Stories at Dusk....

Friday nights here are slow-paced. Sometimes the men play poker..sometimes there are dinner engagements or bike rides...but there are no malls to visit, no movie theatres to view new films..no K-Mart or Wal-Mart to occupy time.

Last night after supper we walked the sandy road to Blanch's house...she is Philip's cousin and has lived here on the island all her life. She is 83. We carried a lasagne casserole (compliments of Philip's cooking)...opened the white gate of her garden and up to the front porch.

Blanch's house is typical of the island...it is painted white with lovely green trim and a large pizer. The scent of gardenias was strong as we knocked on the door carrying our offering.

Blanch was delighted to see us as she had been cleaning, and needed the break as well as the company. Two fans were circulating the air in the parlor room which was filled with family photos and books including the census of Ocracoke for 1870 and the cemetery
records.

She is always interested in what we are doing..but truth be told, we are much more interested in what she has to say. Her mind is sharp, her memory is impeccable..the hurricane of '44..the black out of WW11. Last night the conversation wove around to children's games. She was animated as she began to tell us about the games she played here as a little girl. Some were typical...hop scotch, marbles, skipping ropes...some we had never heard of. Philip, with paper and pencil in hand, wrote titles and words as fast as they were spoken.

It was dark when we left. The almost-full moon was playing games with us..hide and seek through the live oaks and cedar trees. Blanch stood at her doorway and waved, "Wasn't this fun tonight?" she said.

Indeed it was, Blanch, indeed it was.

The Show Goes On...

Every Wednesday evening the community of Ocracoke presents an old time Opry, the Ocrafolk Opry...this is a wonderful combination of music and stories...including haronica and madolin and guitar. The performers live and work on the island..running shops, waiting tables, saiing ships, caring for children. I first visited here three years ago and have not missed an Opry yet (well, almost!)

Last night Molasses Creek was off island...so there were a core group of folks in charge, Philip was the emcee (and storyteller)..and it was my great honor to tell a story during the second half of the show. I have told stories so many places for lots of years, but last night was so special for me. It was telling stories with new friends and family..there was five year old Caroline in her pirate garb singing with her Dad, there was 83 year old Roy with his harmonica and guitar and a bit of yodeling.

At the end of the evening all the performers go back up to the stage to sing, "I'll Fly Away." It was such a grand moment for me to stand with Philip and new friends and be part of the community. When the evening was over, there was pleasant conversation and bantering..the clouds were arranged as if in a quilt as we walked back home up the lane...Henry Glassie once wrote in the forward to his book, Irish Tales, it was a good night, a story or two, a song by the fire, enough so that when we meet in the morning we will remember....I will always remember last night.

Clams and Crabs..

So, it started out to be a lazy Sunday...sleeping late..breakfastlate...heavy clouds of rain. But just as the sun burst out, the phone rang..it was Rob iviting us to o clamming for the afternoon. I looked around an laundry and dishes and ironing and bills to be paid and a Sunday Passage to be written. Then I looked at Philip and we both said, "let's go."

Philip carried the clamming rakes (on his bicycle) while I brought the clam basket (also on my bicycle)..there were seven of us setting sail in the small sailboat, The Muddy Rudder.

We anchored on a bed of crabs and they skittered under our feet everywhere we walked on the sandy shores of the sound. We talked and clammed and swam and filled our basket. Now we just clean them and have clams casino tonight.

It has been a lovely day...we will share clams with friends, listen to Martin at the Jolly Roger, and ride our bikes home late tonight over the sandy roads with fresh scattered clam shells. As for the work, there is alway tomorrow.