THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 16, 1995 TAG: 9507160120
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Paul South
DATELINE: MANTEO LENGTH: Medium: 71 lines
In the dog days of July, with temperatures soaring well into the 100s in some places and folks flocking to our coast to soak up the sun, there's something we've forgotten.
The moon.
In the grand scheme of things, the moon takes a bit of a beating in the summertime. If the sun's not out, people get depressed and assuage their disappointment by shopping and eating or eating and shopping.
On cloudy nights, you never hear:
``I wish the moon was out.''
``Yeah, we came all the way from Ohio to soak up some moon, and it's cloudy.''
``Bummer. Let's go get some ice cream.''
But this summer may be a bit different. Leave it to Ron Howard, the director who cut his acting teeth in Mayberry, N.C., America's best-loved fictional town. Howard is the director of ``Apollo 13,'' a movie that has folks streaming to the box office and remembering a time when putting a man on the moon was this country's magnificent obsession.
With apologies to Howard, the Outer Banks has something that even a cinematic achievement as marvelous as ``Apollo 13'' can't touch.
Here, we know the moon up close. Personal.
Let me tell you a couple of stories.
The first one took place a few weeks ago. My girlfriend and I went to hear a friend's local band at a beach road bistro. As the sun began to leave the sky, we walked down to the beach.
Hurriedly, like children, we kicked off our sneakers and let the cool sand rush between our toes. We walked along the water's edge, and tried not-too-hard to outrun the breaking salt water as it rushed toward us like a long lost relative from the old country. The cold Atlantic water washed our feet, and its healing power stung summer's first mosquito bites.
We plopped down on the sand and watched as a white moon slowly ascended into the robin's egg sky like a white yo-yo on an invisible string.
We sat with hands clasped for the longest time. In silence we waited until darkness took over the night sky. Occasionally, I would glance over at her, and then back at the moon. And I would understand why the songwriters found so much romance in the pock-marked place that children once believed was made of green cheese.
This week, I thought of the moon again. It was late in the evening, after one of those scorchers that makes your shirt stick to your back. A soft breeze blew gently from the east. In silence, I sat on the porch as the moon took center stage while laying out a pathway of diamonds across the gentle, swaying waters of Shallowbag Bay.
The moon was big and full and looked as though it was ready to swallow the earth whole.
THe streets of downtown Manteo were silent.
And off in distant memory, I remembered the first time I fell in love with the moon.
I couldn't have been older than 6 or 7. With my belly about to pop from a dinner of fried catfish, hushpuppies and sweet tea, I sat curled in my grandmother's lap. The moon glowed like a giant gold pocketwatch above Wilson Lake.
``It's God's nightlight,'' she would say gently. ``He's watching over us all the time.''
The sun is like our best grade-school friend, encouraging us to fun and mischief. But the moon tucks us in at night, and reminds us that no matter how old we are, someone up there likes us.
Reason enough to pay attention to the moon. by CNB