was later when I was pondering and reflecting about the not-so-successful encounter that I took stock of myself.  I surely am not invisible.  I have my black exercise tights on coupled with a College of Charleston  sweatshirt, a CVS plastic bag, and a piece of dog-poo clinging to my pant leg.  How on earth was I invisible! 

Strike three.