We’re on vacation this week in North Carolina. We’re staying in an antique cottage on an estuary off of the inland waterway. Just out the front door is a snowy egret nesting grounds, which is very cool because I love snowy egrets. Every evening near dusk the egrets fly in a roost in the trees of the estuary.
And you can sit on the edge of the water and watch the fish jumping and, though I’ve not seen them yet, dolphin frolic.
Yesterday, we went to the beach on the barrier islands of the Camp LeJeune Marine Corps. The water was tepid, the waves perfect, and the beach empty. I forgot how much I love salt water and waves.
This morning I saw a pilated woodpecker (for those who don’t know—it’s the Woody Woodpecker type with the bright red flat-top.) I love birds.
And we’re with dear, old friends.
The downside. Let’s just say that I’m not a Southern magnolia type of woman. My ancestry is more Northern European—I’m a tulip kind of woman. So my morning run has been a bit different in nearly 100% humidity with the sun beating down,even early in the morning. (Yes, yes, it’s nasty in Chattanooga too, but there I run on a treadmill in the air conditioning.) As you can imagine, tulips wilt quickly in Southern heat. But, I forced my legs to keep running—I keep telling myself, “You’re so much tougher than this. You’ve given birth to four children, you’ve raised an autistic child, and you’re a pastor’s wife. This is nothing.” I’m not sure I believe it, but it distracts me enough, which is the purpose. If I don’t notice the sweat and the stifling heave of my chest, then I’m good, besides I have to burn off those tacos I had for dinner last night.