Katie does one thing better than anything else. She runs. Today she got a 4.5 mile round trip run from Homer Smith’s Docks to Beaufort’s Freedom Park. Pete held her leash. He and I biked. We found the trail that let us bypass the shoulder-less county road.
At the park, Katie ran and ran on the ocean of grass. A maintenance worker stopped by and warned us about sunning snakes, though we were in the shade. He’d busted Katie off-leash, and I suspect he was satisfying himself she was not a threat.
She warmed him right up. Then he said she was fine unleashed and welcome to run anywhere. Except on the baseball field. “I just lined that one,” he said, pointing three playing fields away.
The park was spotless. The many soccer, baseball, and one football field were meticulously lined. I assured him Katie wouldn’t be running on the playing fields. He bid us good day and continued his golf cart round.
I guessed he loved his job as much as Katie loves to run. He was invested in the lines he’d put down. He told us he wanted them nice for tonight’s game.
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Katie trotted more slowly on the ride back, which gave me time to check out Beaufort’s beautiful homes. Some are more than 300 years old. Their architecture reflects immigrants that arrived, then stayed. Caribbean and Bahamian houses, Queen Anne and Victorian houses. Greek and Gothic Revivals.
The oldest dates to 1700. They say that one had been an inn Blackbeard once visited.
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I’m an old house junkie. I think about how people arrive at a place, work hard, scrape together a life. Settlers build their homes knowing one’s porches and gables will outlast their own lives.
It takes a lot of foresight and fortitude to build for the future. To know what you construct will have a life longer than your own. To know that it will be admired after nobody is left to remember you.
Most of the houses are restored. Some have modern or quirky flourishes. One has a vine-covered entrance pergola that seemed to bloom with conch shells. A tabby cat stood guard like a small beefeater at his post.
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A yard sign caught my eye: Sailor Jonny’s Custom Carpentry and Paint. I met a woman who knew him well. She told me Jonny was indeed a sailor, who arrived here on his boat, “oh, about ten years ago now.” He did odd jobs. He was good at what he did. He built a business. Now he’s in high demand; I surmise he helps to keep these cantankerous old houses as beautiful as they are.
Jonny ventured into the world and found a place where his work would outlast him.
All of us venture into the world uncertain about where we’ll land or what we’ll do. All of us impact a future we’ll not live to see. The choice we sometimes make is for the well-being of a future that will forget us; versus the well-being of our present selves regardless of the consequences of our actions.
Here in Beaufort, they seem to opt for sustainability.
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Katie stood the boat watch this afternoon while Pete and I made a parts/ grocery run to Morehead City using the marina courtesy car. She’s also good at this job, though she doesn’t seem to love it as much as running.
This evening for the first time we let her walk unleashed on the docks. She held her head high as she trotted toward land. And even higher when we let her race around the flagpole at the end of the street all by herself.
Irish Hurricane 