For longer than I can remember, my family has made an annual trek to the Outer Banks of North Carolina during the month of August.  When I was a kid, we rented a smaller house in Avon, NC that is now fondly referred to as “The Cameron House” in reference to the last name of the home owners.  I still picture that house as my ultimate vacation retreat with a vast number of bedrooms for adults (there were 3) and a perfect sized bedroom just big enough for my sister and I to bunk and admire our tanned faces in the mirror above the dresser that was lined with seashells.   When either my mother, grandmother or aunt ran a load of laundry in that house, it shook.  Houses in the Outer Banks sit on high stilts, and while this protects them from the risks of flooding, it makes them more sensitive to wind, thunder and a number of human activities taking place inside.  According to my grandmother, this includes the violent fever-shakes of an 8 year old with a bad case of strep throat.  :)  And… what I can I say?  I was plagued by strep throat for years; my sister lucked out (?) by only having bad ear infections.  In the years that we spent visiting the “Cameron House” I experienced my first “water spout” (later the subject of a very dramatic 8th grade english paper),  built any number of sandcastles and “motes” with my sister and grandfather, witnessed my first sunset,  and fell utterly and completely in love with life on the beach.  When I think about my childhood, there are few memories as crystalized in my mind as the summer weeks spent in that house, surrounded by my family.  

Because I’m telling you about this in the form of a memory, you have probably guessed that eventually our family outgrew the house.  And we did; my aunt and uncle welcomed my beautiful cousin Jeanette into the world, Sarah and I became adolescents and my dad’s snoring… proved to be more than anyone could take.  :)  As we grew physically we diminished as well; losing both my grandmother and aunt quickly within 2 years.  At 13 the pain of loss from these deaths was enormous and I can only begin to imagine the immense black hole that was felt by the adults in my family.  And so… much like the settlers in Roanoke… we moved away from the Cameron “village.”

Over the next (unknown number of years) and until very recently, my family continued to vacation in  Avon, NC which is on the outskirts of the more commonly known Cape Hatteras, NC.  If you’ve ever seen a picture of a this lighthouse; you’re looking at the biggest landmark for Cape Hatteras, NC. 

Cape Hatteras Light

Through some means of mass marketing and ridiculous population surge,  Avon, NC has grown from a simple, boney beach-town with 1 local grocer and a video rental shop to a town with its very own strip mall and commercial grocery store. Don’t get me wrong; I LOVE to shop. Beach shopping has an element of “retail therapy” all to its own. However, with increased consumer opportunities we found ourselves surrounded by even more consumers; their dogs, their too-big SUV’s, their too-loud voices, their fishing poles jutting into the water everywhere… you get the picture.  Whereas the  torturous drive down route 12 was previously barren, we began to observe monstrous beach homes – big enough to house 20-30 people at one time.  And really, it was a bittersweet feeling for me.  On the one hand, I was happy for the residents of the Outer Banks – business was better-than-usual for everyone.  On the other hand, I hated sharing my sand with strangers from New Jersey, Canada and Montana and resented their apathy for the sacredness of my childhood playground.  For more than a few years, I stayed away from the “OBX” altogether, dedicated to my duties as a residence hall advisor, settling for an occasional seaside trip to Ocean City, MD. 

Three years ago, I was finally able to resume my summer beach routine at the Outer Banks.  In my absence, my family had grown wise to the pattern of beach-goers and began vacationing in late August, which puts us at greater risk for hurricanes, but we are rewarded by quieter beaches and shorter lines at the non-commercial grocer. Three years ago,  I introduced Justin to the Outer Banks and all my favorite parts of vacationing there… (except for the Christmas  Tree Shoppe in Manteo, NC which was closed at the time, but is now back open - hallelujah!)  Justin was aghast  – stating to me over and over “I have NEVER seen you this relaxed. I didn’t know you had it in you to really let go.” 

And this is why, a little less than a month ago Justin and I returned to the Outer Banks with my family.  Only this time… we stayed in Hatteras, NC which is essentially as far southeast as you  can go.  For those of you who are familiar with the area, our rental home this year was within spitting distance of the Ocracoke Ferry docks.  A few things about our vacation this year…first, we had near perfect weather in spite of “Bill and Danny”.  Probably the best beach weather we’ve ever had there.  Second, I previously under-rated Hatteras – I liked being able to walk to the shops at night to browse and have ice cream.  We were closer to Buxton Village Books than we ever have been and Justin and I found some great local places to buy fish and veggies (suck it, Food Lion).  And third, despite being somewhat close to a few bigger-than-should-be-permissible beach homes, the beach itself wasn’t very crowded and people largely kept to themselves; allowing moi to devour 4 books during my trip and spend excessive amounts of time in the sun with my favorite people.  

And yet, there was a part of me that felt like something was missing. And, this feeling of… emptiness and apathy bothered me.  It was not a feeling I am accustomed to having while visiting my favorite vacation spot.  I thought a lot about this during the week….perhaps it was simply that I was recovering from a sinus and ear infections? (turns out those are as horrible as strep throat!) Maybe it was because I don’t have a “routine” in Hatteras yet?  

Call me crazy, but the answer that really resonated with me was simply not being able to physically see the “Cameron House” everyday like I’ve been able to in year’s past.  Turns out… that house, with it’s creaky, steep boardwalk to the beach and stretch of private access sand has become a part of me.  It’s where I can breathe easier and reconnect with… the me who visited that house and beach before our family construct was altered.  The uber-relaxed me… the one that Justin didn’t think existed…I think she might really be an 8 year old, running “Phoebe-style” away from the waves.  :)  So, now I have a year to figure out what to do with this insight.  

In the meantime, I have some excellent pictures to remind me of our trip and plenty of beaches and lighthouses to explore in New England.