THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 3, 1995 TAG: 9508310267
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 54 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Editorial
SOURCE: Ron Speer
LENGTH: Medium: 70 lines
A vivid neighborhood scene etched forever in my mind last week convinced me that you don't have to go far to see memorable things.
After a neighbor's daughter was married in church, the wellwishers maybe 150 strong gathered in the back yard of the family home on Roanoke Island for the reception.
The pig was picked, the beans and the vegetables and the desserts covered table after table next to the swimming pool, and the crowd started lining up for the outdoor wedding feast.
It obviously was a time for prayer if you are a praying family.
Clad in a black tuxedo, cummerbund and bow tie, Wayne Wescott walked carefully out to the end of the tippy diving board over the pool. He raised his arms to the heavens, gave thanks for the food and prayed for the happiness of Susan and Leon.
It was a wonderful moment.
The crowd was hushed. Wayne backed carefully off the board, and we all let out a sigh of relief when he was safely on land again.
I didn't have a camera, but I really won't need a photograph to recall every detail decades from now.
I won't need a picture, either, to remind me of Hurricane Felix. The night before it was expected to slam into the Outer Banks, I drove along the beach road about 10 o'clock. There were no other cars on the highway. Few lights were on because businesses had shut down. The sand and the spray made it seem like I was driving in a a heavy fog that my headlights couldn't penetrate.
It was spooky, and I became very tense. After a few miles I turned around and drove back to a motel that had stayed open, and was well-lighted.
The sight and sounds of other people, and the end of the darkness, made me confident again that all would be well. I was very glad that Felix never came any closer.
However, most memories that I treasure from the summer had nothing to do with drama or tragedy or fear.
Perhaps the most enjoyable sights for an old country boy are the rabbits that dine on the grass along Highway 64 where it cuts through the marshes between Pirate's Cove and Manteo.
I see the rabbits nibbling away on my early-morning drive to work, and if it's not dark I see them again on my way home. I really don't know why it makes me feel that all is right with the world when I see them, but it does.
The sight of dozens of ever-optimistic anglers lining the rails of the Melvin Daniels Bridge on the causeway west of Nags Head also turns me on.
Their faces tense with determination, the fishermen and women stood shoulder to shoulder the length of the bridge several mornings last week, their rods in hand. For some reason, most seem to favor the south side, although both were built with concrete barricades protecting the anglers from passing traffic.
Rarely have I seen anyone hauling in a fish, but it is nice to know that believers are with us still, convinced that they'll pull in a whale on their next cast regardless of how fruitless have been the casts of the past.
The most satisfying sight of all in recent days for me, however, was on the bike path one morning on Roanoke Island.
A young woman, her long hair flying freely in the wind, pedaled past on a battered bike. Maybe 17, 18 years old, her jeans were torn, her tennies were ripped, and her sweatshirt had seen better times.
As she went by, I saw she was not alone. A bikeseat for babies was over the rear wheel, and a toddler was strapped inside. The baby's head was encased in a shiny helmet that looked new and top of the line.
I felt good all day. by CNB