I am back. It takes 12 hours to drive to Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and about 11 hours to drive from the Outer Banks back to Connecticut. This means that I had 23 entire hours to think, relax and just be. A rarity these days, but it was necessary. I don't think my head has felt this clear since last December, and my body is far less tense. I laughed a lot, I read, I enjoyed the company of my family. The car rides were two cozy bookends that encompassed everything in between. Car ride One: Ryan, Sakshi, Wake Forest, 6th and Vine, Indian food, Red Sox games, Pilot Mountain hike, Shelton Vineyards, Nags Head, Ocracroke, Lost Colony of Roanoke, Wright Brothers Museum, moonlit walk on beach: Car Ride Two. I latched onto so many different ideas and thoughts throughout the trip, but it's hard to articulate slices of them so I've been attempting to find the common thread. I think there might be a few separate blog entries.

First of all, I am thankful that I live in New England. I loved North Carolina and would go back and visit in a second, but driving home on Route 13 was like driving straight through an Andrew Wyeth painting. The word that kept creeping to the forefront of my mind was "dull." Desolate was a close second. Sad, lonely, unbelievable were the other choice few. Rural Virginia and North Carolina leave much to be desired, at least from a Connecticut girl's standpoint. We drove for over an hour and didn't pass a single restaurant or grocery store. We passed cotton and peanut fields, dilapidated/boarded up houses (with "No Trespassing"--don't worry--and "Bad Dog lives here" signs). I saw heaps of junk in people's front yards from old rusty cars to tires and broken plastic chairs. The faded wooden billboards seemed to sing out from a different era (circa 1981) and advertised "Discount Cigs, Firecrackers and Guns". We came to a stoplight, passed another trailer park and then a school that wasn't in session...most likely because there aren't enough students in the area to make running the school worthwhile.

It didn't help that it rained for a majority of the ride and was mostly cloudy for the rest. Mist and fog drifted across the farms and fields, and the irrigation systems stood, rendered useless. It seemed to me that no one actually lived in these towns; they were like ghost towns because (with the exception of local traffic) no one was visible to the casual observer. The towns appeared to have a persona all their own which included beyond run-down houses, ramshackle sheds and overgrown lawns. I felt a sense of disgust for whoever let the places fall to pieces like that. I kept thinking how happy I was to be returning to a beautiful small town where, for the most part, people are friendly, out and about and willing to take ownership for their corner of the world. I verbally announced to my family on more than one occasion how thrilled I was that I didn't live in any of the towns that we passed through. I began to feel like a snob but then decided that I'm not actually a snob, but I have a high regard for my home, property and town and could never abandon them utterly.

I think I am beginning to run on. It's nearly 1 a.m. and perhaps it's past my bedtime. I will continue over the weekend...