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THERE WAS A REASON I AWOKE with the sun this morning, quite in opposition to my wishes. It was on account of that male in the chicken-yard. Less than enamored by the rooster cock-a-doodling his fool head off, it dawned on me that if he kept it up, there could be some actual truth to the part about his head coming off.

And then I said to the keeper of the fowl, "You're going to have to get rid of that noisy creature!"


Of course, now I'm pondering the fact that on the last day of summer, all thanks to said creature, I didn't miss the marvelous sunrise.


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I BENT DOWN AND QUIETLY THANKED THE PIG. It's not easy to eat a creature who has (willingly or unwillingly--who's to know?) given its life for you, when you are looking it in the (admittedly fake) eye. But, oh, that pork was yummy.

I know this guy who annually invites his vast array of friends to come and share the eating of a roasted pig; he serves it up with plenty of drinks. There's a long table full of dishes his friends have carried in, as well.






Since Gerry's been generously hosting this roasted swine party for twenty-eight years now, most of his friends (of which I'm one, as you may have astutely guessed) are familiar with the protocol. Come early enough, you can play volleyball, watch the pig being carved (you get to sample some of the choicest bits) and look over the


display of historical limited-edition t-shirts (he gets a new one designed each year featuring some sort of clever piggy pun and likeness--this year's "King of Slop" was wearing one glove).


Of course, when the main event gets underway, there is a serious line at the food tables.


And a lot of eating, drinking and conversing going on. It's a once-a-year porcine delight.

(Dear reader, you may wish to spark up a friendship with Gerry...


...in which case, I'll keep my eye out for you a year from now when Gerry and friends are eating his 29th pig.)



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Tuesday--September 15, tax payment day. Just past the Ides of September. Verging on autumn.
Time and tide wait for no man. Ah, life is short and fleeting. Autumn around the corner nearly always makes me feel this way.


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I HAD TO SAY GOOD-BYE to the OBX.





SO NOW I'M HOME AGAIN. GENTLY LANDING IN THE non-vacation spot after a long drive and darkness falling.

After the adventures of yesterday, which included: walking the sands of Jockey's Ridge, a mini-Sahara with the waters of the Sound at its edge,























eating on Shishe's deck--a big ol' pile of steamed shrimp and a brown grocery bag of crab legs, with a fire burning and Prairie Home Companion on the radio,



throwing gastronomic discipline to the wind and gorging on Rocky Road and Peanut Butter Cup ice cream--I wasn't thrilled to hug my sis and some of my offspring goodbye and head north this morning.









(I'm convinced, however, there are good things
to be said for returning while still able
to fit into ones clothes.)







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BEFORE I TRAVELED HERE to the Outer Banks, Shishe had warned me it was going to rain every day for the next ten days. Consequently, I was not shocked or outraged or otherwise too terribly disappointed when we had rain and strong wind yesterday. And then, lo and behold, this morning the day morphed into one of lovely sun. No rain to dampen any plans. It was a downright delightful day, in which Caroline and I were joined by other family members.




We had great weather for going to Elizabethan gardens, watching Sound water lapping at the shore.






Then coming back to the ocean, where the waves were much more vigorous in their arrival.





A good day was had by all. Although, mine ended with a lobster dinner--

--and I suppose the lobster did not think it so delightful.








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