It has been over a year since my last post on “Images of Hope”. This was not the result of me not having any images that I felt were appropriate. The reality is that I was looking for a new career. As some of you are aware, many of my previous posts were rather derogatory toward our 45th president. Sadly, I was concerned that my political views would interfere with my ability to land a job. It is a shame that we live in a time where one must be concerned about retribution resulting from the opinions we express publicly. It would not surprise me if I end up in the gulag someday.
Note to the censors: This is not a political post, but one that is made in the true spirit of Hope.
Forty-five years ago, I arrived on the Outer Banks for a vacation with my parents, brother and sister. At the time, I did not have great expectations. The year previous we drove in the family station wagon from our home in northeast Ohio to Florida. How could you beat a trip to Disney World? The inscription at the entrance to the Magic Kingdom says it all. “Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow and fantasy”. How could this desolate strip of sand possibly leave a mark on my soul that would endure for a lifetime?
My family has made numerous trips to Cape Hatteras over the years. What initially started as only five of us has now grown to sixteen. For my high school graduation present, my girlfriend joined us. Only a few years later that same girlfriend would once again join us as my wife. It did not take long for us to be joined by my brother and sister’s spouses. The next trip would also add several younger travelers. Our son and my nieces would add a new generation to the list of attendees. To complete the circle of life, our children have now brought their spouses to the beach. Maybe one day soon my wife and I will be lucky enough to return as grandparents. It turns out that the same life-sustaining surf has connected us all.
The reality is that there is no other place on this earth to which I feel so connected. This has been the subject of numerous late night ponderings as I drift off to sleep. As it turns out, the chemistry of our life-sustaining blood is very similar in composition to that of the sea. There are not many places on Cape Hatteras where one can ever be outside a few hundred yards of sight from the very solution that gave rise to life. Even when you can’t see the ocean, your lungs are filled with the saline essence that every breaker atomizes into the breeze. I suspect this is why I feel totally at peace when my feet are in contact with these shores.
On our first trip to Hatteras, I brought the Polaroid One Step camera that I received as a Christmas present from my parents. As a twelve year old, I couldn’t afford much film. I remember taking only a couple of pictures that I deemed worthy of keeping. It will come as no surprise that those were pictures of the ocean, framed by the ever present surf and sea oats. I suspect that if I look through my boxes of keepsakes, I will find those original images. Although they were not very impressive by my standards today, these crude images were the start of a love affair with photography.
Today I uploaded many of the images I took only a week ago on our latest trip to Cape Hatteras. Just like my photographic skills, much has changed since I first pointed a lens toward these shores. Many of our favorite restaurants could survive the howl of endless hurricanes but could not survive the silence of COVID. The Frisco pier, the scene of several epoch fishing stories, finally succumbed to the constant battering of the surf. Even the Hatteras lighthouse, an enduring vision of hope for many mariners and vacationers alike, had to be pulled back from falling into the sea.
Just as the cedar shakes of the long-legged cottages have weathered the constant exposure to Mother Nature’s fury, we too are showing our age. The gray hair that has appeared at my temples is a new visitor to the beach. My eighty-year-old mother overcame her fear of the elevator and chose to accept the assistance of a lift rather than walk the grueling three flights of stairs up to the top floor of our cottage. My similarly aged father was under strict doctor’s orders to minimize his time in the sun due to his recurring skin cancer. I am hopeful that I will get the opportunity to share another trip with my parents back to Hatteras. As we have all learned recently, life, just like the shifting sands, is subject to change. One constant, is that I will always be grateful to my parents for introducing us to a place that has been of such importance in our lives.
These images of Hatteras that I have posted are a tribute to them.
