Virginia to Macon
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| Pat and Win in Shenandoah Valley |
Travelling south from Washington, DC, after daughter Ellen's wedding, we drove the Blue Ridge Parkway. A lady in a VA visitors center had assured us that there would be no trouble negotiating the 2-lane highway in a motorhome. The overviews of the Shenandoah Valley from the many stops along the Parkway allowed us to see the fall colors, especially of the maple trees. Although it was still early for the full color, some trees were brilliant red. The reason it is one of the top scenic drives in the USA was very evident. The afternoon sun peeked through the cumulus clouds and shone across the Valley revealing the farms, communities, rivers, and streams below overlooks along the highway. The distant range of the Shenandoah Mountains clearly defines the Valley through which flows the Shenandoah River. In the Big Meadows Campground, the deer grazed outside our door and in the cool, crisp air the nighttime sounds of coyotes soothed the small tensions from driving on mountaintop roads.
Descending into the Shenandoah Valley the next day, we visited Natural Chimneys regional campground where a large Jesus revival was being held. The countryside echoed the sound of hymns forced through large, high wattage, speakers. By divorcing the Suzuki from the motorhome, we were able to 4-wheel drive up into the Washington National Forest. The next stop was back across the Blue Ridge to Charlottesville where we visited an old Aggie friend and spent a day touring Monticello, the mountain-top home of Thomas Jefferson. He remains one of the few politicians (current or historical) for whom I maintain much respect. While in the neighborhood, we visited a mountaintop apple orchard and sampled the tree-ripened, mouth-watering Macintosh, lopsided York, and Crispin apples. We bought a supply that would normally last a week but they were gone in a couple of days. Wish we had bought more. We did not realize how delicious fresh apple cider could be - a half-gallon disappeared far too soon.
Bypassing Richmond, Williamsburg, and Virginia Beach, we camped in the little town of Waves on the beach of the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Visited the Lost Colony Park on Roanoke Isl. and watched birds on Pea I. National Wildlife Reserve. A large fraction of the double-crested cormorants and brown pelicans on the Atlantic Coast had congregated at Oregon Inlet. To say that they blackened the sky would be overstating the case, but in the afternoons they appeared in goose-like formations in uncountable numbers. I speculate that if commercial overfishing in the Atlantic has released the smaller fish from the predatory control of the larger fish that are caught commercially, this would result in greater survival of small fish on which cormorants and pelicans feed. Consequently larger numbers of young birds survive, explaining the large numbers of these birds. Only 10 years or so ago, brown pelicans were an endangered species.
The Wright Brothers Museum allowed us to review and learn about their amazing feat of engineering and determination at considerable risk of injury. We lazed on the beach and watched the young black-backed seagulls foraging and squabbling with the herring and ring-billed gulls and each other. Black-backed gulls were of particular interest because we had watched them develop from eggs to their first tentative attempts to fly from the windy and rocky crags overlooking the Bay of Fundy and elsewhere in Nova Scotia. They often learned to fly when the wind was blowing so hard that it was not necessary to flap to rise briefly from the edge of the nest. Now, these same young gulls were migrating south along the coast. Offshore, through the binoculars, we could observe mother, goose-sized, gannets leading their young to warmer, southern, climates. Like the brown pelicans, they fly at wave-top level and often disappear behind the waves before emerging again, not distracted from their migratory mission by any fish that they might see below. After a couple of years migrating north in spring and south in the fall, we feel a greater kinship with the migratory birds. What required millions of years of evolutionary history for them to select for the advantages of cool weather and cheap, plentiful food in the northern summer and to leave for warmer climes when the bitter cold returns, we humans have been able to learn in only one generation. This year our migratory timing has coincided with that of the yellow-rumped warblers. Seems that we have been on almost identical migratory patterns most of the year as they followed us from Texas to Prince Edward Island and back to Georgia.
Leaving the Outer Banks by Cape Hatteras it is necessary to board 2 ferries to reach the mainland. The ferry from Ocracoke to Cedar I. requires 2 1/2 hours and is worth the $40 cost for the 47 feet of motorhome and toad (Suzuki). During a brief stay on the Bogue Banks near Cape Lookout, a visit to Fort Macon provided some more interesting Civil War history. On south around Wilmington, the devastation of Hurricane Fran was evident. Pine trees snapped like matchsticks, large trees still on the roofs of homes, and beach-front home destroyed suggest the origin of the name of nearby Cape Fear. Entering South Carolina, we found little attraction for the tourist mecca of Myrtle Beach.
Because we do not golf and prefer not to eat at restaurants, the multiple golf courses, miniature golf courses, amusement parks, and restaurants held little attraction. After one frustrating night of mosquitos and too many trees to get satellite dish reception, we left the expensive, local state park for Summerville. My sister-in-law, Anne had just returned from her trip to Egypt and was suffering from jet lag and a cold but insisted on feeding us. She assumed that we must eat out all the time while we travel so we could use a home-cooked meal. She entertained us with stories of brother Pete's experiences with the Egyptian culture. Pete will evidently not return from Egypt until about June 1997. While there, a visit to the waterfront of Charleston to absorb the local culture and history was essential and entertaining.
We arranged to meet brother Scott and Joan at Hunting Island State Park for the weekend. Other than a few, pesky, sand flies, the park was exceptional for its beach, palms, pines, and facilities. The weather was warm for late October and Scott's grilled shrimp were mouth watering. A leisurely walk on the beach was great fun largely because of our similar interests in nature. Following Scott's motorhome, in caravan style, to Macon was one of the longest trips we had taken all summer. Normally, we travel only 3-4 hours before stopping for a couple of days. After negotiating the steep driveway, we are now parked behind Scott's house. Out our window is a view across his lawn and garden into the forest, rich with antlered fauna. We hooked up a 50 amp outlet to his fuse box so have all the electricity and water we need.
Scott is taking us on a canoe trip down the Flint River later in the week. Otherwise, we are catching up on our correspondence and housekeeping chores. It really strikes home what a soft life Pat and I lead when we hear Scott leave for work at 5:30 am followed by Joan and sons Jeff and Richard around 7 am. We have an appointment for some minor motorhome repairs near Tampa, Fla. on about November 18th. For the next month or so we will be playing "gypsy" around the state of Florida.
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