Smoke

Even though the 30,000-acre wildfire in Pender County has been dampened by some passing thunderstorms, we're still affected by the smoke, miles away. It's like being under siege, depending on the wind direction.  Today there's a haze almost like morning mist, but sluggish, acrid, putting everything behind a scrim.

Yesterday morning was clear enough that I worked outside for a few hours.  But afternoon tennis was cancelled due to the smokey atmosphere on top of heat--94 degrees, which ordinarily wouldn't deter The Empresses as long as we had plenty of water and towels!  Last night, the sun was just a reddish blot as it set.  Then in weird pre-tornado-like light, an enormous brown cloud engulfed the sky, lumbering west to east.  This morning, we again agreed to cancel weekly women's doubles. Even indoors, you can feel a subtle stinging of the eyes and clogging of the throat.

Poor firefighters and homeowners in the vicinity of the blaze.

Considering all of the recent oppressive and sometimes devastating natural disasters--piles of snow, floods, tornadoes, tsunamis--one takes a deep--well, sort of--breath and understands that this is not so bad.

We are preparing for a drive Out West, so we should be escaping it for awhile.

Except we're headed for Santa Fe, where in nearby Los Alamos, wildfires also rage.

This is Scotty Country

Scotty Country

Okay, here's the confession of a retiree that'll make you say, "Get a job!"

Tim and I had followed "American Idol" this year with what we like to think of as a healthy, mature combination of enthusiasm and skepticism.  While we admire the talents of several of the young contestants, we followed North Carolina native Scotty McCreery's progress from audition to finals with the ardent loyalty of new immigrants to his state. We were tickled when Mr. Scotty bashfully addressed the glamorous Judge JLo--whose mega-stardom usually opens the door to uninvited familiarity from most fans--as "Miss Jennifer."  It's a Southern thing, previously mentioned in this blog.

So, when we found ourselves visiting family in Durham on the very night Our Scotty was anointed as the winner of Idol voters' hearts and...um, minds, we decided to cruise through his nearby hometown of Garner the next day.  It would be on the way home, after all.  And would we ever again in our lives be (knowingly) so close to the birthplace of an idol, however manufactured?  We wanted to see for ourselves his backwater origins and the degree to which Team Scotty and the Blue Crew had helped propel him into pop paradise. According to the Raleigh News-Observer, Scotty's "Idol" run "has meant a springtime of excitement in Garner. Mayor Ronnie Williams has said it has been the best thing to ever happen in the southern Wake County town of 26,000."

Despite this raft of residents keeping it afloat, and its proximity to comparatively cosmopolitan Raleigh, there is a certain "Last Picture Show" quality to the heart of Garner, North Carolina.

"A springtime of excitement" in Garner, North Carolina.

However, we probed further, venturing deep, deep into suburban Garner.  There we glided anonymously past the spacious, pleasantly treed-and-pine-strawed lots of substantial homes, two senior Scottyheads on the prowl--one, indeed, old enough to qualify for the senior discount at Harris Teeter. It made me consider that professional paparazzi probably always feel like you did in high school as you secretly patrolled the street where lived your secret unattainable crush.

"'He’s still the country boy he was when he went to Hollywood,'" said a young fan.
As much a country boy as Beaver Cleaver was, anyway.

 

If historic downtown is the heart, then Scotty's neighborhood must be the soul of Garner, exuding a more confident and prosperous--and now, triumphal--air, this air being, as we saw for ourselves, the wind beneath Scotty's ascendant wings.

 

I left suburban Garner with nary a glimpse of Scotty's dog, nary a sighting of Scotty's well-worn baseball mitt abandoned on his front lawn.  But I did feel satisfied that a young musician who made good was garnering--so to speak--the same kind of attention that an athlete would in becoming a top pick for the pros.

It's nice that those in the know say that Scotty is, currently, a nice guy.  Even after his big win, he went back to Garner under cover one day (just like us!) to take his Advanced Placement English exam.  His mom publicly announced that he will go to college.  According to WRAL in Raleigh, Krispy Kreme gave 2,400 donuts to help Garner High students and staff celebrate Scotty's victory.  So he must be a nice guy.

The Town of Garner is considering developing a map indicating places where Scotty "went to school, worked and prayed," WRAL reported. "Town officials have heard anecdotal stories of ...visitors looking for places where McCreery would hang out."


Oh.....really?

We read somewhere that Garner supports the arts--well, at least music programs--in its schools, and that their quality played a humble part in Scotty's success.

Thus, this is not an embarrassing account of celebrity chasing by someone who should know better.  Rather, this post is a rallying cry for better access to better arts education for our youth.

Summer in May

While much of the nation is suffering from a surfeit of rain, or at worst, horrific, devastating storms, we in New Bern are baking.  It's 91 degrees ("feels like 95").  We've had no precipitation for weeks.  "Scattered thunderstorms" have been in the forecast occasionally, but they seem to veer away from us.

Some of the geese pant in the shade, their beaks open to reveal their pinky tongues.  You wonder why they don't just keep paddling around in the creek all afternoon to stay cool.  I guess they want to doze.

But, coming through the living room window, making it not too uncomfortable, is the faintest of breezes, scented with pine straw.  Pine straw--the collective needles of the long leaf pine--is the mulch of choice here.  A partial truckload of bales was delivered yesterday; it now forms a vegan wall along part of our front yard, providing the pleasant feeling of enclosure that being in a fort or tree house imparts to kids. 

About a third of this shipment is ours.

We'll disassemble the fort as we rake the pine straw over the beds.

But not this afternoon.  "Because it's hot, and only an idiot would pursue optional outdoor activities in this kind of weather?", you observe.  Nope, it's because my tennis group is scheduled for a tennis match against another club late today.

Back in the saddle

Went to a two-and-a-half hour planning meeting for the upcoming Craven Arts Festival and spent additional hours drafting a news release announcing the event.  Deja working vu!   Enjoyed it, actually.

When the meeting wrapped up, we were led down to inspect the dank basement of the Bank of the Arts as a potential storage area for "mud balls," a potential craft activity for Festival-goers.  A local artist dug up mud, shaped it into balls, let it dry, added tint to a couple of them, and then burnished them with a smooth rock.  No firing or glazing.  The size of tennis balls with the heft of billiard balls, they were hard, smooth, shiny as porcelain----though still not completely dry, and apparently still redolent of the earth.  The one that kept its natural color was a nice greenish khaki color.  

In a yoga class, one is often invited to "set an intention."  I see if a one-word intention comes to me that applies to the asanas, the physical part, but that would carry over into living the day.  Today, it was "appreciate."  Maybe that's why I liked the mud balls.

Perhaps "appreciate" arose in part from finishing "The Book Thief" this morning before I went off to Sun Salutations in the gazebo, with the river sparkling, the wind blowing, clouds piling up, gulls cackling. Death is the novel's narrator--that should tell you something. And much of it is set in a basement.  Hmmm...  And, it taking place in WWII, depravity wrenches all dignity and comfort from ordinary lives. Yet, desperate people persist in finding solace if not salvation in simple things:  books, an accordion, apples, mute understanding.

I always appreciate the view from my study window.  This evening:

Court date

 Rodger almost-but-not-quite-Federer, and Evelyn, tournament champ.

Had fun helping to organize a mixed doubles tennis tournament.  Tim and I both played, but neither as partners nor opponents.  This is a good sign that Tim has pretty much recovered from Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, which debilitated him for months.

Tim

Good weather held for the morning event and the evening potluck party in Gail's lovely back yard. But, while other parts of the country have had more than enough water, we need rain. Recent passing showers didn't provide growing things with the good soaking they need.  Weeds come up with only dust around their scrawny roots.  However, we have tomatoes on the two vines, and the zinnias, moon flowers, poppies, and cosmos I started from seed are sprouting. The unintimidated rabbits that hop by nearly every morning don't seem to be too interested in our garden. But, some creature did chomp off a couple of stems of marigolds in the front--and left them there without chewing them up.  Oddly, this happened to a certain few plants in certain spots, and then again after I replaced the amputated plants--but their surrounding marigold sisters remain unscathed.  Funny.

Finished Franzen's "Freedom" and saw "The Social Network," so I'm up to date on U.S. popular culture.  Now reading the harrowing "The Book Thief" for the Newcomers Club book group.

Goose family

 This spring we again have a goose family visiting our back yard.

There are 8 or 9 offspring.  They seem to live somewhere else but swim here to eat. The parents are quite vigilant, one always alert if the other is eating or dozing. We keep a respectful distance, and they don't seem to mind us. Our next door neighbors have been known to feed the adult geese, which I don't think is wise; isn't it better if they stay wild, uneasy with people and foraging for themselves?  The babies like to peck at a weedy patch in our yard.

The goslings are cute.  As they quickly grow, it's interesting to see how their fuzz begins to change as they acquire the color and pattern of mature goose feathers.

There are also four ducklings, but I saw them only today for the first time, from the second-floor window, skimming up the canal. 

Here are pictures of the geese.

Weekend o' Fun

Chris, Mark, and Tim

It's been so warm, with--wonder of wonders--low humidity. So, what a gorgeous day yesterday for a drive to Beaufort (that's "BO-fort," unlike the equally charming city in South Carolina, pronounced "BEW-fort") and a sampling of tasty bites from local restaurants accompanied by sips of wines from around the world at the Beaufort Wine and Food Weekend "Vin de Mer Tasting and Culinary Village."

To get there and back, we drove by a neighborhood about 13 miles from ours, where homes had been destroyed by recent tornadoes.  You could see them from the highway, roofs and walls missing or flattened.  Scary and sad.

Today is the first gathering of the photography activity group of the Newcomers Club.  Somehow I became the leader of this group.  We hope to go to Tryon Palace to shoot in the gardens; on the first Sunday of every month, admission to the gardens is free.

Tonight, a performance of the North Carolina Symphony downtown.